The Most Horrific Summer (Harry Potter, Tom/Harry, #22)
Title: The Most Horrific Summer
Author: pollicem
Pairing: Tom/Harry
Fandom: Harry Potter
Theme: Cradle - #22
Disclaimer: Obviously.
Rating/Warnings: Unhappy. Deathfic. PG-15ish?
The Most Horrific Summer
It was the perfect night. The sky was glowing with stars, Scorpio extra bright, dabbing its light on his shoulders, blessing his errand. He sauntered down the street, magnificently, robes billowing out behind him, such a small thing filling him with absolute certainty. He felt it vibrating in the phoenix wand held loosely in his hand. Felt it buzzing down, triumphant, to tingle in his toes. Tonight would be perfect. He knew it.
He inhaled deep, the air dense in his throat - jasmine and magnolia, and so thick and cloying and good he wanted to grab it and rip it to shreds. A flick of his wrist and a glare and the bushes went up in flames. He smiled and continued to the house at the end of the lane.
Lights and laughter spilled out through the windows as he looked in. Smiling Mudblood cavorting with a filthy blood traitor, and his nose wrinkled in disgust. Abominations. But he’d fix that - make the night even more beautiful.
Getting in was so easy he almost thought it was a trap. Might’ve even left and come back later if it weren’t for the horror on their faces, his heroism and her panic as she tried to flee with the baby and plead with her lover to run too. But there wasn’t time for much running or panic, because it was one swish and a flash of green light before her cries rose to a delicious squeal, baby cradled in her arms, clutched to her chest. She, a frightened human shield.
“You could be spared. I only want him.” His eyes narrowed, burning through her incredible green ones. Don’t worry, Mudblood. I won’t spare you too long. Just think of all the fun I could have with you...
She squeezed her eyes tight closed and then, “No, no, no! Not Harry! Not Harry! Take me instead, but not Harry!”
He smiled again, a rictus of repulsion, and raised his wand. Another flash, and then awful, throaty wails from the baby, swathed in blankets. He stepped over it, looked down, almost dropped his wand when their eyes met. Those penetrating green eyes nearly knocked him to his knees, palpable and devastating as a kiss. In a decade, he’d ravage with those eyes.
Pity he wouldn’t have those years.
Then Tom looked away, and then the baby’s howls began again, carving deep into his ears, and whether the screeches had continued all that time, or just started when he’d looked away, Tom didn’t care, but all this had to end now and he was going to finish it - so, in one smooth movement and one giant flash of green that rocked the house, and the world, there was perfect stillness. Just for a second, time enough, maybe, to inhale a gasp, as long as the time between sunset and dusk. And after that, the cries began again, redoubled, and something gave out and caved in and shattered, and Tom didn’t know if it came from the house or from inside of him, and he was doubled over from the pain, dearmerlin, so much pain, felt like being ripped apart, deep inside, every nerve, every cell, every goddamned atom inside him was withering and why was there still that awful noise and why did he hurt like this and this had never happened before whatthehell?
Shuddering, struggling for breath as he stumbled, head near his knees, out of that horrible house and away from the infernal bawling of that Gods-cursed infant, trying to figure out where he was going now.
Scorpio burned him, through his torn and tangled robes - burned his back, burned his arms, burned burned burned - as he hurried, as fast as he could, yet much too slowly, away.
Author: pollicem
Pairing: Tom/Harry
Fandom: Harry Potter
Theme: Cradle - #22
Disclaimer: Obviously.
Rating/Warnings: Unhappy. Deathfic. PG-15ish?
The Most Horrific Summer
It was the perfect night. The sky was glowing with stars, Scorpio extra bright, dabbing its light on his shoulders, blessing his errand. He sauntered down the street, magnificently, robes billowing out behind him, such a small thing filling him with absolute certainty. He felt it vibrating in the phoenix wand held loosely in his hand. Felt it buzzing down, triumphant, to tingle in his toes. Tonight would be perfect. He knew it.
He inhaled deep, the air dense in his throat - jasmine and magnolia, and so thick and cloying and good he wanted to grab it and rip it to shreds. A flick of his wrist and a glare and the bushes went up in flames. He smiled and continued to the house at the end of the lane.
Lights and laughter spilled out through the windows as he looked in. Smiling Mudblood cavorting with a filthy blood traitor, and his nose wrinkled in disgust. Abominations. But he’d fix that - make the night even more beautiful.
Getting in was so easy he almost thought it was a trap. Might’ve even left and come back later if it weren’t for the horror on their faces, his heroism and her panic as she tried to flee with the baby and plead with her lover to run too. But there wasn’t time for much running or panic, because it was one swish and a flash of green light before her cries rose to a delicious squeal, baby cradled in her arms, clutched to her chest. She, a frightened human shield.
“You could be spared. I only want him.” His eyes narrowed, burning through her incredible green ones. Don’t worry, Mudblood. I won’t spare you too long. Just think of all the fun I could have with you...
She squeezed her eyes tight closed and then, “No, no, no! Not Harry! Not Harry! Take me instead, but not Harry!”
He smiled again, a rictus of repulsion, and raised his wand. Another flash, and then awful, throaty wails from the baby, swathed in blankets. He stepped over it, looked down, almost dropped his wand when their eyes met. Those penetrating green eyes nearly knocked him to his knees, palpable and devastating as a kiss. In a decade, he’d ravage with those eyes.
Pity he wouldn’t have those years.
Then Tom looked away, and then the baby’s howls began again, carving deep into his ears, and whether the screeches had continued all that time, or just started when he’d looked away, Tom didn’t care, but all this had to end now and he was going to finish it - so, in one smooth movement and one giant flash of green that rocked the house, and the world, there was perfect stillness. Just for a second, time enough, maybe, to inhale a gasp, as long as the time between sunset and dusk. And after that, the cries began again, redoubled, and something gave out and caved in and shattered, and Tom didn’t know if it came from the house or from inside of him, and he was doubled over from the pain, dearmerlin, so much pain, felt like being ripped apart, deep inside, every nerve, every cell, every goddamned atom inside him was withering and why was there still that awful noise and why did he hurt like this and this had never happened before whatthehell?
Shuddering, struggling for breath as he stumbled, head near his knees, out of that horrible house and away from the infernal bawling of that Gods-cursed infant, trying to figure out where he was going now.
Scorpio burned him, through his torn and tangled robes - burned his back, burned his arms, burned burned burned - as he hurried, as fast as he could, yet much too slowly, away.