errorYou must be logged in to review this story.
Bitter Empty Shell
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
1,354
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
3
Views:
1,354
Reviews:
2
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Absolution in the rain.
Disclaimer:- See last chapter
Warnings:- Some borderline tendencies, a bit of blood, if this is not your tastes read something else. There will be far more
The sillhouetted shadows flickering at the edge of the soft blue light from Harry’s wand moved gently like liquid. He sat there with his arms around his legs and rocked gently. The smoke from the trembling right hand rising translucent up to the stalactite covered roof. The condensation of his breath rising and intermingling with the smoke on it’s journey towards the roof. He straightened his crumpled black duster coat as he stood, brushed the dirt off it and then the tears from his cheeks, not noticing that as he did so he left lines of dirt in their place. His reflex to push his glasses up his nose still there, he reached up and then remembering he hadn’t worn glasses for years, he shrugged. He realized he knew not where he was, nor the time of day.
* * * * * * * * * *
The blonde walked barefoot downstairs, past the beautiful oak bannisters and into the hallway clutching the still warm cup of tears and coffee to his chest. Sobbing slightly he walked out into the garden. The rain was falling softly on the plants and the smell of the leaves and the wet garden caught him in it’s gentle natural embrace. The soft red of the acer leaves accentuating and contrasting with his own pain. The pain of a heart taken from a breast and rent. He knelt on the soaked grass dropping the cup with his arms outstretched. His blue silk dressing gown beginning to become slick against his beautiful torso as it took in more and more water. His pale hands elegant in the pose of the kneeling martyr to love, his soft blonde hair forming wet ringlets against his forehead as the water dripped down from his own eyebrows into his eyes and ran down to the tip of his perfect nose. Then the sobs came hard and fast and he buried his face and chest in the cold damp lawn with his hands over his eyes. Eventually he rolled onto his back and lay there cruciform watching the sky change and the trees move as the water fell on his silk gown now stained with green and brown.
The sky moved past e lae lay there and then cold and shivering he snatched himself from his fugue-like state stood up and with his finger-nails raked red tracks down his white cheeks. In his mind as the blood flowed out so too the pain decreased. The water took the blood and washed it as it slowly welled up to join the other colours on the expensive blue silk. An absolution by the elements and blood, but he was not the sinner. Maybe he was, maybe that was why he deserved this. He walked in through the wooden framed patio doors and walked back to his rooms to sit once again on the window-seat with another cup of coffee. So this was how it felt after one year. He sat there watching the sunlight battle with the rain for dominance over the skies and the earth.
He was disturbed shortly afterwards by an owl tapping softly at his window. It shook it’s wet feathers out and waited on the ledge as he opened the window and received a copy of the Daily Prophet. He placed the money it it in the pouch and watched the owl depart. He hadn’t been a subscriber to the paper for a whilw. Cw. Curious as to the events of the world beyond his rooms and garden he opened the paper. His heart leapt and then fell leaden as he read the news, “Harry Potter spotted in London”. It was nothing new, shortly after he dissappeared the papers had about as many sightings of the boy who lived as pages. Then he read further “Auror patrols will be doubled in the London area”. This meant the ministry was taking the sighting seriously. Maybe there was something to it afterall.
When hope is all you have, you do not want to take anything with optimism for when your hope is shattered then you are truly left with nothing.
* * * * * * * * * *
“I get the feeling we are banging our heads against a brick wall with the Potter investigation.” Hermione’s voice echoed around the Ministry council chamber. “I think it highly likely that he will attempt to return to Draco, as such we need to place constant guards around Malfoy Manor.” It pained her to continue; “Order the Auror Hit squads to surround it and tell them that permission has been granted for the use of unforgiveables. It is not expected that we will question him.”
Somehow she didn’t feel right, she didn’t understand why Harry would have behaved the way he did following Voldemort’s death. She hated herself for sending him to Azkaban, she hated Dumbledore for putting Harry in the position he was in.
Augustus Grint, the spokesman for St. Mungo’s and Wizarding Health raised his hand to speak, Hermione acknowledged him and he politely rose to his feet. “I believe it is imperative that the nature of his crimes be disclosed, we cannot expect the Auror’s to kill a suspect when even they don’t know the reasoning behind it.”
Two years previously Harry had been sent to Azkaban, he had miraculously escaped shortly after his arrival. The sentencing had been carried out privately by Albus Dumbledore, Hermione was the clerk to the court and finally Cornelius Fudge. The nature of the courts decision and reasoning was clear to those within the court room. Hermione however could not forget the look of betrayal on Harry’s face as the Dementors closed in to escort him from the place. He was to be sentenced to Azkaban for life. Nothing of this trial had ever been disclosed beyond the room. The Wizarding press had speculated wildly on the reasoning but nobody had ever come close to the truth.
A more haunting memory of Hermione’s was the tear-streaked face of Draco when she informed him later of the courts decision in a bar in Muggle London.
* * * * * * * * * *
The bar was covered in beautiful red plush with a hardwood floor and nouveau wave sculptures around the open glass windows. Draco was sat there with two drinks in front of him, a vodka martini for himself and a cosmopolitan. The stool next to him was vacant and a deck of marlboro red cigarettes were sat unopened on the counter. He turned as Hermione walked in with a smile on his face. Then looked curiously at Hermione’s eyes.
“Where’s Harry, Hermione. I thought he’d be here with you to celebrate his honourable acquittal.” Draco, looked at Hermione confused.
“Oh, Draco, I’m sorry.” The words echoed around in his head he felt like he was swimming as the waves of despondance and depression washed over him.
“So when’s he going to be back.” The small silver chain of Draco’s hope held out against the fear and disbelief.
“He was found guilty, and has been taken to Azkaban for life Dray. I’m sorry.” Hermione was crying.
“But why? He hasn’t done anything.” Draco gripped his cocktail glass and shattered it in his hand feeling the blood slowly drip. “He wouldn’t have done anything... he...” The tears shone in his eyes.
Hermione pulled him into a hug, her motherly incts cts to calm the beautiful tearful young man in front of her. Draco looked to the bar and saw Harry’s drink waiting for him, and his cigarettes. The tears flowed free and fast.
* * * * * * * * * *
Warnings:- Some borderline tendencies, a bit of blood, if this is not your tastes read something else. There will be far more
The sillhouetted shadows flickering at the edge of the soft blue light from Harry’s wand moved gently like liquid. He sat there with his arms around his legs and rocked gently. The smoke from the trembling right hand rising translucent up to the stalactite covered roof. The condensation of his breath rising and intermingling with the smoke on it’s journey towards the roof. He straightened his crumpled black duster coat as he stood, brushed the dirt off it and then the tears from his cheeks, not noticing that as he did so he left lines of dirt in their place. His reflex to push his glasses up his nose still there, he reached up and then remembering he hadn’t worn glasses for years, he shrugged. He realized he knew not where he was, nor the time of day.
* * * * * * * * * *
The blonde walked barefoot downstairs, past the beautiful oak bannisters and into the hallway clutching the still warm cup of tears and coffee to his chest. Sobbing slightly he walked out into the garden. The rain was falling softly on the plants and the smell of the leaves and the wet garden caught him in it’s gentle natural embrace. The soft red of the acer leaves accentuating and contrasting with his own pain. The pain of a heart taken from a breast and rent. He knelt on the soaked grass dropping the cup with his arms outstretched. His blue silk dressing gown beginning to become slick against his beautiful torso as it took in more and more water. His pale hands elegant in the pose of the kneeling martyr to love, his soft blonde hair forming wet ringlets against his forehead as the water dripped down from his own eyebrows into his eyes and ran down to the tip of his perfect nose. Then the sobs came hard and fast and he buried his face and chest in the cold damp lawn with his hands over his eyes. Eventually he rolled onto his back and lay there cruciform watching the sky change and the trees move as the water fell on his silk gown now stained with green and brown.
The sky moved past e lae lay there and then cold and shivering he snatched himself from his fugue-like state stood up and with his finger-nails raked red tracks down his white cheeks. In his mind as the blood flowed out so too the pain decreased. The water took the blood and washed it as it slowly welled up to join the other colours on the expensive blue silk. An absolution by the elements and blood, but he was not the sinner. Maybe he was, maybe that was why he deserved this. He walked in through the wooden framed patio doors and walked back to his rooms to sit once again on the window-seat with another cup of coffee. So this was how it felt after one year. He sat there watching the sunlight battle with the rain for dominance over the skies and the earth.
He was disturbed shortly afterwards by an owl tapping softly at his window. It shook it’s wet feathers out and waited on the ledge as he opened the window and received a copy of the Daily Prophet. He placed the money it it in the pouch and watched the owl depart. He hadn’t been a subscriber to the paper for a whilw. Cw. Curious as to the events of the world beyond his rooms and garden he opened the paper. His heart leapt and then fell leaden as he read the news, “Harry Potter spotted in London”. It was nothing new, shortly after he dissappeared the papers had about as many sightings of the boy who lived as pages. Then he read further “Auror patrols will be doubled in the London area”. This meant the ministry was taking the sighting seriously. Maybe there was something to it afterall.
When hope is all you have, you do not want to take anything with optimism for when your hope is shattered then you are truly left with nothing.
* * * * * * * * * *
“I get the feeling we are banging our heads against a brick wall with the Potter investigation.” Hermione’s voice echoed around the Ministry council chamber. “I think it highly likely that he will attempt to return to Draco, as such we need to place constant guards around Malfoy Manor.” It pained her to continue; “Order the Auror Hit squads to surround it and tell them that permission has been granted for the use of unforgiveables. It is not expected that we will question him.”
Somehow she didn’t feel right, she didn’t understand why Harry would have behaved the way he did following Voldemort’s death. She hated herself for sending him to Azkaban, she hated Dumbledore for putting Harry in the position he was in.
Augustus Grint, the spokesman for St. Mungo’s and Wizarding Health raised his hand to speak, Hermione acknowledged him and he politely rose to his feet. “I believe it is imperative that the nature of his crimes be disclosed, we cannot expect the Auror’s to kill a suspect when even they don’t know the reasoning behind it.”
Two years previously Harry had been sent to Azkaban, he had miraculously escaped shortly after his arrival. The sentencing had been carried out privately by Albus Dumbledore, Hermione was the clerk to the court and finally Cornelius Fudge. The nature of the courts decision and reasoning was clear to those within the court room. Hermione however could not forget the look of betrayal on Harry’s face as the Dementors closed in to escort him from the place. He was to be sentenced to Azkaban for life. Nothing of this trial had ever been disclosed beyond the room. The Wizarding press had speculated wildly on the reasoning but nobody had ever come close to the truth.
A more haunting memory of Hermione’s was the tear-streaked face of Draco when she informed him later of the courts decision in a bar in Muggle London.
* * * * * * * * * *
The bar was covered in beautiful red plush with a hardwood floor and nouveau wave sculptures around the open glass windows. Draco was sat there with two drinks in front of him, a vodka martini for himself and a cosmopolitan. The stool next to him was vacant and a deck of marlboro red cigarettes were sat unopened on the counter. He turned as Hermione walked in with a smile on his face. Then looked curiously at Hermione’s eyes.
“Where’s Harry, Hermione. I thought he’d be here with you to celebrate his honourable acquittal.” Draco, looked at Hermione confused.
“Oh, Draco, I’m sorry.” The words echoed around in his head he felt like he was swimming as the waves of despondance and depression washed over him.
“So when’s he going to be back.” The small silver chain of Draco’s hope held out against the fear and disbelief.
“He was found guilty, and has been taken to Azkaban for life Dray. I’m sorry.” Hermione was crying.
“But why? He hasn’t done anything.” Draco gripped his cocktail glass and shattered it in his hand feeling the blood slowly drip. “He wouldn’t have done anything... he...” The tears shone in his eyes.
Hermione pulled him into a hug, her motherly incts cts to calm the beautiful tearful young man in front of her. Draco looked to the bar and saw Harry’s drink waiting for him, and his cigarettes. The tears flowed free and fast.
* * * * * * * * * *