Breathe
folder
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,026
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Slash - Male/Male › Harry/Draco
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
1,026
Reviews:
4
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.
Breathe
Title: Breathe
Author: Eris Mackenzie
Rating: R
Pairing: mainly H/D, may be others.
Warnings: Slash, language, limes, possible bloodplay, etc.
Spoilers: SS, CS, PoA, GoF, Ootp, HBP.
Disclaimer:This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The musical lyrics used within the content are not owned nor associated with the author and no infringement is meant.
Summary: With Dumbledore gone, Hogwarts facing closure, and his world crashing to pieces around him, Harry Potter is lost. Numb from the many deaths he views in his stead, Harry is more determined than ever to face Voldemort and defeat him, even at the expense of his own life. But one person stands in his way, inadvertently unleashing the one power he has to finally defeat Voldemort--love. (slash:HD) Post - HBP.
A/N: This will be a more realistic story, so don’t be expecting immediate smut gratification--it will come later, but it will definitely present itself in time.
----------------------------------------------------------------
PROLOGUE
-----------
“Breathe to release
And dispel what you dream…”
~ “Breathe” Maria Taylor
-----------
It had been nearly two-and-a-half months since Dumbledore’s death and grieving, fearful whispers still roamed the streets, passed on by word of mouth as the people soon feared a new uprising of evil mainly in the form of an malevolent soul-torn wizard, Voldemort.
No one on Privet Drive paid any attention to the sixteen year old boy walking along the sidewalk aimlessly; indeed they couldn’t have seen anyway, an unusually thick smog seemed to have descended upon the district of Surrey which effectively hid his hesitant steps. The boy was not particularly startling to the eye upon first glance, but closer examination revealed his slight frame to be dangerously close to emaciation, his hair ignored, his face both hidden and distorted by large and badly bent glasses. His skin was pasty, the washed-out shade of one who avoided the sun. His faded clothes were draped across his shoulders, dragging down to well below his waist and hanging off him, being several sizes too big.
But beneath his round black frames were dark emerald eyes, capable of lying and deceit, though they were not used so. If one had bumped into him on the street, they could not have denied the unspeakable aura of power that seemed to radiate off of the boy, something so evocative that it chilled them to the bone and made them hurry on. But no one did bump into him, and so no one knew of his unusual characteristics.
The distracted youth barely registered the rapidly disappearing pavement as his feet quickly walked over it, the cracks and rocks forgotten behind. Not a sound filled the air, not of children playing or of neighbours hard at work to better their artificially perfect lawns, the product of money well spent and overpriced fertilizer.
The dulled squeak of wet rubber threw the young man’s steps back to him from the grey walls his shadow glided over. The youth walked as if striding to a definite destination, yet his face held a look of dreamland concentration.
He quickly rounded the corner at the Privet Drive sign, so proudly bolted atop its steel pole, and hurried off in the opposite direction. Nearing the middle of the street, no one saw as the boy stopped, looked to the stars with a hateful and determined face, and swore under the heaven’s watchful eye, “I will find you.”
-------
CHAPTER ONE
“Where have you been, boy?” Vernon grunted from behind that day’s issue of London Times as Harry shut the door. Harry didn’t bother answering; t was a rhetorical question, and not one he cared to answer anyway. The sixteen-year-old didn’t need to look to know that his obese cousin Dudley was spread out across the sofa watching some pointless reality T.V. show; his aunt sitting close by on the settee reading a gardening magazine. Just like any normal evening.
Harry shied away from this light and display, preferring to be by himself now that… well, he just preferred to be by himself. He quietly walked to the stairs, skulking along the wall so as to avoid any more questions. Letting out his breath as he made it to the stairs unnoticed, he proceeded to trudge up the steps lit by nothing but the flash of the television.
When he arrived at the equally dark landing, he sighed and rubbed his hair absentmindedly. Since when had he been so tired? He forced his suddenly lead-like legs to finish walking to his small bedroom that had at one point been Dudley’s; opening the door, closing it, and scanning his room almost second nature for anything that might be wrong.
Nothing was out of place, nor did anything seem strange, but Harry checked one last time just to be sure. He looked to Hedwig’s cage, which was empty as it always was at this time of night ever since Vernon had allowed the snowy owl to fly free as long as nobody saw her. He had had to earlier that summer when Hedwig had refused to stop screeching and had awoken the neighbours. Some nights she didn’t even come back, and now even Harry barely saw her.
His eyes flickered to his window for a second, catching the winking light he had sworn to earlier glinting at him from millions of miles away. Harry smiled wistfully as he thought about what he had learned about stars in his elementary years; that the light you saw now had been shown millions of years before and it was just now getting to earth; that some of the stars you saw were already dead. It had seemed so interesting at the time.
He pushed down the sheets on his bed and climbed in, to lazy to change clothes and barely sparing the time to take off his shoes, and pulled the covers up to his waist. He laid on his back and faced the ceiling, studying the miniscule cracks there.
As his eyes took in the darkness of the shadows where the moonlight didn’t hit and the glint off his parent’s picture beside him, his mind kept him awake far after the Dursleys had gone to sleep, far after everyone else was dreaming of flying on clouds and happiness they would never find.
-----------------
“BOY, WAKE UP!” Petunia, his aunt, screeched at the door as she hurried about the hall. “I need you to go fry that bacon!”
Harry’s eyes slowly, reluctantly opened to the bright morning light of a new day. Another day. He stifled a groan as he sat up, joints protesting against the sudden change. His movements were sluggish and subdued, his limbs unwilling to co-operate as he got dressed in his everyday monotonous shabby t-shirt and jeans. His mind wasn’t fully functioning as he stumbled to his door and opened it, not even having enough time to go to the loo before his aunt descended on him.
“Get downstairs now and cook that bacon! The package is on the counter, but don’t you dare burn it like you did last time!” Petunia ordered, carrying a bundle of dirty laundry down the steps. The day before Harry hadn’t paid any attention to the bacon and ended up with--instead of slightly crispy meat--hardened black strips that barely resembled food.
Harry trudged along after her tall, stick-like form as she went down the steps, stopping every few seconds or so to grab a sock or pair of underwear that was slipping out of her grasp.
As soon as he made it down the stairs, he veered past his aunt and walked straight to the kitchen. There on the counter by the stove just as Petunia had said was a package of thick sliced maple-flavoured bacon. Harry wrinkled his nose; why did everything they ate for breakfast have to be sweet? Harry would have been fine with just plain toast with butter and bacon, which is usually what he got if he even got any bacon, while the Dursleys ate cereal piled with sugar and syrup. It was almost sickening to watch them eat.
He sliced open the tough plastic with a kitchen knife, nearly nicking himself on the thumb when it slipped. The pan and fork was already set on the stove, so all Harry had to do was place the bacon in the skillet, light the stove, and wait.
As the aroma of gently simmering bacon wafted to Harry’s nose and the silence in the almost sterile kitchen was broken when his stomach suddenly growled. He looked to the pan longingly and urged it to cook faster.
“Come on, come on, I’m damn hungry…” Harry whispered under his breath, still staring at the skillet.
Suddenly, he was caught by surprise when the bacon suddenly burst forth into flames, the grease flying everywhere. A speck of hot oil landed on Harry’s arm, and he gasped, wrenching his arm out of the way, as the melted fat singed his top layer of skin.
“WHAT DID I TELL YOU?!” Petunia yelled as she ran into the kitchen, panicking when she saw the black fumes that were rising out of the skillet. “What did you do?!”
She hurriedly ran to the side cabinet and drew out some hot gloves, slipping them over her hands as she grabbed the pan and threw it into the sink, causing even more grease to speckle her now-dirty floor.
“You stupid boy! How many times do I have to tell you to watch the bacon?!” She shrieked at Harry as she flicked on the water tap, sending billows of steam rising into the air to mingle with the smoke. “You are not to eat anything until Vernon gets home! That’s the second time I’ve had to clean up your mess! You’re just lucky your uncle had a early-hour shift!” She tore off the protective gloves and threw them on the counter. “Now, get out!”
“Mum?” Came the confused question. Harry turned his head to see Dudley standing stupidly in the doorway; t.v. playing infomercials in the background. Petunia looked momentarily startled for a second, but got over it quickly.
“Duddy-poo, sweetie, why don’t you go watch some t.v.? Breakfast will be ready shortly.” She cooed, her voice dripping in sugary sweetness.
Dudley didn’t argue with his mother as he turned his baby-whale sized body out of the doorway (it was amazing he could fit) and waddled back to the den.
“Now,” Petunia said scathingly as she turned back to her nephew. “I want you to go outside and finish gardening. And if you mess up on that, boy…”
Harry didn’t even care to finish hearing what she said as he turned around and walked out the back door to go to the shed to get the tools.
And so started another day at Number 4 Privet Drive.
End of Chapter One.
Author: Eris Mackenzie
Rating: R
Pairing: mainly H/D, may be others.
Warnings: Slash, language, limes, possible bloodplay, etc.
Spoilers: SS, CS, PoA, GoF, Ootp, HBP.
Disclaimer:This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. The musical lyrics used within the content are not owned nor associated with the author and no infringement is meant.
Summary: With Dumbledore gone, Hogwarts facing closure, and his world crashing to pieces around him, Harry Potter is lost. Numb from the many deaths he views in his stead, Harry is more determined than ever to face Voldemort and defeat him, even at the expense of his own life. But one person stands in his way, inadvertently unleashing the one power he has to finally defeat Voldemort--love. (slash:HD) Post - HBP.
A/N: This will be a more realistic story, so don’t be expecting immediate smut gratification--it will come later, but it will definitely present itself in time.
----------------------------------------------------------------
PROLOGUE
-----------
“Breathe to release
And dispel what you dream…”
~ “Breathe” Maria Taylor
-----------
It had been nearly two-and-a-half months since Dumbledore’s death and grieving, fearful whispers still roamed the streets, passed on by word of mouth as the people soon feared a new uprising of evil mainly in the form of an malevolent soul-torn wizard, Voldemort.
No one on Privet Drive paid any attention to the sixteen year old boy walking along the sidewalk aimlessly; indeed they couldn’t have seen anyway, an unusually thick smog seemed to have descended upon the district of Surrey which effectively hid his hesitant steps. The boy was not particularly startling to the eye upon first glance, but closer examination revealed his slight frame to be dangerously close to emaciation, his hair ignored, his face both hidden and distorted by large and badly bent glasses. His skin was pasty, the washed-out shade of one who avoided the sun. His faded clothes were draped across his shoulders, dragging down to well below his waist and hanging off him, being several sizes too big.
But beneath his round black frames were dark emerald eyes, capable of lying and deceit, though they were not used so. If one had bumped into him on the street, they could not have denied the unspeakable aura of power that seemed to radiate off of the boy, something so evocative that it chilled them to the bone and made them hurry on. But no one did bump into him, and so no one knew of his unusual characteristics.
The distracted youth barely registered the rapidly disappearing pavement as his feet quickly walked over it, the cracks and rocks forgotten behind. Not a sound filled the air, not of children playing or of neighbours hard at work to better their artificially perfect lawns, the product of money well spent and overpriced fertilizer.
The dulled squeak of wet rubber threw the young man’s steps back to him from the grey walls his shadow glided over. The youth walked as if striding to a definite destination, yet his face held a look of dreamland concentration.
He quickly rounded the corner at the Privet Drive sign, so proudly bolted atop its steel pole, and hurried off in the opposite direction. Nearing the middle of the street, no one saw as the boy stopped, looked to the stars with a hateful and determined face, and swore under the heaven’s watchful eye, “I will find you.”
-------
CHAPTER ONE
“Where have you been, boy?” Vernon grunted from behind that day’s issue of London Times as Harry shut the door. Harry didn’t bother answering; t was a rhetorical question, and not one he cared to answer anyway. The sixteen-year-old didn’t need to look to know that his obese cousin Dudley was spread out across the sofa watching some pointless reality T.V. show; his aunt sitting close by on the settee reading a gardening magazine. Just like any normal evening.
Harry shied away from this light and display, preferring to be by himself now that… well, he just preferred to be by himself. He quietly walked to the stairs, skulking along the wall so as to avoid any more questions. Letting out his breath as he made it to the stairs unnoticed, he proceeded to trudge up the steps lit by nothing but the flash of the television.
When he arrived at the equally dark landing, he sighed and rubbed his hair absentmindedly. Since when had he been so tired? He forced his suddenly lead-like legs to finish walking to his small bedroom that had at one point been Dudley’s; opening the door, closing it, and scanning his room almost second nature for anything that might be wrong.
Nothing was out of place, nor did anything seem strange, but Harry checked one last time just to be sure. He looked to Hedwig’s cage, which was empty as it always was at this time of night ever since Vernon had allowed the snowy owl to fly free as long as nobody saw her. He had had to earlier that summer when Hedwig had refused to stop screeching and had awoken the neighbours. Some nights she didn’t even come back, and now even Harry barely saw her.
His eyes flickered to his window for a second, catching the winking light he had sworn to earlier glinting at him from millions of miles away. Harry smiled wistfully as he thought about what he had learned about stars in his elementary years; that the light you saw now had been shown millions of years before and it was just now getting to earth; that some of the stars you saw were already dead. It had seemed so interesting at the time.
He pushed down the sheets on his bed and climbed in, to lazy to change clothes and barely sparing the time to take off his shoes, and pulled the covers up to his waist. He laid on his back and faced the ceiling, studying the miniscule cracks there.
As his eyes took in the darkness of the shadows where the moonlight didn’t hit and the glint off his parent’s picture beside him, his mind kept him awake far after the Dursleys had gone to sleep, far after everyone else was dreaming of flying on clouds and happiness they would never find.
-----------------
“BOY, WAKE UP!” Petunia, his aunt, screeched at the door as she hurried about the hall. “I need you to go fry that bacon!”
Harry’s eyes slowly, reluctantly opened to the bright morning light of a new day. Another day. He stifled a groan as he sat up, joints protesting against the sudden change. His movements were sluggish and subdued, his limbs unwilling to co-operate as he got dressed in his everyday monotonous shabby t-shirt and jeans. His mind wasn’t fully functioning as he stumbled to his door and opened it, not even having enough time to go to the loo before his aunt descended on him.
“Get downstairs now and cook that bacon! The package is on the counter, but don’t you dare burn it like you did last time!” Petunia ordered, carrying a bundle of dirty laundry down the steps. The day before Harry hadn’t paid any attention to the bacon and ended up with--instead of slightly crispy meat--hardened black strips that barely resembled food.
Harry trudged along after her tall, stick-like form as she went down the steps, stopping every few seconds or so to grab a sock or pair of underwear that was slipping out of her grasp.
As soon as he made it down the stairs, he veered past his aunt and walked straight to the kitchen. There on the counter by the stove just as Petunia had said was a package of thick sliced maple-flavoured bacon. Harry wrinkled his nose; why did everything they ate for breakfast have to be sweet? Harry would have been fine with just plain toast with butter and bacon, which is usually what he got if he even got any bacon, while the Dursleys ate cereal piled with sugar and syrup. It was almost sickening to watch them eat.
He sliced open the tough plastic with a kitchen knife, nearly nicking himself on the thumb when it slipped. The pan and fork was already set on the stove, so all Harry had to do was place the bacon in the skillet, light the stove, and wait.
As the aroma of gently simmering bacon wafted to Harry’s nose and the silence in the almost sterile kitchen was broken when his stomach suddenly growled. He looked to the pan longingly and urged it to cook faster.
“Come on, come on, I’m damn hungry…” Harry whispered under his breath, still staring at the skillet.
Suddenly, he was caught by surprise when the bacon suddenly burst forth into flames, the grease flying everywhere. A speck of hot oil landed on Harry’s arm, and he gasped, wrenching his arm out of the way, as the melted fat singed his top layer of skin.
“WHAT DID I TELL YOU?!” Petunia yelled as she ran into the kitchen, panicking when she saw the black fumes that were rising out of the skillet. “What did you do?!”
She hurriedly ran to the side cabinet and drew out some hot gloves, slipping them over her hands as she grabbed the pan and threw it into the sink, causing even more grease to speckle her now-dirty floor.
“You stupid boy! How many times do I have to tell you to watch the bacon?!” She shrieked at Harry as she flicked on the water tap, sending billows of steam rising into the air to mingle with the smoke. “You are not to eat anything until Vernon gets home! That’s the second time I’ve had to clean up your mess! You’re just lucky your uncle had a early-hour shift!” She tore off the protective gloves and threw them on the counter. “Now, get out!”
“Mum?” Came the confused question. Harry turned his head to see Dudley standing stupidly in the doorway; t.v. playing infomercials in the background. Petunia looked momentarily startled for a second, but got over it quickly.
“Duddy-poo, sweetie, why don’t you go watch some t.v.? Breakfast will be ready shortly.” She cooed, her voice dripping in sugary sweetness.
Dudley didn’t argue with his mother as he turned his baby-whale sized body out of the doorway (it was amazing he could fit) and waddled back to the den.
“Now,” Petunia said scathingly as she turned back to her nephew. “I want you to go outside and finish gardening. And if you mess up on that, boy…”
Harry didn’t even care to finish hearing what she said as he turned around and walked out the back door to go to the shed to get the tools.
And so started another day at Number 4 Privet Drive.
End of Chapter One.