Winter\'s Icy Fingers Creep

Winter’s Icy Fingers Creep

Flora_Winters

I do not own Harry Potter and I’m not making any money here either.

Summary: Harry Potter forswears love and in the process of doing as such, his heart becomes a solid jewel of ice, transforming him into a glacial creature of cruelest beauty. This story will contain boy love, explicit violence, and a strong usage of language.

Prologue

It was only one hour ago
It was all so different then
There’s nothing yet has really sunk in
Looks like it always did
This flesh and bone
It’s just the way that you were tied in
Now there’s no-one home

--Peter Gabriel

It was so cold. The once loving hand he was holding in his own was colder than snow. The once tan skin was now whiter than a moth’s fragile wings.

His pale, porcelain cheeks were wet with tears that he could no longer feel running their course down them. His flesh was numb. He was so terribly numb.

He gazed with empty, green eyes at the thin cotton sheet. It was like a ghost, covering the young man in which he would forever mourn.

“I’m all alone,” he whispered to the still corpse. “Everything I love is always taken away from me.”

Pain stabbed him in the chest. It felt like a blow from a thousand screaming souls in perpetual anguish. He doubled over in silent agony, squeezing that large hand, wishing with all his shattering heart that it would squeeze his back.

“Please,” he sobbed, choking on tears that were bleeding straight from the cracks in his aching heart. “Please get up, Cedric.”

There would be no more kind laughter. There would be no more warm hugs or gentle, passionate kisses. He was never going to hear another “I love you, Harry” again.

Tears streamed like acid from his red, puffy eyes. It hurt. It hurt so much.

Kill the spare!

A deadly, green light had struck the taller teen, washing over him like a rolling wave, leaving only a lifeless shell in its wake. Cedric’s strong body had simply crumpled to the ground like a discarded doll.

Harry threw his head back, screaming as if he were being tortured by a million-million hellish nightmares. It almost felt like skeletal fingers were digging into his flesh, tearing at him with a voracious hunger.

“Wake up!” He cried, throwing back the sheet, slapping his dead boyfriend’s still handsome face. “WAKE UP!”

He took hold of his silent lover’s torn shirt and began to shake the motionless body with all his might. Why wasn’t he waking up? Why would he not open his eyes?

“GET UP!” He snarled with the rage of some wild, uncontrollable beast. His eyes were filling with an emerald madness. “STOP DOING THIS!”

“Harry!” A sullen, authoritative voice called, snapping him out of his momentary lapse from sanity.

His eyes widened in an unknowable horror, realizing what he was doing to his beloved. He collapsed against Cedric’s still chest, drowning in the deepest of sorrows, holding him so very tightly. He was so very, very cold.

“Why won’t he stay warm?” He asked, tightening his hold even more. His sobs racked his slender frame. “Why can’t I keep him warm?”

“Harry,” the sad voice said to him. He could feel a hand on his back. “You need to rest now.”

“No!” Harry cried, refusing to let go. A wild, freezing wind began to stir his unruly, dark hair. “I’m not leaving him in here by himself!”

“Cedric is not in here, Harry,” the professor told him.

“DON’T SAY THAT!” Harry yelled, squeezing his stinging eyes tightly shut.

He didn’t want to hear this. It wasn’t true. He refused to believe it.

“He’s gone now,” Dumbledore cooed ever so gently.

“Stop it!” Harry shrieked, shaking his head. “Shut up!”

“His parents took his remains away this morning, Harry,” Dumbledore told him in soft, compassionate tones.

Harry’s eyes snapped open in a blind terror. All he was holding was a thin sheet in his icy hands.

He trembled, choking on a painful wail. He fell to his knees beside the empty bed, crying into the soft fabric.

“I’m so sorry, Harry,” Dumbledore lamented, placing his hands on him from behind. “I’m so terribly sorry.”

Something inside The Boy Who Lived snapped. It sounded like the distant echo of a deadly lightning strike in his ears. He spun around on the old headmaster, grabbing him by the front of his elaborate robes, screaming in his surprised, mournful face.

“BRING HIM BACK! GIVE HIM BACK TO ME NOW!”

Dumbledore shook his head ever so slowly. His blue eyes were not twinkling and they were very wet.

“I can’t do that, Harry,” he gently told him, placing his withered hands over his own creamy, smooth ones. “The dead can’t be brought back.”

“Voldemort came back!” Harry shouted in his face, shaking him, pleading with him, damning him with his crazed eyes. “Bring Cedric back to me!”

He didn’t care if it was dark magic. He wanted Cedric. All he needed was Cedric. He had no family to fall back on. His friends were of no comfort to him. All he wanted was Cedric.

“You must rest now,” Dumbledore soothed, smiling ever so warmly.

That smile only served to infuriate him all the more. He hated that smile. He fucking hated it!

“DON’T TOUCH ME!” Harry roared, pushing away from him, looking for an escape.

The professor suddenly had his wand pointed right at him, sending a stream of shimmering, violet light spiraling towards him. Harry threw up his hands, crying out as he fell over backwards onto the bed with a few light bounces. A silent darkness rushed over him, trapping him within its wings.

He would never be warm again.


To Be Continued…