Books Fan Fiction >> Harry Potter
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Insides Turn Rotten
xxX Insides Turn Rotten Xxx
x Author's Note x
-chokes- I have
absolutely no idea as to what prompted me to write this, I really don't. But anyway, I haven't
edited this except for a thin spell-check, but it just didn't really strike me as something I should
bother over, so I didn't. I trust my instincts, at any rate, so hopefully it won't matter.
I know it was a the plot was a bit understated, so here's a more in-depth look
at it (which was actually just created as I went along with the story, really):
Draco (the 'you' in the story) and Harry (the 'he' in the story), became lovers
at Hogwarts, and somehow it came out to the entire school. Harry was totally ridiculed, etcetera
(got that 'Potter you rotter' bit now?), and Draco defended him. However, Draco became a Death
Eater, and never told Harry about it (who would?). But then Draco got scared, so he decided that the
only way to possibly make sure Harry would be safe was to kill him. Thusly, hide the body in the
dungeons, and then become a Necrophiliac and screw him into the floor.
(I swear it made sense when I first wrote it)
Okay, I know it's extremely sick, but I kind of like the idea, because it was
based on love. Of course, I'm a loony who thinks that a pair of lover's double suicide is romantic,
so please, don't mind me.
x Pairing x
Draco Malfoy x Harry
x Warning x
Necrophilia, though most of
it's just implied and there's not much in the actually story part. And a helluva lot of unstated
crap, so if you don't get it, look at the Author's Note above.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx T x H x E x x S x T x A x R x T
He was dead; achingly so. It made you want to cry, to yell, to shriek at the top
of your lungs. Laying there, pale as moonlight and cold, so cold; always cold. Numbing, you thought,
it was numbing, and even though you couldn't feel your body or that dull, quiet pain stroking
against your breastbone, you collapsed, nearly on top of him. There was thick, crusted blood where
smooth, gleaming ebony hair should be, where your hands would lightly pet, where you would yank at
by the fistful when you were angry... Numb, dead. That was all that was left.
You love him, just as much as they loved him, but more. So much more.
Semi-consciously, you could feel goose bumps rising along your body. Grass was
growing through cracks in the stones, green as mold that grew along him, green as his eyes used to
be, before they had dispersed into that murky, foggy grayish color you despised. Because it reminded
you of your father. Green, dead, numb. The words circulate through your brain, and yet you still
can't quite grasp it.
The beauty of it lays fresh in the back of your mind, slowly edging along to
your vision. He is beautiful, you realize, even in death, even though his lungs can no longer fill
with oxygen and his heart no longer pumps blood.
Cold. So cold, like the Dementors. But Dementors never got to him, did they? you
thought, he was immune... Strong, brave and proud among the Gryffindors, a beacon of light and love
and honor and everything one such as him should be. Not like you- never like you.
Do you remember? The Death Eaters. Yes, you still remember; always will. The
ghastly rise of pain, the skull-snake on your arm, whispering in a language you could never possibly
be able to understand. A shiny burn mark along your flawless record. Damn Voldemort, damn him! You
could not comprehend, but do you now? Now that he is gone, the warmth you shared together
dismembered and cut apart, and rotting over with a sort of lethargic-type gangrene... Betrayed, he
is gone now.
"Traitor, traitor! Oh Potter, you rotter, oh look what you've done! You
must be going bonkers to trust this scum! Traitor, you traitor! Betrayer of light!"
You can hear the calls so crisply, but you made sure that you protected him, you
had to, else you might have gone crazy with worry. Of course, they were right... He was a traitor,
and you were one, as well. Betrayer of light, he might have been, ally to the dark? Never. But you
were a betrayer of both. And now look, look how his arms are splayed over the flagstones and sprouts
of dry grass, yearning for your touch, still, after all this.
You won't deny him of that touch; you never would.
His lips are still slightly rosy, you notice, even though they are frigid like
the snow. That makes you happy, you realize, it reminds you of Christmas. Even though his eyes are
staring at you, that ugly color of grey and green all bundled up into one, it doesn't deter you. You
merely shut his eyelids, kiss each one lightly, a whisper of a touch, and grab his hand. It doesn't
budge, despite your gently prodding. You reason that it doesn't matter anyway, and start to stroke
his palm lightly.
You kneel there, on the cold ground and the thin layer of dirt and the emerald
green grass that reminds you so much of his real, fresh, live eyes, and even though it is the dead
of night, you can still see him so well. Beautiful, gorgeous, he's just so amazing... And all yours.
Forever and ever, you had promised each other, and you would never, ever go back on that promise. As
you kneel, you place soft kisses along his jaw line, down his neck, no matter the blood that slowly
crusts off and onto your face.
Freezing, his entire body is freezing, and you frantically try and rub some
warmth into him. His flat, smooth stomach, so light and pale, slender. Cold, so cold... Painfully
cold, stinging your hands and your face, and did you just imagine that or did he just breath a cold
puff of air onto your cheek?
Nothing but numbness, and a cold dead body. Immobile beneath you, relentlessly
motionless. Frigid. Stunning, though, definitely.
And suddenly there is a pain in your arm, stinging and aching but incredibly
dulled down than any other time you'd felt it. You looked at him, long, thick black eyelashes,
smooth porcelain white cheeks, perfectly shaped incarnadine-color lips. You want to touch him, love
him; love him everywhere. But there isn't time, you suppose, as a sharp glaring green light seeps
through the thin sleeve of your robes. No, but there will always be more.
So you stand up, give him a small pat, a tiny, whispered "I'll be back
soon, my love", and finally walk up the stairs and out the dungeon door, remembering to mutter
a locking charm before continuing on your way through Malfoy Mansion to the fireplace. There is a
Death Eater meeting, and it would be stupid to risk the wrath of your master; you know that
Besides, you don't want anyone to get suspicious of the dead body laying in your
dungeons, do you?
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx T x H x E x x E x N x D
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The preceeding was a work of fiction. Any statements regarding any person, place, or other entity (real or imaginary) is the sole responibility of the author of this work of fiction. Fan Works Inc. takes no responsibility for the content of user submitted stories. All stories based on real people are works of fiction and do not necessarily reflect on the nature of the individuals featured. All stories based on other copyrighted works are written with authors knowing that these works violate copyright laws.
Please see the Terms of Service for more information.