Low Man Is Due

31/07/08

Really really sorry about the massive delay! The muse went a-wandering (I think on a world wide cruise!) and did not want to carry on the story. Nothing I tried worked - playing "Low Man's Lyric" to get me in the right frame of mind, re-reading the chapters, re-reading my plan. The bunny had just up and left! To be honest, I don't think much of this chapter, but just wanted to post SOMETHING so that hopefully it'll kickstart the muse again!

Thank you for your patience (or impatience!) SP

Chapter two: My fingers seek my veins

They tried to hold me, to imprison me in Azkaban, but I did not really break my parole. Yes, I did ignore Harry’s instruction to stay where I was, but his life was bleeding out above me. I still wake at night, sweat streaming down my face, wetness around my eyes that I tell myself is more sweat, yet I know it is not. How I wish I had never gone to see him.

Breathing in and out hurts. With each breath in I think of Harry, with each exhale I wish I could have done something. Anything.

I’m at Hogwarts, little as I want to be. The castle, to accommodate me, revealed a hitherto unseen dungeon area. I am trapped in this gloomy place day in, day out. For only one hour in every twenty-four am I allowed to freedom, during the night, whilst the students sleep. I have been made aware that during the holidays, if not students stay on site, I will be allowed more hours outside, but what is the point?

Here, in my dungeon I can make potions, pretending they can help Harry. Harry. He is beyond my or anyone’s help now. But still, before I sleep, to ward off the nightmare I know that is coming, I focus on how wonderful her felt wrapped around my cock. My hand always edges down to my hardness, gripping and twisting and pulling and jerking until I am gasping his name, that infuriating wetness around my eyes again.

It fascinates me, my cock: the throb of the blood as it pumps frantically through the enlarged veins, the wetness that sits at the slit and slowly dribbles over the sensitive head. I imagine his mouth on me, sucking me down, tongue lapping along the veins, making more blood flow into my aching prick.

Every night, before I try and sleep, knowing the nightmare that awaits, I come thinking of Harry.

***

Hermione sat beside a bed, quietly reading aloud from a newspaper. The boy who lay next to her didn’t respond to anything she said or did, not even when she sobbed his name and shook him.

It had been weeks, and there was no improvement. Mr and Mrs Weasley had stood by her side and cried, telling her not to give up, although it was clear that they thought her devotion hopeless.

She had no intention of giving up!

Every day, ignoring the life she should have been leading, Hermione sat and read, held one-sided conversations, tried to think of anything which would interest this boy she loved.

Nothing worked.

She was not going to give up, however. Somehow, she would get through to him, even if she had to slice open one of his veins to do so!

***

The wind blows continuously here, but it isn’t painful or loud or annoying. It just is. I am surrounded by grey clouds that shift and swirl around me, parting occasionally so that a few distant muffled words can be heard. The words mean nothing to me.

I look down, but do not have a body. I can move my muscles in my mind, but there is nothing to move. I don’t really miss my arms, or legs, or cock. Do I even have eyes? I don’t know. There is no pain here, even though I know I should be feeling pain. There should be blood pumping around my body through my veins, but it doesn’t.

I don’t want to leave here. It is safe and comfortable. Sometimes the words I hear d make sense, and then they frighten me. Harsh ugly words. I do not want to hear them. At those times the clouds swirl more thickly about me, providing more protection from the harshness out there.

Here is good.

***

Harry. He fills my world. I would write him letters but know they would never be allowed near him. I want to see him, to hold him, to talk to him, but no one will let me. They say I have done enough damage already. Of course, they are right, but that doesn’t make it any easier for me.

I love him, and nothing seems to be helping him.

The Granger female sits by his side and utters inanities at him all day. If I were Harry, I’d stay locked up in my own head too to escape that!

I know that I could get through to him, make him come back to us, but they won’t let me even see him now. They blame the cuts on his arms on me, saying that clearly the self-harming was due to what I did to him. Sadly, everyone seems to have forgotten Malfoy.

That bastard is going to pay for what he did to Harry. Azkaban isn’t making him pay. He needs to be locked in a room filled with boiling acid and left to swim in it for hour after hour after hour. Every time he starts to pass out I’d haul him back out, revitalise him, then throw him back in. The things he did to Harry were vile.

I did everything I could to protect Harry. I gave him a choice. Not a good choice, I will admit, but it was a choice. I even saved him from the Death Eaters when he was unable to move. That little action could have landed both of us in huge amounts of trouble! The Dark Lord has never been a fan of perceived weakness. Thank god my Occulemency skills are better than his Legilimency ones! I was the one who told the Order where to find Harry, and told them as soon as I did. I would have relished more days alone with my boy, but knew that that wouldn’t happen. The Dark Lord would not allow me to protect Harry a second time, and then he would have been passed to… who knows? Not one of those Death Eaters would have shown him any mercy, and yet it is my mercy that means I am imprisoned at Hogwarts, never able to see him again.

I understand why Harry cut himself, better than any of those fools do. To cut yourself, to feel the cold metal slice through skin is to be in control.

And neither Harry nor myself have ever been in control of this situation.