Lords and Gods
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Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Draco/Hermione
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Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,861
Reviews:
5
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female › Draco/Hermione
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,861
Reviews:
5
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.
Lords and Gods
Title: Lords and Gods
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Woah, what? HP? Definitely not mine. Yours?
A/N: I let my friend read this last night. Afterwards she didn’t talk to me for a good half hour, convinced I was mentally ill myself.
So before you even START I have to say – this is most certainly one SICK thing. Well, sick, more or less… it was originally a drabble, but got out of hand. I got the idea out of this crazy RP game (YES, shameless as I am – yes, I RP), it’s basically the mind of a madman drawn out. Strangely. I also intended it to be much more with the D/Hr love, but ended with so little of it I’m not quite sure I’m even allowed to post it under this subsection.
So I’m warning, AND HIGHLY SUGGEST, that if what you’re feeling like is something light or even slightly fulfilling, then cleeeek away. ‘Cause this will only upset you, and really – we don’t want that :)
General concept I got from Bernard Shaw’s amazing work, Back to Methuselah.
*
Lords and Gods are infinite. Infinite. Timeless. No concept of start and end and die and born. Just being, always.
Why can Lords and Gods kill?
Why?
Because they’ve never been born. Can you live when you’ve not been born? Can you be when you’ll never not-be? The infinite do not comprehend time; cannot comprehend time pausing, stopping, beginning for an individual. They do not fear the fate of the dying, for death is as foreign to them as the never-ending is to us.
Be a God, child. Forget about that human shit, you’ll never die. You can’t die! You’re above that, you’re infinite, timeless creation manifested in water and blood, flesh that’ll never rot. You’re chosen, child!
You’re chosen because no one chose you before.
“No, no – no, no… no way. It’s impossible. Everything has to come out of somewhere – somehow. Seriously.”
Lords and Gods are forever. Impossible is a moment, because the next one it could possible. We’re talking about something beyond that, this is forever we’re talking about here. Forever doesn’t have moments, because something infinite has no middle, no three-quarters, no one hundredth. Impossible doesn’t begin to describe it, impossible takes half a second to say out loud.
“Something can not evolve out of nothing! I’m not that gullible. Where did it come from? Who made it? Who made what it was made of and—“
There is a difference between gullible and believing the believable. But for the sake of the argument, child, I give you the maker of all! There you have it, I grant you the maker of everything. And his maker, and his, and his, and his, etcetera, etcetera! Are you pleased now, Draco? An infinity of makers is unthinkable and extravagant; it is no harder to believe in number one than in number fifty million; so why not accept number one and stop there, since no attempt to get behind him will remove your logical difficulty?
“By your leave, it is as easy for me to believe in naught, or as well, believe all made itself; in fact much easier; for the universe visibly exists and makes itself as it goes along, whereas a maker for it is a hypothesis.”
You’re not a God, child. No one’s a God, come on! There’s power, there a lot and little and some were born with it. Lords and Gods choose the worthy, child, not those born with worthiness. Lords and Gods will never choose you. You’re too late! The ticket’s already drawn, the numbers have been counted, divided and given. Everyone knows their place, Draco, it’s time for you to acknowledge yours.
“Why just one? If we’re all so fucking worthy, if my blood’s so fucking blessed – why just one? And why the—HEY! DON’T YOU FUCKING TURN AWAY FROM ME WHEN I’M TALKING TO YOU! Why – why the wrong one?”
A choice is based on facts. On facts and opinions. Facts happen in moments, hours, days and weeks – little platforms of time within a person’s lifetime. Lords and Gods do not acknowledge a certain moment in time; a fact, a half a second; because infinite is not to be divided into numbers. Into seconds into minutes. It’s forever. Choices of the never-ending are choices made of opinions. Opinions are the closest Lords and Gods will ever get to facts. Opinions are drawn from facts. You’re born in worthiness, and you reason your facts, child. But your take nothing of it, your opinions are worthless. Surely, you reason the ones you have infallibly, but you’ve drawn them from other’s facts, other’s words, fed to you from birth on.
“But – but You-Know-Who! His father was a bloody Muggle, wasn’t he? So what was up with that? Huh? What the fuck was up with that? What, was it a test of how much Muggle you could have in you, and still stay loyal? Still stay pure? Well, it isn’t MY fault that MY blood is too shittingly pure to prove myself capable of Muggle blood. Isn’t MY fault I needn’t even be chosen, since it was given to me by birth. BY FUCKING HEREDITY! No. Not my fault.”
But really, they need you. They don’t know they do, and they won’t know until it’s over. Years from now, when it’s long gone they’ll know that–
DON’T REST, I TOLDYOU!
Don’t rest until everything’s red.
You can do it, you’re a God! You’re everything! You’re the chosen one! The maker of all that’s to come!
“You know red isn’t red, but the absence of red? Yes. All that is red absorbs colours out of the light – every possible colour it absorbs, except for red. What’s left is red, what’s left for us to see – what gets reflected back by the object and into our eyes, is the red. Gryffindors weren’t red as a lion’s mane. They were fucking the absence of it, the cheating bastards. And… what? WHAT? Green, I don’t know, green… well, that’s completely beside the point, thank you.”
Potter wasn’t wearing green. He was wearing red.
“He didn’t deserve red. Or the absence of it.”
Or to be Chosen.
“What was wrong with green, anyway? Salazar wore green. You-know-who wore green.”
Yeah! What was wrong with you, Draco? What, your blood? But your blood is red. Or anything but red. Whatever. Was it too pure? Was it too clean-cut, too perfect? FUCK that!
“Yeah! And Mudblood, fuck her too. I don’t understand. It isn’t perfectly believable, it isn’t even slightly acceptable! There they are, the half-blood, the mudblood, and the blood-traitor, and they… they were there. They got to be the ones. The CHOSEN ones! ‘Oooh, ooh, look at us, we’re so chosen! We’re so chosen it comes out of our fucking ears! Ooooh!’”
Are you wondering what would’ve happened if you were a blood traitor, Draco? Look at how she looks at him, like he’s her fucking saviour, FUCKING MASSIAH! Can you remember anyone ever looking at you like that, Draco?
“No.”
No one ever thinks you’re anywhere to save anyone. You’re there to cause trouble, aren’t you? War and fights and MASSACRE, EVERYONE! Bloodbath, whoohoo! Pure, half, traitors, you’ll spill anyone’s! Yeah, that’s Malfoy for ya’ – in a nutshell.
“NO! NO, I—I’m not, FUCK! I’m not fucking thirsty for anyone’s fucking blood, man! Except for mine right? Imagine, just IMAGINE – what if my blood wasn’t so pure? Was if it was dirty, huh? WHAT THEN? What the FUCK would happen then? Dirty. Like mud and worms and spiders… what then?”
Do you think people would think you could save them, with your dirtyass blood, Draco?
“Pft, gullible bastards.”
Well, wasn’t Harry Potter happy with himself. Wasn’t he pleased to be himself. Wasn’t he? Wasn’t he just fucking GRAND?
“Yeah, I KNOW! And – get a load to this – you know what he said to me? He said I couldn’t join them. Told me to stay away, stay where I belonged. With my father, SHIT – with You-Know-Who. Told me to stay the hell away, he did. Said I picked sides, that it was too late. He’s seen me stare, he said, and that I try and make it seem like I hate them. And I was like, THE FUCK! They’re the ones who had to take me with them, weren’t they? I didn’t ask for SHIT! They could’ve just left me behind. Like father did. He had no fucking problem, and HELL – he had the same fucking blood as me! But then he said other stuff – just wouldn’t fucking stop!”
He knew nothing, did he Draco? He thought he did. He thought he owned everything, too, the stupid ass. ‘Cause there he was, seventeen, thought he was about to save the fucking world from the claws of You-know-who, and yet, he knew nothing about his cause. About why, why Death Eaters why Pureblood and why war. He just assumed, assumed it was like that. Bad, good, bad, good. There you had it, the world in thirteen seconds! Harry Potter good, Draco Malfoy bad!
“YEAH! YEAH! Exactly! It gets worse though. Much worse, he was kind of pissed then – because I didn’t say he was right and stuff, so he went on with that whole ‘I’ve seen you stare’ deal. He said – he said that I tried lash around with words, as though it’s the easiest thing in the world. And then he said he’d seen me stare, again! Stare when she brings me lunch, when she comes over to read stuff from newspaper or shit like that – and then, listen, listen – and then he got up like real close, grabbed me by my collar and shit, went like ‘but it’s never going to happen, don’t you see? You’ll never have it, Malfoy, you’ll never have what it takes to be out there.’ And I was like, what the FUCK crawled up YOUR ass, Potter? And spat in his face. And then he backed off, like, FINALLY! And said something about her again, ‘ooh, ooh, I’ve seen you stare at her, ooh!’ And then – this is the best one, listen – and then he said ‘you’ll never have her, too. Do you get that? You’ll never have her’”.
Her, he said? You couldn’t have her? BUT YOU DON’T WANT HER!
…Right?
“I—I don’t want HER! I just… want a bit of her. A little, little bit. A bit of her blood, the dirty, muddy kind. I just kind of want to know how it’ll be like, you know, if it were… mine. To run a little along with my own blood, flow a little with my fucking channels. Potter has that kind of half-blood, that kind of half earthly worm and moles kind of blood. You-Know-Who has that kind of blood. They were… FUCK, they were both chosen, you know? THEY WERE CHOSEN BECAUSE OF THEIR BLOOD!”
Hey man, I get you! You’re a Malfoy. YOU’RE DRACO MALFOY! You should have that blood, too.
“No. No, I have the RIGHT to have that blood.”
Then do it. This is what your moment, man! Your platform of time in the middle of infinity. Can you do it, Draco? Lords and Gods are infinite. Are you infinite? Timeless? Have you no concept of start and end and die and born? Would you like to just be, always?
You want to know why can Lords and Gods spill blood?
“Why?”
Because they’ve never been born. Do you think you can you be, when you’ll not be born? That you can be, when you’ll never not-be? Because the infinite do not comprehend time. They can’t comprehend time pausing, stopping, beginning for an individual. They don’t go and fear the fate of the dying, for death is as foreign to them as the never-ending is to the living mortals.
“Shit… is, is it supposed to be like this? Fuck! She isn’t supposed to bleed this much – shit – she’s – FUCK, I think I’ve done something wrong. HELP! Fuck, ANYONE! She won’t fucking stop bleeding, man! Make her stop! FUCK!”
Be a God, child. Forget about that human shit, you’ll never die. You can’t die! You’re above that, you’re infinite, timeless creation manifested in water and blood, flesh that’ll never rot. You’re chosen, child.
You’re chosen because no one chose you before.
“SHE’S DYING, YOU SON OF A BITCH! SHE’S FUCKING DYING! MAKE THIS SHIT STOP!”
I think I’ll just tell you how it is instead, Draco.
The dead are.
They’ll never be born. But they are. They are, and they’ll never not-be. They’re infinite, they do not comprehend time. They can’t comprehend time pausing, stopping, beginning for an individual. They don’t fear the fate of the dying, for death is as foreign to them as the never-ending is to the living. Just the living.
“SHUT THE FUCK UP! SHE’S NOT… SHE’S NOT GOING TO DIE! SHE’S NOT GOING TO DIE!”
Congratulations.
You’re a worthy man now, Draco. How does it feel? How does her blood feels with yours, through your veins, through your channels?
Do you feel like a God now, Draco?
“GET… STOP the… get out of my… head… get out… she’s… I don’t feel her heart anymore. Did it stop? DID IT STOP? I CAN’T FEEL IT! DID IT STOP? Tell me, TELL ME! DID IT STOP?!”
Congratulations.
You’re a Lord and a God now, Draco.
Want to know why Lords and Gods can kill people, Draco?
Do you?
No. I didn’t think so.
Rating: R
Disclaimer: Woah, what? HP? Definitely not mine. Yours?
A/N: I let my friend read this last night. Afterwards she didn’t talk to me for a good half hour, convinced I was mentally ill myself.
So before you even START I have to say – this is most certainly one SICK thing. Well, sick, more or less… it was originally a drabble, but got out of hand. I got the idea out of this crazy RP game (YES, shameless as I am – yes, I RP), it’s basically the mind of a madman drawn out. Strangely. I also intended it to be much more with the D/Hr love, but ended with so little of it I’m not quite sure I’m even allowed to post it under this subsection.
So I’m warning, AND HIGHLY SUGGEST, that if what you’re feeling like is something light or even slightly fulfilling, then cleeeek away. ‘Cause this will only upset you, and really – we don’t want that :)
General concept I got from Bernard Shaw’s amazing work, Back to Methuselah.
*
Lords and Gods are infinite. Infinite. Timeless. No concept of start and end and die and born. Just being, always.
Why can Lords and Gods kill?
Why?
Because they’ve never been born. Can you live when you’ve not been born? Can you be when you’ll never not-be? The infinite do not comprehend time; cannot comprehend time pausing, stopping, beginning for an individual. They do not fear the fate of the dying, for death is as foreign to them as the never-ending is to us.
Be a God, child. Forget about that human shit, you’ll never die. You can’t die! You’re above that, you’re infinite, timeless creation manifested in water and blood, flesh that’ll never rot. You’re chosen, child!
You’re chosen because no one chose you before.
“No, no – no, no… no way. It’s impossible. Everything has to come out of somewhere – somehow. Seriously.”
Lords and Gods are forever. Impossible is a moment, because the next one it could possible. We’re talking about something beyond that, this is forever we’re talking about here. Forever doesn’t have moments, because something infinite has no middle, no three-quarters, no one hundredth. Impossible doesn’t begin to describe it, impossible takes half a second to say out loud.
“Something can not evolve out of nothing! I’m not that gullible. Where did it come from? Who made it? Who made what it was made of and—“
There is a difference between gullible and believing the believable. But for the sake of the argument, child, I give you the maker of all! There you have it, I grant you the maker of everything. And his maker, and his, and his, and his, etcetera, etcetera! Are you pleased now, Draco? An infinity of makers is unthinkable and extravagant; it is no harder to believe in number one than in number fifty million; so why not accept number one and stop there, since no attempt to get behind him will remove your logical difficulty?
“By your leave, it is as easy for me to believe in naught, or as well, believe all made itself; in fact much easier; for the universe visibly exists and makes itself as it goes along, whereas a maker for it is a hypothesis.”
You’re not a God, child. No one’s a God, come on! There’s power, there a lot and little and some were born with it. Lords and Gods choose the worthy, child, not those born with worthiness. Lords and Gods will never choose you. You’re too late! The ticket’s already drawn, the numbers have been counted, divided and given. Everyone knows their place, Draco, it’s time for you to acknowledge yours.
“Why just one? If we’re all so fucking worthy, if my blood’s so fucking blessed – why just one? And why the—HEY! DON’T YOU FUCKING TURN AWAY FROM ME WHEN I’M TALKING TO YOU! Why – why the wrong one?”
A choice is based on facts. On facts and opinions. Facts happen in moments, hours, days and weeks – little platforms of time within a person’s lifetime. Lords and Gods do not acknowledge a certain moment in time; a fact, a half a second; because infinite is not to be divided into numbers. Into seconds into minutes. It’s forever. Choices of the never-ending are choices made of opinions. Opinions are the closest Lords and Gods will ever get to facts. Opinions are drawn from facts. You’re born in worthiness, and you reason your facts, child. But your take nothing of it, your opinions are worthless. Surely, you reason the ones you have infallibly, but you’ve drawn them from other’s facts, other’s words, fed to you from birth on.
“But – but You-Know-Who! His father was a bloody Muggle, wasn’t he? So what was up with that? Huh? What the fuck was up with that? What, was it a test of how much Muggle you could have in you, and still stay loyal? Still stay pure? Well, it isn’t MY fault that MY blood is too shittingly pure to prove myself capable of Muggle blood. Isn’t MY fault I needn’t even be chosen, since it was given to me by birth. BY FUCKING HEREDITY! No. Not my fault.”
But really, they need you. They don’t know they do, and they won’t know until it’s over. Years from now, when it’s long gone they’ll know that–
DON’T REST, I TOLDYOU!
Don’t rest until everything’s red.
You can do it, you’re a God! You’re everything! You’re the chosen one! The maker of all that’s to come!
“You know red isn’t red, but the absence of red? Yes. All that is red absorbs colours out of the light – every possible colour it absorbs, except for red. What’s left is red, what’s left for us to see – what gets reflected back by the object and into our eyes, is the red. Gryffindors weren’t red as a lion’s mane. They were fucking the absence of it, the cheating bastards. And… what? WHAT? Green, I don’t know, green… well, that’s completely beside the point, thank you.”
Potter wasn’t wearing green. He was wearing red.
“He didn’t deserve red. Or the absence of it.”
Or to be Chosen.
“What was wrong with green, anyway? Salazar wore green. You-know-who wore green.”
Yeah! What was wrong with you, Draco? What, your blood? But your blood is red. Or anything but red. Whatever. Was it too pure? Was it too clean-cut, too perfect? FUCK that!
“Yeah! And Mudblood, fuck her too. I don’t understand. It isn’t perfectly believable, it isn’t even slightly acceptable! There they are, the half-blood, the mudblood, and the blood-traitor, and they… they were there. They got to be the ones. The CHOSEN ones! ‘Oooh, ooh, look at us, we’re so chosen! We’re so chosen it comes out of our fucking ears! Ooooh!’”
Are you wondering what would’ve happened if you were a blood traitor, Draco? Look at how she looks at him, like he’s her fucking saviour, FUCKING MASSIAH! Can you remember anyone ever looking at you like that, Draco?
“No.”
No one ever thinks you’re anywhere to save anyone. You’re there to cause trouble, aren’t you? War and fights and MASSACRE, EVERYONE! Bloodbath, whoohoo! Pure, half, traitors, you’ll spill anyone’s! Yeah, that’s Malfoy for ya’ – in a nutshell.
“NO! NO, I—I’m not, FUCK! I’m not fucking thirsty for anyone’s fucking blood, man! Except for mine right? Imagine, just IMAGINE – what if my blood wasn’t so pure? Was if it was dirty, huh? WHAT THEN? What the FUCK would happen then? Dirty. Like mud and worms and spiders… what then?”
Do you think people would think you could save them, with your dirtyass blood, Draco?
“Pft, gullible bastards.”
Well, wasn’t Harry Potter happy with himself. Wasn’t he pleased to be himself. Wasn’t he? Wasn’t he just fucking GRAND?
“Yeah, I KNOW! And – get a load to this – you know what he said to me? He said I couldn’t join them. Told me to stay away, stay where I belonged. With my father, SHIT – with You-Know-Who. Told me to stay the hell away, he did. Said I picked sides, that it was too late. He’s seen me stare, he said, and that I try and make it seem like I hate them. And I was like, THE FUCK! They’re the ones who had to take me with them, weren’t they? I didn’t ask for SHIT! They could’ve just left me behind. Like father did. He had no fucking problem, and HELL – he had the same fucking blood as me! But then he said other stuff – just wouldn’t fucking stop!”
He knew nothing, did he Draco? He thought he did. He thought he owned everything, too, the stupid ass. ‘Cause there he was, seventeen, thought he was about to save the fucking world from the claws of You-know-who, and yet, he knew nothing about his cause. About why, why Death Eaters why Pureblood and why war. He just assumed, assumed it was like that. Bad, good, bad, good. There you had it, the world in thirteen seconds! Harry Potter good, Draco Malfoy bad!
“YEAH! YEAH! Exactly! It gets worse though. Much worse, he was kind of pissed then – because I didn’t say he was right and stuff, so he went on with that whole ‘I’ve seen you stare’ deal. He said – he said that I tried lash around with words, as though it’s the easiest thing in the world. And then he said he’d seen me stare, again! Stare when she brings me lunch, when she comes over to read stuff from newspaper or shit like that – and then, listen, listen – and then he got up like real close, grabbed me by my collar and shit, went like ‘but it’s never going to happen, don’t you see? You’ll never have it, Malfoy, you’ll never have what it takes to be out there.’ And I was like, what the FUCK crawled up YOUR ass, Potter? And spat in his face. And then he backed off, like, FINALLY! And said something about her again, ‘ooh, ooh, I’ve seen you stare at her, ooh!’ And then – this is the best one, listen – and then he said ‘you’ll never have her, too. Do you get that? You’ll never have her’”.
Her, he said? You couldn’t have her? BUT YOU DON’T WANT HER!
…Right?
“I—I don’t want HER! I just… want a bit of her. A little, little bit. A bit of her blood, the dirty, muddy kind. I just kind of want to know how it’ll be like, you know, if it were… mine. To run a little along with my own blood, flow a little with my fucking channels. Potter has that kind of half-blood, that kind of half earthly worm and moles kind of blood. You-Know-Who has that kind of blood. They were… FUCK, they were both chosen, you know? THEY WERE CHOSEN BECAUSE OF THEIR BLOOD!”
Hey man, I get you! You’re a Malfoy. YOU’RE DRACO MALFOY! You should have that blood, too.
“No. No, I have the RIGHT to have that blood.”
Then do it. This is what your moment, man! Your platform of time in the middle of infinity. Can you do it, Draco? Lords and Gods are infinite. Are you infinite? Timeless? Have you no concept of start and end and die and born? Would you like to just be, always?
You want to know why can Lords and Gods spill blood?
“Why?”
Because they’ve never been born. Do you think you can you be, when you’ll not be born? That you can be, when you’ll never not-be? Because the infinite do not comprehend time. They can’t comprehend time pausing, stopping, beginning for an individual. They don’t go and fear the fate of the dying, for death is as foreign to them as the never-ending is to the living mortals.
“Shit… is, is it supposed to be like this? Fuck! She isn’t supposed to bleed this much – shit – she’s – FUCK, I think I’ve done something wrong. HELP! Fuck, ANYONE! She won’t fucking stop bleeding, man! Make her stop! FUCK!”
Be a God, child. Forget about that human shit, you’ll never die. You can’t die! You’re above that, you’re infinite, timeless creation manifested in water and blood, flesh that’ll never rot. You’re chosen, child.
You’re chosen because no one chose you before.
“SHE’S DYING, YOU SON OF A BITCH! SHE’S FUCKING DYING! MAKE THIS SHIT STOP!”
I think I’ll just tell you how it is instead, Draco.
The dead are.
They’ll never be born. But they are. They are, and they’ll never not-be. They’re infinite, they do not comprehend time. They can’t comprehend time pausing, stopping, beginning for an individual. They don’t fear the fate of the dying, for death is as foreign to them as the never-ending is to the living. Just the living.
“SHUT THE FUCK UP! SHE’S NOT… SHE’S NOT GOING TO DIE! SHE’S NOT GOING TO DIE!”
Congratulations.
You’re a worthy man now, Draco. How does it feel? How does her blood feels with yours, through your veins, through your channels?
Do you feel like a God now, Draco?
“GET… STOP the… get out of my… head… get out… she’s… I don’t feel her heart anymore. Did it stop? DID IT STOP? I CAN’T FEEL IT! DID IT STOP? Tell me, TELL ME! DID IT STOP?!”
Congratulations.
You’re a Lord and a God now, Draco.
Want to know why Lords and Gods can kill people, Draco?
Do you?
No. I didn’t think so.