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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
- 4
- 5
- 6
Title: The Protector
Chapter 5: Falling
Warnings: Self-destruction, sex, and explicit drug use, grossness that is normally glossed over in literature.
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, and I never will. I am not profiting from this in any way.
Note: Thanks to all those who reviewed this fic, and those that have been following it since its move from FF.net! I really appreciate the feedback and support (=

Life and all its turmoil became worse after the incident with my father. Now that I had finally wanted something more than my father's approval, I lost all respect for him. Along with that respect went my self-esteem. I cut off all social ties with everyone, even Snape. They were just going to die anyway, or worse, hurt me. I grew to be a weak sniveling creature that could no longer bear to make eye contact.
For the first time in my life I truly had nothing.
I had reached a new low point, and it could only go down from there. The maliciousness from other students, their hatred, though silent, filtered through me every waking moment. At night I would lie awake staring at the ceiling seeing their murderous glances time and time again. Always right before I'd go to sleep Harry's lifeless body would appear. Sometimes his face contained no stitches and swung peaceful like as if in a trance. Other times his features would be large, black, open holes, as if the stitches had been torn off a long with all that they were covering up, leaving only the sheer darkness of nothing for Harry to see with.
Whenever I slept nightmares would creep through the torn portions of my mind and I would scream until one of my bunkmates would shake me awake or punch me in the arm and tell me to shut up or to quit screaming. I tried, with gags, and potions of all sorts, nothing helped though, and I quickly grew too afraid to sleep at all.
Out of stress I would claw at my skin, creating tiny holes in my scalp, and large welts on my skin. The welts would start out like all wounds once you break through a few layers of skin: pink and delicate. Once I got past the first fifteen seconds of scratching at skin, endorphins would kill the pain. Then I could go as deep as I wanted with only little jolts of numbness every time my nails hit the exposed nerves. I would usually stop once tiny pinpricks of blood would burst out of my skin. When I stopped the pain would come screaming at me, and I would smile, content with the rush of deliciousness. Those were the best wounds. Whenever fabric or a strong gust of air, or even water, would brush over the wounds I would be reminded that they existed. For the first day or two after the wounds were created the edges would turn yellow and the insides red, after a while scabs would form. I'd never let the scabs be though, I picked them open every chance I got, and would suck at the blood and puss. The blood was almost comforting, because it was my own, my own salty delicate taste circulating in my mouth, proof that I was alive. The puss was just a challenge, it would grow so deep and imbedded into the wound that it would nearly kill me to pull out. It hurt so terribly, and it tasted even worse, not that it made any sense as to why I would eat my own puss, just that, again, perhaps it was a part of me.
Circles developed under my eyes, I stopped showering, or combing my hair, or dressing much at all. They put me in the medical ward for a time. I would only sit by the window and stare out at the forbidden forest, watching it intently, sure that some ghost or demon, some retribution would find its way through the densely tangled trees and to me.
The medical ward was where I met Sneed.
Sneed, the name should be a warning, right? Wrong, I didn't care. Life was shit. Life's a bitch and then you die, so what did it matter what I did with or to myself? If I was just going to die anyway what was the point of even doing anything at all?
Sneed was the opposite of that statement, or perhaps he was the embodiment. Sneed was a rare creature, too wild to be human, and too sly to be an animal, he fit somewhere sneakily between the two. Sneed lived to party, to do all the decadent things good parents warn their children about. Not only did he hold all the secrets to the underbelly of the wizarding world, but he held all those of the muggle world as well. He was about to pull me into a wonderful world of sex and drugs, but I didn't know that at the time.
All I knew was that Sneed would whisper things to me at night from across the room. His voice bordered on the very edge of the end of adolescents and adulthood, it held a sneaky suspicion, and liquid fire whispers inside of it, which made him seem sarcastic and cruel most of the time.
A perfect match.
I can hear it now, the sound of his voice.
"You're Draco Malfoy aren't you?"
"You killed Harry Potter didn't you?"
Usually at that point he would stop and grow quiet, but one night he became particularly daring and continued with his taunts and jibes.
"Hung him from a tree."
"I bet you liked that, got off on that."
I turned my face to him and he laughed, his cruel demented laugh, and slid effortlessly across the floor and over to my pallet.
"I'm dead." I told him, firmly, my voice thin and fragile, as if it were barely unfolding to reveal that one pearl of truth; my only hope for my life.
"Sure you are." His hand crept to the edge of my bare shoulder and traced the outline downward. He leaned in close to my face, so close, that I could feel the moisture of his breath against my lips. He licked his own confidently and predatorily, as if he had just set eyes on a very delicious meal. "But I bet you still liked it." He hissed and bent down to dart his tongue a long the edge of my bottom lip. My body was awake, but not by choice, my body was just my body, I obviously couldn't control it, after all it kept excreting cells and grease and sweat even after I myself had shut down. And I wasn't afraid of him. No, he was the least of my fears. He pressed his mouth against mine and forced his tongue inside, my jaw opened slightly to accept the intrusion, my tongue gave a lazy backward response. He pulled away smiling.
"You taste sweet. If you clean yourself tomorrow, take a shower, do your hair, I'll bring you something special." I coughed slightly and laughed, my body gave a shudder as it tried to suppress what raced through it.
"You think you can save me?" He only smiled his cocky smile and moved back towards his bed. I lay awake again for the millionth night in a row, long after the hospital wing quieted, staring at the blackness of the ceiling, pretending I could see the stars.
The next morning hs res released from the hospital wing. I can't tell you exactly what motivated me to fulfill his request, perhaps only that I could not sit a moment longer and stare out into that forest. That I could not take another moment of failed suicide attempts, that I knew that I could not call my death to me and force it to embrace me. True freedom means you have nothing, and maybe, just maybe, I didn't want to be free anymore.
So before my regular forced bathing time I snuck to the wash rooms and cleaned myself up. The staff gave me strange looks, and Madame Pomfrey added something to my chart. Why not? I thought inside. Why the hell not? I spent the day reading instead of staring out the window or at nothing. He did come though, towards the evening, around dinner. With his biting smile he came. He didn't bring anything special, not really, not compared to what I could taste later, he brought a sleeping pill. Sleeping pills and potions, because of their detrimental nature, were forbidden at Hogwarts outside of medical use. I didn't find it that special, but I didn't protest when he slipped it inside my mouth and rubbed my neck until I swallowed; just like a dog.
A few weeks later I was released from the medical area, with a bill of "stable health." I remember that day well, Sneed stood outside the heavy brown doors, leaning against the cobblestones. I hadn't been expecting anyone, no one cared, I wouldn't have cared, had I not been me. I didn't see him at first until he drew close to me. He gave me one of his all knowing smiles, wrapped an arm around me, and said:
"Now the real fun begins."
And it did of course, Sneed's version of fun. Sneed was like a more controlling side of me if my manipulative side was subtracted. While I thrived in manipulating others, Sneed only enjoyed occasionally teasing them. He gained control far more quickly than I did. He had a lot more fun mixing up new mind-altering concoctions than he did tearing apart people's minds. During sex Sneed always held my arms down or tied them, he was a few years older than me and slightly more athletic so his weight could easily keep my legs and torso from fighting him. I never really fought against him though. st tst took it. Sure it was nice, but it was a one way thing. Its like looking at your own reflection in the mirror, its ugly, but you're stuck with it, so you might as well pick out the good things in it.
He always made me let him fuck me before he'd give me what I truly wanted, what would make my mouth water, and whatever I had left of a soul sing.
Stupidly enough, it was a drug designed by muggles. I think I enjoyed muggle drugs the most, because they were the only sort that could kill you slowly. What a wonderful thing it is to tell someone who wants to die that they can die full of pleasure.
It's not an easy thing, no, far from it. I've spent most of my life chasing away the affects of a drug addiction. My mouth waters now, just thinking of the experiences I've had.
On the weekends we'd have mass drug binges. Those were the only convenient times, but of course, eventually I'd grow to need it just as often as Sneed did.
I'd watch him prepare it in the room he'd designated for his own. It was buried deep within the castle and surrounded by windows, usually covered with a black cloth, until he needed to air out the lab. Usually while he mixed, and for several minutes after he'd leave the windows open. He hadn't made much of an effort to be homely, he kept a mattress with a perpetually dirty coral striped blanket thrown over it. The rest of the room was designated for his shelves of materials, lab bench, vial holders, tubes, and other assortments. He never let me move off the bed, and would physically carry me over all his equipment and drugs to the bed. He was constantly paranoid that I'd break something. As soon as I figured out which process he used to create which drug, I would try desperately to memorize them. I knew our "relationship" wouldn't last forever, or even very long at all.
For my favorite substance: He used a chipped vial, and would just pour the contents into it from the intact side. He'd mix about 1 gram of coke and 10 mL of water. Then he'd drip ammonia into it until a white substance formed over the top, then he'd add 5 mL of Ethyl Ether stick a cork over the vial, one long enough to slide past the broken missing part, and shake it. Then he'd remove the ethyl and stick it onto a tray where he would let me watch it evaporate while he mixed something else. When the substance dried he'd have me crush it and place it under a heat spell. Twenty-four hours later it would be in a state fit for consumption.
When you're up there's no greater feeling, Harry's genuine smile, or my father's approval could hold no candle to the level of high I'd achieve.
Coming down, coming down left me too energized, and emotionally uncontrollable. It made my heart beat too fast, my insides too crazy and sick. Sneed would just laugh and usually fuck me if he felt up to the languid procedure of preparing me. Or when I grew too violent or out of control he would bind my arms and tie me to a weighed stone he kept there for hell knows what reason. I'd even bet he'd probably dragged the stone in there for the sole purpose of having a place to tie me to. Then there was my constant craving for it, always it stayed there, in the back of my mind. My wants for it became animal like and obsessed. I'd use some in the mornings, and in the evenings. I rarely slept.
Not everyone becomes addicted to it, in fact many muggles use it all over the world and can quit just fine, some of course cannot. Perhaps my addiction was caused by my weakened mental state, or the emotional need for happiness that I could not create myself.
We rarely ever went to class, there were so many students, and so many freakish occurrences, that we get way with it, for a time. Sneed was working on an "independent study," and I tried to clean myself up at least twice a week and show up to my classes. I'd tell the teachers that I had been allowed to skip classes due to my mental health, which grew shakier by the minute.
To keep us going we had to frequently resort to traveling outside of Hogwarts and stealing from both wizards and muggles. I learned a great deal of spells that would help me earn a living once I was finally on my own. Muggles were a great deal more apt to chase after their money than wizards were though, that surprised me.
Our lifestyle didn't last forever of course, and it wasn't really that enjoyable, I just lived for the drugs, that was all. The time in between held no value to me, it was only something I had to struggle through until my next fix.
What finally brought us crashing down was some idiotic first year stumbled upon our little lab. Luckily Sneed overheard a few resident ghosts talking about it and got us out of Hogwarts as quickly as he possibly could. That night we even slept outside, me huddled in Sneed's arms begging him for the emergency stash he kept hidden in his clothing. He wasn't that bad of a guy. He loved to be touched, he didn't like my violent streak, but eventually my desires had bent to his will, and I would touch him gently. It was almost disgusting what I did for him, but he wasn't that bad to me. All he'd ever do was tie me up and laugh at me. He never did anything anywhere near to what I did to Harry.
Harry, Harry, Harry.
Harry haunted me every second that I was not high. His memory lay so close to me in drugless reality that it nearly was me. It clung to every aspect of my world, the air I breathed, the scent of Sneed's sweat. Every voice, every stone, every brick. It tried everything, everything to penetrate my entire world, to start my pain, to force me to scream again. I had to escape it. The only way out was drugs.
To be continued in the next chapter
No, I don't think it's a good idea to do drugs.
What do you think? I'd really like some feedback on this chapter because I have an entirely different version of this chapter and I could post it instead if no one likes this version. I know its weird, but so far I have three alternate versions.
- 4
- 5
- 6
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The Protector