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Mortal Eternity	By : Sarryn Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 11879 -:- Recommendations : 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.

Chapter List
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Mortal Eternity

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Ashes, ashes, we all fall down�

�Disgusting,� the youth with jet hair and crimson eyes hisses as the warded door swings open upon well-oiled hinges. The mingled scents of blood, rancid sweat, vomit and bodily refuse pour out of the room in a tangible wave. Underlying the mephitic stench is the musk of an unwashed animal.
Holding a scented handkerchief over his nose with one black-gloved hand, the young man enters the cell. His companions, two dimly aware behemoths, gag and stay behind. The youth seems unconcerned with the damage incurred on his shiny, black leather shoes frhe fhe filth on the floor. Elegantly he sidesteps masticated bones and vomited chunks of decayed flesh. With a cruel chuckle he kicks aside a small, gnawed head.
�Poor wretch, piteous creature,� the youth croons as he kneels on the floor before a shuddering, filthy man crouched in the darkest corner of the cell. He lowers the handkerchief and tucks it away. Gently the young man caresses the cowering wreck�s dirty cheek and brushes back a length of matted, rank hair. Golden eyes burn with feverish intensity, as if they could light the tenebrous room with their brilliance.
�I have a question for you, my tamed wolf, and I would be ever so grateful if you would answer.� He grips the man�s chin tightly and forces him to meet his gaze. �Do you know my name?�
The filthy man whimpers pathetically and tries to jerk his head free. The youth only tightens his grip.
�I�ll hurt you if you don�t answer me, pet.� A strange, choked sound emerges from a throat that has known only screams of pain for years. �Come on, you can do it.�
With a voice torn ragged and bloody the man gasps a faltering affirmative.
�And what is it?�
�V-Volde�mor�t�.� The man convulses into a fit of hacking coughs. The youth releases his hold and waits patiently for the fit to pass.
�Very good, my wolf, you have pleased me. Now I have something else, something I think you�ll be very eager to hear.� Golden eyes filled with beauteous pain turn to him. A fragile, desperate hope pools in them.
�Would you like to be freed from this place?� The wretch nods slowly, warily. �Say yes.�
�Y-yessss��
�I will not take away the pain of your memories, but I can dull the ache. What would you do for this? What would you give?�
�An-y�th-thing��
* * *
Only the innocent or conscienceless sleep soundly�

Five years he was tortured and kept in a cell and forced to live. For one week every month they starved him. Once a month he was given a potion that maintained his consciousness inside his grotesque transformation. Once a month for three days they locked all manner of people�children, women, men, Death Eaters, innocents, all of them�in with him. All he could do was scream inside his head as he savaged the defenseless victims into things no longer recognizably human.
Once human, he regurgitated the partially digested chunks of human flesh and bone.
He wished for the madness and the death denied him.
Now, perhaps, as the magical geas roots deeply into the fibers of his existence, he will find absolution. Already the faces of his many victims fade into indistinct ghosts. Their dying screams of desperate life are so many muted echoes.
For this small respite he has sold his soul to the devil himself, yet he cannot find it within himself to feel guilt. He is far too tired, tired of fighting, tired of the pain of torture�both mental and physical. All he wants is rest, to exist in a nebulous daze.
Perhaps now when he closes his eyes he won�t see blood.
* * *
From the waters of Acheron he emerged�

The youth sits by the large marble tub as the disgusting man is callously bathed. Heavy perfumes mask the stench rioting through the sultry air. The clear water about the man turns blaThe The tub is emptied and cleaned and then the cleansing continues.
Carelessly the tangled mats of hair fall to the floor under a lackey�s indifferent strokes. Again and again the wretch is forced in and out of the tub until he finally emerges as close to human as he can ever hope to be.
�You clean up nice, my w� th� the young man compliments with a cruel sneer. �Aren�t you now glad that I never allowed madness to take root?�
�Y-yes��
After several bitter draughts the damage to his voice has all but been repaired. His vocal cords can no longer support a true yell, and so he must retain communication in softer tones.
�Such pretty marks, pet,� the youth murmurs as he traces the silvery scars wending about the man�s body. �And to think that no one would be able to see them, if I hadn�t ordered silver nitrate to be rubbed into your wounds.�
With mild strokes the young man flattens the uneven locks of silver-threaded caramel brown hair. The scarred man shudders away. Fear aisguisgust snap through his mild golden eyes. Crimson orbs narrow dangerously and the gentle hands turn harsh and dominating.
�You should show more gratitude. I could have left you there to wallow in your filth and deserved guilt. I could have left you to writhe besides the fetid remnants of your victims. I am being far more generous than the one who seeks vengeance against you.� A harsh blow strikes the newly reborn man. �Never forget and never disobey, or you shall find yourself back quicker than thought.�
The youth pulls away and motions for several attendants to clothe the violently shivering man. His cold lips betray the slightest of wicked smiles.
�We are going on a little trip, my wolf. Then we shall get down to the matter of my seeming kindnesses, and you shall come to fully appreciate the terms of my claim over you.
�I am going to show you some ghosts never laid to rest.�
* * *
To exist in a world without names�

�Tom�s back!� Harry yells jumping out of his chair on the patio. His mother drops the sandwich square she has been nibbling for the past two hours. Dull green eyes pass over the wrought iron railing and find the dark speck moving gracefully up the grass-lined path.
�Demons hie and angels fly,� she hisses and knocks the table over with an enraged shriek. Harry jumps back from the dishes and cups that shatter upon the ground. Milk and tea mingle with the remaining sandwich squares and fruit wedges.
�Mommy.� He tries to grab her as she dashes for the patio doors.
�Don�t touch me, spawn of no woman.� Violently she shakes him off and disappears inside. Soon only her wild lamentations can be heard echoing hollowly through the mansion.
�Mommy, come back!� Harry screams with all his young rage. He hates when she runs away, when she rejects him so definitely. He wants to hit something. He wants to slam his fist into a yielding surface and transfer his pain into another.
Why does she do this? Why? Why? Why?
He could scream.
He does.
His voice breaks through the warm air and deafens him. Small fists clenched at his sides, neck straining as if to expel his very soul, he wails. As the last echoes of his scream fade away, a sudden exhaustion steals over his limbs. Choking back frustrated tears he sinks upon the cold stone floor.
And this is how Tom finds him.
Tom doesn�t ask why he�s suffocating himself trying not to cry. He simply enfolds Harry in his arms and gives him a peppermint kiss.
�I have a surprise for you, Harry,� Tom whispers affectionately. Harry sniffs and turns green eyes up to meet Tom�s.
�A surprise?� he echoes dully. Wiping the crystalline drops aside with patient fingers, Tom nods. Harry manages a shaky grin. He wishes he could tell Tom that he doesn�t need surprises or gifts; all he needs is Tom. Tom will never leave him or reject him like mother does. Tom loves him like mother doesn�t.
�Yes. Come along.� Harry squeaks in surprised delight when Tom lifts him up with ease. Cradled against Tom�s warm body he feels safe. He loves when Tom carries him; he would never walk again if he could just live in the safety of Tom�s embrace.
What would it be like if mother�?
Lulled into a gentle, waking-dream, Harry watches lazily for the appearance of his surprise. He can feel the reverberations of every footfall of Tom�s. He thinks that it could be called the tread of God�s own venerated soles.
Tom tells him stories about God, though he always says that they�re nothing more than children�s fairytales. Harry doesn�t quite understand how some all powerful person could really be responsible for everything. He supposes that�s why they�re fairytales. Nothing has to make sense in those. Mother�s make no sense�or too much. He can�t decide.
�Harry, are you paying attention?� He blinks and looks up at Tom, who is smiling indulgently at him.
�Yes.�
�Good. Then I�d like you to meet your new tutor: Remus Lupin.�
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Note: The current pairings (to occur in an official capacity at a later date) as of now are as follows, TR/HP and RL/HP
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Mortal Eternity