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The Protector	By : muteandtremorless Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 3711 -:- 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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Title: The Protector
Chapter 3: Sewn Shut
Rating(chapter): R for gore
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters for obvious and good reasons.
Other: The ending though was the only reason I wrote this fan fiction. It turned out horrid though, I am sorry for how poorly this chapter is written. This story is not for little children, or those easily disturbed. Sewn shut is in there for a literal reason. I changed the ending from the way I originally planned to write it, it used to be a lot more gory, sick and twisted.

If Harry or anyone else thought I was going to lesson up since he had finally submitted they were dead wrong. Sometimes he looked so lost and alone, so much like a broken toy, that I only wanted to mend him. Fix him. Prove to him that not everything would be a disappointment, that his pain and memories would not follow him forever.
But then there were the days of my father. Where the sun boiled red until it broke. When the rage he embedded into me rose, and every particle of Harry's body annoyed me. Sent shrill violin shrieks to my ears. Plunged my mind deep into the depths of a sinking ship, where all I could hear were the pained cries of the damned. And when my thoughts would surface; pull away from the pinpricks of his frightened skin, the pain of his eyes, I would hurt him, hurt him so terribly and deeply.
My moods changed rapidly too, sometimes in the middle of the night as he lay sleeping in my embrace I would wrap my arms around his neck, ever so gently, and squeeze. His eyes would flash open and he would stare at me, and I would watch his heart break, time and time again. Though sadness became him, he did not seek out death like I have seen so many do. When I finally would let go he would shove himself against me and shake. Not cry, not spasm, just shake, in disbelief. Perhaps truth.
After a while he grew to fear my hands, anyone's hands. Touches from Hermoine or Ron and once Dumbledor made him jump and shudder like a rag, stuck in a window, trying to fly away, right out of his body. Soon it became a rule with us. I could cut him, burn him, cast spells, but I couldn't touch him, not with my hands. Never ever with my hands.
He changed himself for this new rule, and took more control of our mostly one-sided relationship. Smiling he'd bind my hands, maneuver them painfully behind me, and strip and all with the charm of the most alluring temptress. He seemed to enjoy this seducing. Giggling, happy that I could not touch him, he would lower his self-lubricated body on top of me. He would pump himself sensually slowly like he wanted to fuck my sadistic urges right out me. But when it was all over, when were both sweating and disgusting, and at that point where little pieces of us hated ourselves he would smooth my hair down and kiss me. Little childish kisses, lacking the sloppy moisture of media mimicry, on my forehead, my eyes, my temples.
I was no fool. I knew Harry only wanted love. And that inside his head he was terribly lonely. I knew too that I was not helping him, that I was only pushing him deeper and deeper into his pain. That for every tear he had shed, he shed a thousand more for what I subjected him too.
We encountered problems from outside as well. Snape always cut furious murderous looks at us in potions. Eventually Ron figured out that Harry didn't spend much time asleep in his bed. The emotional abuse I forced into him began to bleed through Harry. Hermoine and Dumbledor watched him carefully. They came very close to suctioning our little secret out of him, but he would not relent, just saying that he was very stressed.
Then there was Christmas, a Hogwart's Christmas, never lacking its doses of misery. Harry stayed, I went home.
Home.
Home is truly an evil word. Home in one form means on familiar ground. Indeed it was. But this Christmas my father actually smiled at me, hearing of some small friendly association I had with Harry. Smiling he poured some fine wine, and had the house elves prepare an intricate meal. My mother refused the wine and picked daintily at her food. My father beamed proudly, seeming almost relaxed. He encouraged my meager "accomplishment" with a menacing teeth breaking smile.
"The Wizarding World is improving dear boy, drink up." It took three glasses of wine, and my father's babbling about something or other, which I wasn't quiet rapt about, for me to finally tune him out. The dear boy term he almost never used. It made my hair stand on end. While he ranted on my mother sat across the table, a smirk creeping over her downward gaze. The corners of her lips curled up before she finally looked up. Her eyes ripped through me like a hurricane, playful and accusing.
"Draco has a girlfriend." My pale cheeks blushed from the wine as my mouth dropped. My father stopped eating a moment to give me an almost identical sneer. I managed to change the subject by talking about quiditch, Gryfindor had beaten Slytherin yet again. My father never missed out an opportunity to tell me to improve myself. He spent the rest of the dinner talking about sports, I asked to be excused a little early. As usual, my father, when surrounded by my mother and I, though commanding respect, was only talking to himself.
Of course inevitably, my father finished off the rest of the wine bottle, and a few more assorted drinks after that. He found me later that evening in my bed.
"Now." He swayed a little on his feet, his form still loomed over me despite the fact that I'd grown a few inches. "One sometimes in joy and happiness forgets one's duties." While my father beat me I closed my eyes and thought of Harry. I thought of how I only wanted to caress his face, that I wouldn't hurt him anymore, that I'd just hold him, and never let him go. That night in sleep though (when it finally came) I dreamt that I had choked him to death, and his eyes had turned into tiny black diamonds and then bled black blood.
I went back to Hogwarts a day early managing to explain to my father that I needed to use certain books in the Hogwarts Library in order to finish my holiday assignments.
Walking up the stone steps alone I almost expected to see Harry standing right behind the open doors, but swinging them open I found no one. Just the hallow emptiness of Hogwarts itself. I searched for him for what seemed like hours. In the Library, in the Gryfindor Commons, Hagrid's, the skies. Finally I shoved the door open to Snape's office. He looked up in mild surprise, his mouth and nose containing their usual dead pan look, but his eyes were just a smidgen wider.
"Where's Harry?" I'm sure I looked nearly insane. My eyes were hallow and tear tipped from lack of sleep (I could never sleep well at home) and emotional worry. Perhaps my voice had cracked, too burdened with the prospect of no Harry, but I wasn't paying any sort of attention to that.
"He's in the medical wing."
"What? Why?" I nearly hissed the words out in my usual defensive tone, but bit the instinct back, needing to be respectful.
"It seems He-who-must-not-be-named— Harry senses that he's here." Snape's face relaxed into a look of incredibly sadness.
"Is he? Is he here!" Snape looked down, the edge of his tooth brushed lightly over his bottom lip in consideration of the question.
"We're not sure." With that I darted out the door and to the medical wing. Shoving past Madame Pomfrey and into the curtained off area where Harry lay quietly with his eyes closed I shouted at him. It bordered more along the lines of a scream, but it got the desired effect. His eyes shot open, at first he stared at me in fear, and then his eyes softened, and he even allowed my hands to touch him.
"Harry, Harry, Harry, Harry." My hands grasped his face and I lay my head against his momentarily.
"Draco." His voice was shaky from not having spoken in a while. He looked up at me, the edges of his eyes brimmed with tears. "He was there." He whispered.
"Where Harry?" I begged him. "Where was he?" I kissed his forehead gently wanting nothing more than again to comfort him. Glancing quickly towards the curtain I slid my hands down to grasp one of his own.
"Inside of me."
"Inside of y—" I began to question as Madame Pomfrey dragged me away. Babbling some nonsense about no visitors, I barely remember it now.
Life is so hideous. When I think about it, whenever I've thought about it, I cannot summarize it in to words. Only bits of descriptions float in my thoughts: my father beating me, my mother's frigid smile, Harry's lonely hallow eyes. The look of a corpse I once saw when I was very little. Life is hideous because all one ever does in life is suffer. You exist to be beaten and beaten until finally too mentally or physically tired to move on you stop. You die. You pass away.
Harry stayed under constant supervision in the hospital wing. I visited him when I could and when no one would notice, we were after all still enemies. I spent most of my time watching others. Wondering just how Voldemort could have infiltrated Hogwarts. I knew he was there, the look in Harry's eyes said so, confirmed it. Thinking back I'd realized by father's words had too. I was so intent on my study that I overlooked the most intricate thing, the secret to Voldemort's influencing Harry. It was Harry himself.
There are things we regret. Actions that we take that follow us for all eternity, that beg at us with their hands, their ears, their teeth. Beg to be remembered. They cry out constantly in our minds. Like tiny children. Wailing children. Nights contain a thousand sins, a thousand horrid things, never meant to be shared.
Then, that evening, I'd wanted to surprise Harry, get him out of his seclusion. I hadn't spoken to him in nearly two weeks, never being able to touch him was driving me mad. I used a mimicry spell on a sleeping elf that I'd drugged earlier, and left him in Harry's bed.
There was something wrong with Harry from the beginning though. He shook without being touched. The snow lay in thick frozen masses on the ground he wore a heavy coat and for a little while I just pretended that it was the cold. I had my arm around him, attempting to show him that I wouldn't hurt him, not right away. I encouraged him into a small clearing just inside the Forbidden Forest by whispering into his ear amusing happenings that he'd missed. Eager for news he'd followed, smiling a little, just a little quirky smile that seemed to hurt.
I sat him down under the great hulking mass of an unearthed tree. As long as the wind didn't change we would be warm. He gave me a sheepish almost virgin-like smile. I laughed.
"It' hasn't been that long." I teased, my hand slowly creeping to his face. I bent in and pressed most of my weight against his. I sighed as my mouth fought for his lips then his tongue, I caught bits of teeth and laughter, but all was good then, all was hole. His laughter wasn't light or mirthful, it was like his eyes, bitter and saddened, desperate. I wanted him to be happy, even though I knew he wouldn't ever be. In the back of my mind I knew. It was like all the times I'd ever expected my father to love me, or my mother to care. It was that one thing I was always striving for, that thing even now, now that it doesn't matter, I can't name.
Was it failure? Was it life? Was it feeling alive? Was it love? I try to figure it out, why I was what I was. Why I did what I did to him.
I was thinking then of that hole in my life and like so many times before I hurt him. I wasn't entirely thinking my hands just went to his neck, and clamped down. This time though he twisted violently in my hands, thrashing, for once, actually loose of my grip. He stood. His feet took large frightened steps backwards. My tongue tied and untied itself, the words getting too stuck and garbled to make sense even in my head.
"Don't." I started, watching the nervous shaking of his legs.
But he had already turned and vanished like a ghost into the forest. I panicked, immediately realizing that since he wasn't with me he was fair game. Not that I truthfully ever would have been able fight off Voldemort, only that once the situation spiraled out of control all logic and fear were able to rush back to my mind and block out my petty desires and momentary wants. I ran after him. He seemed to run too fast, always one step ahead of me, and soon I'd tripped over a gnarled hideous tree root.
When my eyes opened after the initial shock of tripping they caught a black snake slithering over my leg. Then another, I stood, and backed up in fear towards the tree. Several more snakes slithered over the path, and then suddenly there was a great stir, a great vibration. Winter birds fluttered shrieking up into the air and the forest seemed to lurch. Thousands of snakes began to pour over the pathway, following Harry. I began to run again, slipping and sliding over snakes. My gait though quick held apprehension, fear. Occasionally snakes snapped their jaws at me propelling their thin horrid bodies into the air a moment, before diving down once more into the oncoming sea of snakes.
The scene I came upon was far more disturbing than any my mind could have dreamt up. The snakes were all streaming straight towards Harry, engulfing him in a big mass of serphants. Voldemort stood in front of him, a hooded cloak wrapped around his thin frame. A few of the snakes were being driven back in Voldemort's direction. He merely laughed and turned them once again against Harry. Voldemort shook his cloack covered hand and the snakes began to drift away, all save one, a large black Anaconda which lay coiled around Harry. It's tongue very, very close to his ear. The others circled us, building a large defensive wall, aided by some earlier spell Voldemort must have cast.
"I know that I can't kill you with magic, so, I've decided—" Voldemort paused to sneer and move closer to Harry. "To kill you with force."
He gripped Harry's face harshly and began to meticulously stitch his mouth shut by hand. I watched him push one stitch in, pull it out, and thread it through again before I found my voice.
"Harry!" It was the loudest I'd ever said his name in hatred or in love. I rushed forward thinking, thinking that I could do something. Anything. A wall of snakes rose up in defiance, they encircled me. Hundreds of stupid snakes leaving me only a foot or two of space. I couldn't see anything. Instinctively seeing the snakes heading straight towards me I stepped back and into a growing mass of snakes. They bit into me. Every part of me. My skull, my ears, all exposed flesh, every piece of me was game. I fought them rolling on the ground trying to dislodge their piercing fangs. The injuries burned and it seemed the second a snake detached another one would take its place. My hands fought to find my wand, but the bites nearly paralyzed me. In what seemed like mere minutes I was on the ground unable to move, poison flooding through my body, taking me into unconsciousness.
When I drifted back to consciousness I came face to face with Voldemort. I was suspended in mid-air. Drifting, untouchable. His hideous face loomed as only a portion of a rotted skull, the maggots still crawling freshly about inside.
"Your father is too good a servant for me to end your days. So I am taking from you what you tried to attack me with." And there was only the pain of being severed for a moment, before it all tried to rush up to hit me.
I wish I could tell you that it didn't hurt, that Voldemort had left enough venom inside me for it to only sting a little, but he had left none. More than anything do I wish that were the worst of it.
"Harry—" I stared at my hands and the words fell dead out of my mouth. Heavy and lead-like.
"Do you really want to see him?" An eye, what looked like an eye dazzled for a moment. Voldemort had obviously taken a sick perversion in this. My body began to shake as my eyes took in my hands, I tried to calm it, but there was almost no use. Blood, blood everywhere. Shock. Muggles died of shock, their hearts stopped. Something childish in me began to whimper. Voldemort levitated me up to the thick branch of a tree.
I didn't see Harry at first, I was too busy concentrating on the clean bone holes and red throbbing muscles of my wrists. The morning sun was weaving its way through the forest, chasing the shadows back into their hideous oblivion. Even the light was sick though, as it bounced garishly off of the snow. I heard struggling, Harry's soft voice.
First I saw the rope tied securely around the tree, my eyes followed the round circle and hump of the knot on the branch then down the length of the rope until the exact point where it wound itself round Harry's neck.
"Harry!" The words seemed far away and distant, like I was gone already, removed. He jerked his head upwards.
His eyelids and lips were sewn shut, and swollen to the point that they no longer fit his face. Stretched out nearly comically his eyelids looked like lips, and his lips looked like bleeding red blobs of fat. Expanded hunks of flesh poked out between the stitchings, like tiny checkerboards.
I screamed, but even I couldn't hear the scream, I flayed my arms helplessly towards the rope. It only caused blood to splatter onto Harry's face. Somewhere below I heard laughter; Voldemort, waiting for Harry to die.
Harry himself began to scream, feeling the hot liquid splash onto his face. I sincerely hope he didn't figure out what it was. Choked closed gaspy screams hissed the way up the rope to my ears. Harry jerked back and fourth as hard as he could, the tree branch refused to move. Frantically I began to gnaw at the rope with my teeth. Soon though the rough double tied fiber began to make my jaw ache. When I finally stopped it was too late and useless.
Harry died with his face pointed up towards me, the rope still swinging mildly back and forth. I pushed myself upwards shoving my open wounds into the bark forcing me to cry out. I managed to turn over onto my back, nearly falling out of the tree in the process. I just couldn't look at Harry any longer, because it wasn't Harry, it was just his body. His corpse. His remains.
My consciousness drifted back and forth it stretched almost all the way to death, and then painfully pulled back again. I dreamt that in the ensnarled sunlight, caught in the branches, Harry had appeared wearing a robe of white. All his pain gone, he bent towards me and ever so careful wrote upon my lips the words "love." Then he evaporated and I was left only with the blue morning sky. Hideous damnable sky. For me things were finished, even though I had been spared, there was no point. Nothing. My mouth opened to scream the last tiny bit of my life from my chest. Something high and foreign, something shrieking came fourth for an instant, and then died, dove back down inside my chest. I closed my eyes. There was nothing inside, no heart, no soul. My mind soared high above me: no more, no more, it sighed, bent, and tore away.
--
Yes, there is more.
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The Protector