fic for melusinahp: Foreshadow (Teddy, Regulus, Tom Riddle, Salazar Slytherin, R)
Title: Foreshadow
Author: tudorrose1533
Recipient: melusinahp
Rating: R
Character(s): Teddy Lupin, Regulus Black, Tom Riddle, Salazar Slytherin
Warnings: Sexuality, somewhat violent
Author's Notes: I hope you like it!
--
The house was haunted. Teddy had known it since he was small, just as every other child who had grown up in Hogsmeade knew it. It was an imposing sort of house, in the cottage style, with a moldy thatch roof and peeling paint. It was the farthest house from town, set back almost into the Forbidden Forest, with a winding dirt road that led to the creaky, rusty-hinged door. The windows were smudged and dirty with disuse, and some were broken and splintery with glass. The chimney on the roof had crumbled, and it wasn't unusual for small boys to dare one another to throw strange objects into the gaping mouth of the chimney, cackling gleefully as the house swallowed their little sisters' toys whole. It was otherwise unvisited; it had not been lived in for almost a century. It stood alone near the woods; the oldest children whispered that it was biding its time. Teddy often wondered for what.
When he wanted to escape from his older brother and his cousins, who were almost all older than he was, and liked to play too rough, as Mummy put it, the house was the perfect place to go. He would walk out of his aunt and uncle's Hogsmeade home and trek down the path towards the haunted house, even as Sirius and Bellatrix shouted behind him, "Come back, Regulus, come back! You little sissy! Don't you want to play with us?" But Regulus knew if he stayed it wouldn't be any fun; he would be the horse when Sirius was the knight and Narcissa the damsel and Bellatrix the wicked sorceress, or he would be the Muggle when Andromeda and Bellatrix were the witches and Sirius was the wizard. The house, for all that the chimney was starting to cave in, and that some of the roof was missing, and crows seemed to gather eerily in the area, was safer. Regulus preferred to be alone.
It was the first place he visited on his second day of Hogwarts, after the tumultuous Sorting the night before, and the brief moment when a silly boy with blond hair and gray eyes had tried to lord over him. It drew him with a strange, compelling force, and Tom left the grounds without permission, and walked slowly to Hogsmeade, and then right through the busy streets and down the dirt roads, until he'd reached the house, with its impressive chimney and dirty windows-smudged, but unbroken. It had not been lived in for almost half a century, but it seemed relatively intact, and Tom walked up the creaky porch and into the house determinedly, pushing his black hair out of his eyes as he turned the doorknob.
Inside was a parlor, with velveteen couches and footstools, and the crumbled bricks had tumbled down the chimney shaft and become powdered pink dust on the floor before the hearth. Teddy sidestepped the debris and tried to quell the fear quickening his pulse; he walked through the parlor and found a staircase that descended to a cellar, and he looked back and saw the hands and faces pressed against the windows full of sharp edges and holes. He was Harry Potter's godson, and half a werewolf, and half a Metamorphmagus, and he had a lot to live up to. His schoolmates expected much of him, and Teddy pressed forward, down the creaking stairs.
He kicked up dust as he trudged downwards, running his fingers along the craggy stone walls, and peering into the darkness myopically; in a few years Regulus would be outfitted with glasses, but at the tender age of thirteen, on the cusp of adolescence, he had yet to see the world as anything but a gloomy, fuzzy place, hard to put a finger on. He gripped his wand tightly. Long ago, when Regulus had come to visit his Black cousins as a child, he had ventured into this house wandless, but now he had power at his reach, and he was not afraid to climb upstairs, to drape himself across the strangely soft canopy beds, or, now, for the first time, to explore the dark and musty cellar, eyes peeled for danger, wand held high.
The other boys wondered where he went, and he enjoyed perpetuating the mystery. Once, that silly Malfoy boy had tried to follow him when he left the common room, and Tom had delighted in leading him on a wild goose chase through the castle-up to the Astronomy tower, down to the dungeons again, and out across the Quidditch pitch, before he vanished into the Forbidden Forest and lost pathetic Abraxas Malfoy, who stopped at the edge, quivering in his boots. Tom had stridden forward, embracing the wild darkness, and found, to his glee, a sort of tunnel beneath a tree, which he wandered through for a quarter hour. Tom was not ordinarily surprised, but when he emerged in the cellar of his old haunt, he was desperately pleased and looked around with glimmering eyes.
+++
They never told. They were taken through the tunnel to the cellar, mud gathering on their Mary Janes, cobwebs clinging to their hair, and they were fucked on the velveteen couches in the parlor, sometimes, but more often on the cold cellar floor, their slim white bodies pressed into the dirt like fallen lilies. It was a secret-that's what all the boys made them swear, with finger pressing into the hidden places on their bodies and tongues touching them, too.
Minerva kept it the best. She read aloud from the strange books in the cellar, and watched Tom's cock grow hard in his trousers as she described the hexes and the curses and the spells, read aloud about Muggle torture, whippings, racks and screws, and then, when he stood shakily and leaned back against the craggy walls, undoing the zipper on his trousers and pushing down, she crawled forward and unbuttoned her blouse so Tom could pinch her nipples as she knelt and sucked him until he came in her mouth, salty and hot and cruel, and she never told a soul.
Victoire could not keep a secret. She had too many girlfriends, too many admirers, and so everyone knew within minutes that she was with Teddy Lupin, and then, when it happened, that they were shagging. She told the tittering girls in her dormitory about his smooth, pale chest, and the hair that trailed downwards from his navel, and how his tongue felt on that spot between her thighs, but even Victoire could keep a secret well enough to leave out how and where: viciously, brutally, with too-long fingernails scraping her white shoulders, and on the cellar floor, her head knocking into the cold stone, the books--those books--yellowed with age but fresh with her fingerprints on the pages, as she read them and read them before Teddy was ready for her.
Of them all, though, it was Narcissa who had to keep the secret. She brushed her blond hair three hundred strokes a night, until her scalp was raw, and took scathingly hot baths until her skin burned red, as punishment for the pleasure of the hidden cellar, where Regulus placed her on his hips and made her ride him for hours, until she was sore and aching and sometimes cried salty tears that he licked like a wild animal, pupils dilated with lust. Insatiable Regulus, her beautiful cousin, who tied her wrists with a leather strap, and panted into her ear when he took her from behind, and called her beautiful even as he soiled her, with images of agony from the book's diagrams flickering behind her eyelids as she squeezed them shut in disbelief.
+++
I played chess with Death. I met Him last Sunday, in the cellar, on Mother's Day; He wore a black turtleneck and glasses and looked something like Dad, and so therefore Sirius, only skinnier and paler. Actually, He looked a lot like Uncle Harry, and I was startled, for His voice was a lot deeper than Uncle Harry's.
We played chess. He told me all of the dead are orphans, and all of the orphans are dead, and I insisted that that wasn't true, because I was alive/I wasn't an orphan/I was alive. Don't be ridiculous, said Death, you are not. And I said I was going to live forever, live forever, live forever, and I taunted Him, and he told me that there was only one way to make that true, and I did not know it.
I said I wanted to stand out. I wanted to stand above. Above Malfoy. Above Sirius. Above Albus and James. And Death said, as He took my rook, and then captured my king, there is one way, and only I can tell you how, or you will fade into anonymity, my son. He took out a small book. He picked it up from the cellar floor. Picking it up from the cellar floor, where it had lain dusty, He said, Here, this is how, and He opened to the first page, where a mutilated woman was depicted, and I laughed, I blinked, I cringed.
But I was hungry. I was hungry, and I was going to stand above. I was going to stand out. I had asked and He had said yes, and Death delivered the answer to me, and I read it, and He knelt and stroked me at the same time, and said when I could Love and Hate at once, when I felt Desire and Duty at once, then I was ready. He knows, Death said. He knows.
I am just the orphan, the extra, the godson, the monster in three fashions, but Death swore to me that I had only to read the book from the cellar floor and all would be changed.
+++
It was not like that, exactly, said Death. But it was something like that. It was something like that, and they had been chosen, but not by Me. I was the Messenger, they were the Chosen, the girls were the Innocents, and the world was the Victim.
+++
Salazar built the house with his own two hands, watched Godric stitch his hat and Rowena write her books and Helga weave her tapestry, and knew what he was building would last longer and forever, would outdo the secret chamber, the silly tunnels, the moving staircases, any of the everythings they had put together on their own. This was a house, a home, a place to be, and he breathed a little bit of his soul into the soot on the hearth and watched it flame green and then white and he laughed when he imagined the generations of boys who would come. Oh, how they would come, and Salazar draped the hood across his face and sat down to wait.
Author: tudorrose1533
Recipient: melusinahp
Rating: R
Character(s): Teddy Lupin, Regulus Black, Tom Riddle, Salazar Slytherin
Warnings: Sexuality, somewhat violent
Author's Notes: I hope you like it!
--
The house was haunted. Teddy had known it since he was small, just as every other child who had grown up in Hogsmeade knew it. It was an imposing sort of house, in the cottage style, with a moldy thatch roof and peeling paint. It was the farthest house from town, set back almost into the Forbidden Forest, with a winding dirt road that led to the creaky, rusty-hinged door. The windows were smudged and dirty with disuse, and some were broken and splintery with glass. The chimney on the roof had crumbled, and it wasn't unusual for small boys to dare one another to throw strange objects into the gaping mouth of the chimney, cackling gleefully as the house swallowed their little sisters' toys whole. It was otherwise unvisited; it had not been lived in for almost a century. It stood alone near the woods; the oldest children whispered that it was biding its time. Teddy often wondered for what.
When he wanted to escape from his older brother and his cousins, who were almost all older than he was, and liked to play too rough, as Mummy put it, the house was the perfect place to go. He would walk out of his aunt and uncle's Hogsmeade home and trek down the path towards the haunted house, even as Sirius and Bellatrix shouted behind him, "Come back, Regulus, come back! You little sissy! Don't you want to play with us?" But Regulus knew if he stayed it wouldn't be any fun; he would be the horse when Sirius was the knight and Narcissa the damsel and Bellatrix the wicked sorceress, or he would be the Muggle when Andromeda and Bellatrix were the witches and Sirius was the wizard. The house, for all that the chimney was starting to cave in, and that some of the roof was missing, and crows seemed to gather eerily in the area, was safer. Regulus preferred to be alone.
It was the first place he visited on his second day of Hogwarts, after the tumultuous Sorting the night before, and the brief moment when a silly boy with blond hair and gray eyes had tried to lord over him. It drew him with a strange, compelling force, and Tom left the grounds without permission, and walked slowly to Hogsmeade, and then right through the busy streets and down the dirt roads, until he'd reached the house, with its impressive chimney and dirty windows-smudged, but unbroken. It had not been lived in for almost half a century, but it seemed relatively intact, and Tom walked up the creaky porch and into the house determinedly, pushing his black hair out of his eyes as he turned the doorknob.
Inside was a parlor, with velveteen couches and footstools, and the crumbled bricks had tumbled down the chimney shaft and become powdered pink dust on the floor before the hearth. Teddy sidestepped the debris and tried to quell the fear quickening his pulse; he walked through the parlor and found a staircase that descended to a cellar, and he looked back and saw the hands and faces pressed against the windows full of sharp edges and holes. He was Harry Potter's godson, and half a werewolf, and half a Metamorphmagus, and he had a lot to live up to. His schoolmates expected much of him, and Teddy pressed forward, down the creaking stairs.
He kicked up dust as he trudged downwards, running his fingers along the craggy stone walls, and peering into the darkness myopically; in a few years Regulus would be outfitted with glasses, but at the tender age of thirteen, on the cusp of adolescence, he had yet to see the world as anything but a gloomy, fuzzy place, hard to put a finger on. He gripped his wand tightly. Long ago, when Regulus had come to visit his Black cousins as a child, he had ventured into this house wandless, but now he had power at his reach, and he was not afraid to climb upstairs, to drape himself across the strangely soft canopy beds, or, now, for the first time, to explore the dark and musty cellar, eyes peeled for danger, wand held high.
The other boys wondered where he went, and he enjoyed perpetuating the mystery. Once, that silly Malfoy boy had tried to follow him when he left the common room, and Tom had delighted in leading him on a wild goose chase through the castle-up to the Astronomy tower, down to the dungeons again, and out across the Quidditch pitch, before he vanished into the Forbidden Forest and lost pathetic Abraxas Malfoy, who stopped at the edge, quivering in his boots. Tom had stridden forward, embracing the wild darkness, and found, to his glee, a sort of tunnel beneath a tree, which he wandered through for a quarter hour. Tom was not ordinarily surprised, but when he emerged in the cellar of his old haunt, he was desperately pleased and looked around with glimmering eyes.
+++
They never told. They were taken through the tunnel to the cellar, mud gathering on their Mary Janes, cobwebs clinging to their hair, and they were fucked on the velveteen couches in the parlor, sometimes, but more often on the cold cellar floor, their slim white bodies pressed into the dirt like fallen lilies. It was a secret-that's what all the boys made them swear, with finger pressing into the hidden places on their bodies and tongues touching them, too.
Minerva kept it the best. She read aloud from the strange books in the cellar, and watched Tom's cock grow hard in his trousers as she described the hexes and the curses and the spells, read aloud about Muggle torture, whippings, racks and screws, and then, when he stood shakily and leaned back against the craggy walls, undoing the zipper on his trousers and pushing down, she crawled forward and unbuttoned her blouse so Tom could pinch her nipples as she knelt and sucked him until he came in her mouth, salty and hot and cruel, and she never told a soul.
Victoire could not keep a secret. She had too many girlfriends, too many admirers, and so everyone knew within minutes that she was with Teddy Lupin, and then, when it happened, that they were shagging. She told the tittering girls in her dormitory about his smooth, pale chest, and the hair that trailed downwards from his navel, and how his tongue felt on that spot between her thighs, but even Victoire could keep a secret well enough to leave out how and where: viciously, brutally, with too-long fingernails scraping her white shoulders, and on the cellar floor, her head knocking into the cold stone, the books--those books--yellowed with age but fresh with her fingerprints on the pages, as she read them and read them before Teddy was ready for her.
Of them all, though, it was Narcissa who had to keep the secret. She brushed her blond hair three hundred strokes a night, until her scalp was raw, and took scathingly hot baths until her skin burned red, as punishment for the pleasure of the hidden cellar, where Regulus placed her on his hips and made her ride him for hours, until she was sore and aching and sometimes cried salty tears that he licked like a wild animal, pupils dilated with lust. Insatiable Regulus, her beautiful cousin, who tied her wrists with a leather strap, and panted into her ear when he took her from behind, and called her beautiful even as he soiled her, with images of agony from the book's diagrams flickering behind her eyelids as she squeezed them shut in disbelief.
+++
I played chess with Death. I met Him last Sunday, in the cellar, on Mother's Day; He wore a black turtleneck and glasses and looked something like Dad, and so therefore Sirius, only skinnier and paler. Actually, He looked a lot like Uncle Harry, and I was startled, for His voice was a lot deeper than Uncle Harry's.
We played chess. He told me all of the dead are orphans, and all of the orphans are dead, and I insisted that that wasn't true, because I was alive/I wasn't an orphan/I was alive. Don't be ridiculous, said Death, you are not. And I said I was going to live forever, live forever, live forever, and I taunted Him, and he told me that there was only one way to make that true, and I did not know it.
I said I wanted to stand out. I wanted to stand above. Above Malfoy. Above Sirius. Above Albus and James. And Death said, as He took my rook, and then captured my king, there is one way, and only I can tell you how, or you will fade into anonymity, my son. He took out a small book. He picked it up from the cellar floor. Picking it up from the cellar floor, where it had lain dusty, He said, Here, this is how, and He opened to the first page, where a mutilated woman was depicted, and I laughed, I blinked, I cringed.
But I was hungry. I was hungry, and I was going to stand above. I was going to stand out. I had asked and He had said yes, and Death delivered the answer to me, and I read it, and He knelt and stroked me at the same time, and said when I could Love and Hate at once, when I felt Desire and Duty at once, then I was ready. He knows, Death said. He knows.
I am just the orphan, the extra, the godson, the monster in three fashions, but Death swore to me that I had only to read the book from the cellar floor and all would be changed.
+++
It was not like that, exactly, said Death. But it was something like that. It was something like that, and they had been chosen, but not by Me. I was the Messenger, they were the Chosen, the girls were the Innocents, and the world was the Victim.
+++
Salazar built the house with his own two hands, watched Godric stitch his hat and Rowena write her books and Helga weave her tapestry, and knew what he was building would last longer and forever, would outdo the secret chamber, the silly tunnels, the moving staircases, any of the everythings they had put together on their own. This was a house, a home, a place to be, and he breathed a little bit of his soul into the soot on the hearth and watched it flame green and then white and he laughed when he imagined the generations of boys who would come. Oh, how they would come, and Salazar draped the hood across his face and sat down to wait.