With Teeth

With Teeth:

This story follows my understanding (or contrivance) of the themes in Nine Inch Nail's "With Teeth". Clearly I own no part of their music and any lyrics posted belong to them, and I make no money from the use of their materials.


My album/fics follow a very specific patter: One chapter for every song, plus the summary, and possibly an additional author's note at the end. The beginning and end of each chapter features a few select lines from the song the chapter is based off of. These serve to set the mood of the progression of the story. This story is completely written, and is only awaiting edits. Therefore updates should be regular and relatively quick.


Today's adventure is slightly AU in the sense that I could not find a logical way to insert this into canon. I’m not stating a specific timeline; just assume that the boys are old enough to understand what they’re doing (to a point) and engage in the sorts of relationships they’re creating. Also, Voldemort is not an issue. I believe I mentioned him once in passing somewhere in this story, but pay no mind to him. This is strictly an exercise in emotion and relations.

(actual summary follows)


Harry feels increasingly discontented with himself and life, knowing he needs something else. He spends his time admiring Draco from afar, and discovers certain late night extracurricular activities offered by the appropriately named "Slytherine Sex God" and signs up for instruction. Getting both more AND less than he anticipated, he finds himself wanting to withdraw, and not completely able.


WARNING: This story is incredibly angsty, and unabashedly emo... It involves explicit descriptions of S/M and bondage sex, as well as mention of self harm, attempts at suicide, and most definitely a fluffy ending (just to offset all the negativity floating around these kid's lives).

[Enjoy the Story]

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**Hiding in the crowd, I'm all alone
No one's heard a single word I've said
They don't sound as good outside my head **

-

Harry stared at the plate on the table in front of him. His best mate Ron was loudly chewing at his OTHER best mate Hermione, who was bossily poking him back. Inane school-related chatter echoed around him competing with the clatter of forks and spoons plates. All of this was numbingly mundane activity, and Harry was oblivious to everything. If you could consider anything at all taking his attention, it might be the icy blonde directly in his line of vision at the other end of the hall. Draco seemed to be the center of the Slytherin table. The excitement surrounding him, the flurry of people, the air of importance; He expected to be loved, and that is what he was. Harry couldn’t stand to watch, but he also knew he couldn’t NOT. Everything about the other boy hurt Harry. Everything about the other boy made Harry feel the possibility that he might be alive. It was a painful sort of confliction of emotions, but he was learning to live with it.

That didn’t make it any less painful, though.

The gaggle of Slytherins shifting, and moving as one towards the exit of the Great Hall caught Harry’s attention. He followed the mass with his eyes, never giving a sign that he wasn’t paying attention to the Gryffindors in front of him. Draco walked in the exact center of the group, yet seemed to lead them all.

The soft, distracted snort exiting Harry’s nose caught his friend’s attentions, and the pause in what would pass as conversation drew him from his blank musings.

“What?”

“Harry, you okay? You look a little glazed.”

Harry rolled his eyes at Ron, surprised that he noticed anything, considering it was breakfast.

“I’m fine. Eat your bacon.”

Ron grunted satisfactorily. Returning to the last bit of bacon on his plate, he reached for the newly filled glass of pumpkin juice, and seemed to immediately forget all about the pause. Hermione, being a girl AND the clever witch she was, lingered a bit longer, appraising Harry’s appearance. Nothing seemed different, he always looked this gaunt and haunted. This alone was enough of a reason to go back to the twins sitting next to her. Harry shook his head, amazed at how little his friends seemed to care about him. Overcome with a wave of emotion, he jumped up from the table, tears stinging at his eyes. The way he departed the table could hardly be called a run, and that was the only reason no one moved to follow, or even watch him disappear.


**

A small part of knew he was over-reacting. He’d never given them a reason to assume anything was wrong, not really. While he desperately wanted someone to reach out and ask him what was wrong, he did everything he could to cover up that anything may be wrong in the first place. But of course Harry wasn’t thinking about this right now. He was content to wallow in his grief and self-pity, mourning the loss of something he never really had.
He had run from the Hall straight to his dorm, and so he sat in his bed waiting out the rest of breakfast. He had his arms wrapped around his knees in a sort of hug, needing the reassuring comfort he felt he couldn’t ask of his friends; the same “friends” who didn’t even bother to take the time to notice that he felt ripped in two inside.
Suddenly it was very difficult to control his breathing, and he began rocking back and forth at a slightly frantic pace. The pain in his chest seemed too tight to be normal, and he had to squeeze his eyes tightly, to try to shut everything out. He could only describe the pain as a numb weight, and it slowly broadened and dulled enough for him to open his eyes. His blood roared in his ears and his breathing seemed to move his whole frame. His view drifted to the side, and he noticed the glint of metal sitting on his dressing table. Reached a shaky hand out for it, he fingered the familiar utensil. It was something he had found lying on the ground of one of the passageways he used when roaming the castle one night.

Harry straightened the folded blade and tested the edge with the pad of his thumb. It didn’t cut into his finger, but he could tell it was still sharp. It was always sharp. He guessed there was a charm on it to keep the edge from dulling. He took a deep breath, not even noticing how easy it suddenly was. The dangerous edge almost hypnotized him; calming him to a state of quiet awareness. He bit his lip, and suddenly moved; a chaotic whirlwind compared to the contemplative stillness of before. He threw off blankets and ripped apart buttons, shoving his pants to rest around his knees exposing his slightly tanned thighs.

Tracing the blade along his skin, he simply drug the sensation out. It gave him goose bumps, one of his favourite things. The tip left a faint white mark, only visible to him because he was the one doing it. He repositioned the knife to an expanse just above his knee, placing the blade deliberately. He pressed in, more pressure, more pressure. With more pressure came more anxiety and just when he thought he would break the skin, he tore the knife away and closely examined the location. It shallow dent was almost triangular, and much darker than the rest of his skin. He touched it, mysteriously enthralled with the texture.

By now, his breath had quickened and he replaced the knife to the same spot, carefully lining up. Shutting his eyes again, he renewed the pressure, preparing to pull a line across his knee. At just the last moment the task became too great to handle, and he pulled the knife away again. His desires conflicted with each other; equally wanting to make the blood flow, and to never touch the metal to his skin again. The battle inside made him suddenly angry, and he balled his hands into fists, curling his toes. He could feel his entire body go rigid with tension and it hurt, but once he relaxed he was able to see a little more clearly.

Suddenly he glanced up, realizing how long he must have been, holed up in his dorm alone. He cast a tempus, and cursed aloud. He was twenty minutes late for his first class of the day, but this wasn’t nearly as bad as the associated news. His first class of the day was a double block of potions.


**


It had taken him another ten minutes to redress and make his way to the dungeons. When he finally skidded to a stop in front of the potions classroom he paused, staring at the door. Besides the heaving breaths he took, he felt nothing as stood in the hall. An overwhelming sense of not wanting to face the day swept over him. All he wanted to do was turn around and forget about everything, but even his feet seemed filled with apathy. He couldn’t turn around or move forward. He simply stood, numbly staring at the door in front of him, not able to make a decision. It was made for him, however, when the door slowly swung open, and he was startled to find himself face to face with the hulking, bat-like form of Professor Snape.

The altogether unpleasant man stood towering over young Harry Potter, sneering down his hook-nose.

“Nice of you to join us, Mister Potter,” drawled the silken voice of the Potions Master.

Harry simply stared at him with wide eyes, a touch of shock ghosting his features. He heard sniggers from inside the classroom, and thought he saw the worried look exchanged between Ron and Hermione. His mouth worked silently, only feebly making an attempt at some sort of excuse or reasoning or at least a greeting in answer to the professor’s sarcastic remark. Nothing came, however, and an almost amused glint twinkled in Snape’s left eye, doing nothing to crack the stone façade masking any emotions or thoughts.

“Do come in.”

He stepped aside gesturing for Potter to enter, as if it was his home and Harry was coming for a social call. Harry eyed him wearily, swallowing thickly as he crossed the threshold, ready at any moment for something unexpected: a hex, a chastisement, a detention, anything. He got nothing though, and he slunk to his seat between his friends as Snape turned to the front of the class room, his robes eerily calm as he strode swiftly to face the students.

Hermione turned to Harry as soon as Snape seamlessly dived back into his lecture and she hissed at him in indignation.

“Where WERE you, Harry? We were so worried when you just disappeared from breakfast, but then you didn’t come back for class, and you were so late, what were you doing?”

‘If you were so worried about me, then why didn’t you come looking for me?’ was what Harry had WANTED to say, but the only thing staving off the sarcastic comment was the piteously serious concern bathing her expression. Instead Harry mumbled something unintelligible, faking a convincing expression, and turned to “pay attention to the lesson”. Of course Hermione wasn’t going to argue with school-work, but she still stole quick glances at him when Snape’s back was turned.

Harry’s attentions weren’t on the lesson either; his gaze was pointed directly at the blonde near the front of the classroom. He was almost disgusted with himself at how enthralled with the other boy he seemed to be. He couldn’t help the intense pull he felt whenever he was near him, though. The lift of need he felt for the boy mixed with the anguish over the fact that he couldn’t have him twisted his insides terribly. It was almost pleasurable in a masochistic sort of way, but he could never admit to anybody, let alone himself, that he liked the painful conflict of emotions.

For now he was simply content to pine after Malfoy from afar. He found himself wishing he’d been given more opportunity to befriend the blonde; whether by station or birth, or house sorting. Anything that would mean he and the blond had been able to be even just friends, even though he knew he was kidding himself on that front. He didn’t want to just be noticed by the blonde. He wanted HIM.

He was suddenly almost jealous of all the people in his life. Harry knew he surely had to be better than most of them, if not all. They were Slytherin, he was Gryffindor. He had to be a better person. The thought ‘what makes them so special’ was very hard to keep out of his mind. The fact remained, though, that there were just too many people around him; watching him, following him, being with him.

And Draco loved it. It seemed to be what he was made for.

Harry couldn’t figure it out, even though he seemed to be affected by whatever everyone else was afflicted with to be so enraptured with the Ice Prince. The thought of him, the thought of being with him, brought a warm feeling spreading across his body. A warm feeling followed closely by a sharp pang, because he knew that’s all it would ever be. A thought.

Hermione noticed the glassy expression on Harry’s face, recognizing it as one of the day-dreaming variety, and jabbed in the ribs.

“Harry, you can’t get into any more trouble today, you’re lucky enough that Snape didn’t give you a detention!”

Almost before she managed to complete the sentence, as if he were waiting for her to mention it, Professor Snape dismissed the class, but not before adding,

“And that will be a detention with me tonight for being late, Potter.”

-

**All the jagged edges disappear
Colors all are brighter when you're near
The stars are all afire in the sky
Sometimes I get so lonely, I could…**