Chapter Warnings: cannibalism, character death, gore-ish, disturbing theme
Flesh
The grinding of stone against stone finishes it's completion, throwing Harry in a state of fanatic uncertainty. His body stills and breathing halts. Very faintly, the glimmer of torch lights back in the ballroom seeps in, but the majority of the room is one of darkness. Remaining silent, he sweeps blind eyes over the floor ahead of him.
That shadowy figure, once thought to be just the curtain, detaches itself from the corner.
Slow, measured footsteps urge Harry on with rising fright. He palms the glasses as the underside of a leather sole smashes on the back of his wrist. Panic, pure panic. Escape is lost, he's been caught! The lenses shatter into his hand and the flood of pleasure rushes through him. Afraid and desperate he lets out a cry.
'I don't want to die!'
His throat vibrates with two separate pitches, a feat he's only done once before as a child in distress. The shoe halts its grinding with a pause. He chokes on dust and the wail dissipates into a coughing fit. There's a moment of hesitation above him until the Prefect's attacker recedes. Harry trembles in place.
'Is this it? Am I going to be ripped to pieces like Farley?'
The low cramp in his stomach rumbles in hunger. The phantom scent lingering in his mind. He flinches when a strange hollow noise begins to ascend around him, like a deep bell intoning horrible things to come. Harry presses himself to the ground in fear as the chuckling grows quieter. Similar to before, there's a dull throbbing in the forefront of his head, pounding slowly and surely as if someone were knocking on a door, demanding to be let in...
"How interesting." A dark tone drawls, long unused. "Here I believed that a feast has brought itself to me. Instead, I have a dinner guest."
He keeps his mouth shut and remains quiet, but that doesn't seem to pacify his tormentor. A strong, bony hand grips the back of the youth's shirt and flips him over with the flick of a wrist. Harry sprawls onto his back, and he tries to sit up as his instincts scream at him. Instantly, he's crowded by the larger presence. Skeletal fingers, not unlike his own, seize the crown of Harry's head and tugs. "D-Don't!"
The boy tries to push back against the blurry aggressor, but it's equivalent to pushing against a solid wall. Locks of hair are pushed aside, exposing the scar left behind years ago and the raven-haired male gasps as warm lips rest against the lightning bolt. In the recesses of his mind, that door is blown off it's hinges. A flood of alien intent staining everything it touches. The throbbing explodes like a fiery light, something he's never felt, never expected to feel! Pain. Real pain. Blazing, terrible pain that scorches a path through his body. The Potter heir is barely aware that he's screaming now, withering in a grip that pulls the scrawny child to a solid frame. A piece of himself inside is snuffed out, a dark shadow fitting in that portion like a puzzle completing itself. Then the pain stops abruptly and the student sags into the other's hold. The fuel of determination is now spent and weakness settles in.
He huffs as his heart begins to slow. Liquid drips over the crest of his eyebrow, down into the folds of one eye. He knows it's blood, the scar is bleeding like it was last night. The male lets out a whimper from the pain. Is that what is feels like to be hurt? His lungs quicken in terror. Will he feel pain like that again?
A soft whisper of a laugh and the stranger presses his lips lightly against the raw wound, sucking at the blood. "Harry Potter."
The boy shivers. No one's ever pronounced his name like that before. A mixture of burning hatred and deadly tenderness.
'How does he even know my name?'
There's a numbness settling into him, making the youth sluggish. He registers the assailant gathering him in both arms and rising from the floor. There was a time when he had been cradled like this before wasn't there? When he'd fallen asleep in the family room and would be carried promptly to bed... This isn't his father or Sirius though. "Am... am I... g-going to die?"
Amusement can be heard in that deeper baritone. "You are close."
They travel in a surreal silence, except for the foreboding footsteps as both males move through the passageway.
"If you had not come here... then you would have expired within the week, I calculate." The man says without much emotion, as if he's just stating simple facts with clinical detachment.
"Are you going to..." He fights the thickness in his mouth.
"Kill you?" The words supply and again the boy seems to amuse the mysterious man. "I am sure that, once upon a time ago, I wished your death with a fierceness. Throughout the passing centuries, I cannot deny that I have fantasied on it."
He can't keep up. What is this person talking about? Isn't he going to die? Did this man kill Farley? Is he next? Harry's so tired, so very tired.
"Now that you are here. I find that things are not as what I believed them to be. My vengeance has changed."
"I don't... understand."
"I am going to save you, Harry Potter. I am going to claim your life by keeping you alive."
That moment, they enter the ballroom once more and halt at the edge. Torches still flicker against the tunnel's end, they linger over Farley's form which is slumped upon the ancient carnage. Her dark blood seeps into the bones and glazed eyes peer up at the vaulted ceiling painted with a scenery of forgotten deities dinning on the miniature forms of humanoids.
"Who..."
"Don't tell me that you have forgotten who I am?" The deviant crouches onto a knee, keeping the boy in an arm while reaching out to jerk the girl's dying form closer to them. "It has been a very long time I suppose... for me that is. I was there on the night your mother blessed you."
Harry's eyebrows slowly crinkle in thought. It's hard to think when such a wonderful smell is beckoning him. His stomach twists and he shifts trying to see where exactly the food is, but all his eyes can see are bleary shapes and darkness. There's a squelching and the scent doubles. He let's out a low groan.
"You must be hungry, yes? It's quite intriguing how curses and soul shards react to one another. Try this..."
Something moist is held before the youth. His lids flutter and mouth waters. That part of his mind, the squeamish babbling piece that would realize that this is odd or shouldn't be happening is quiet. The shadow is there though whispering, and now it keens within the layers of his mind. Urging and instinctual.
'Food.'
His teeth bite into the offering. The slick juices running down his throat as he chews mechanically on the thick substance. Almost instantly his hunger springs up, becoming unbearable and demanding as the wonderful portion is being devoured to slip into a shuddering stomach. There's something else too... his magic rises, lashing out in need to soak up the nutrients from the proper meal. A tingly feeling makes his eyes itch uncomfortably. The world around him sharpens and comes into view.
Flesh... Farley's flesh. Maybe a bit from her cheek or neck is hovering before his face. His teeth marks clear and accusing where the meat was pulled from.
'NO!'
He yells and tries to jerk away, the flap of gore falling to the ground. The other wrestles him easily like a doll. An arm snakes around, adjusting his limbs to tuck into his sides, trapping him entirely. Green irises, almost glowing in the darkness can now see everything in terrifying clarity to a point even his broken glasses couldn't achieve. The dark gods above, clad in beautiful jewels and blossoming vines, smile delightfully as they hold silver spoons and golden goblets containing butchered bodies to their mouths. Farley's eyes are dead and milky, her corpse cooling into a pale coloring against the almost black blood from severed arteries.
A hand dives into his vision, powerful fingers clawing into the girl. With a snap of a collarbone, and a tug that rips it free, Harry stares morbidly transfixed at the slender bone covered in tendon and blood. It comes closer and he struggles.
"NO! No, No, No!"
There's a huff of breath at the boy's ear, irritated but ever so patient. The bloody bone passes out of the youth's sight and he can hear teeth shredding into it, followed by a pleased hum. Harry bends forward, trembling with the possessive appendage around him. He watches as that thin arm begins to gain substance with every slurp and chomp of the man who's eating Gemma Farley. Horrified, tears begin to fall freely from him.
"Are you not hungry any longer?"
Harry hangs helplessly, denying himself, pretending... It's just some awful nightmare is all, he'll awake in his room for sure. This can't be happening, it just can't!
"Do you wish to die?"
'Never...'
He stirs. Desperation ringing in his thundering heart and he gasps as another handful of raw meat approaches him. His senses zeroing in on it- appetizing, delicious, inviting, tantalizing, succulent... The male lunges, biting down and swallowing with vigor. That hand holding him in place strokes the side of his waist, where the hem of his shirt rides up. The fingertips smooth over his skin in a soft petting motion. The pads rubbing small circles as if to calm him. More tears spill from his eyes and Harry shudders violently as he's feeding off of a Slytherin peer.
Changing between filling his and the younger boy's stomachs, the man rips the fabric from the prey. Gutting the soft flesh is easy enough and very satisfying to the individual who passes chunks of organs to the little one trapped in his arms. In the torch light, if one were looking closely, they'd see the signs of sickness disappearing. The two gaunt males gain fuller features and healthier skin. Their muscles thicken to leanness as hair shines a more lustrous shade, until the girl's body is picked clean and all is left are slick bones to be left with the rest...
The being looks out across it's territory with a sense of completion and strength not felt for decades. His attention lowers to child, no changling... "This is a gift we share, Harry."
A heat fills the boy. Lulling and sated, calling the Potter heir into a land of sleepless dreams. His tears are long dry as his head falls back to rest against the crook of a warm neck. Limbs and chest tingle with a feather like tickle. The nerves in his ankle and hand send new information to his brain: healing and wholeness. To finally feel full for once in his life... His breathing evens out. "Who are you?"
Steely orbs of blue with flecked grey stare down into his own. That handsome face from the painting, real and breathing. Bloody lips peel back with a pointed smile. "You know who I am."
He's fighting himself to think. To grasp at thoughts and feelings that are drifting away. Who? Those mocking eyes watch as his own fall to seal shut. Everything simply fades.
Chapter End.