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Mortal Eternity	By : Sarryn Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 11878 -:- 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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Disclaimer: I don�t own the rights to the Harry Potter Series, which solely belong to J.K. Rowling, et al, but that hasn�t stopped me from writing about them.

Warning: This story contains the themes of sex, shota/chanslash, and male/male relationships, a.k.a. slash/yaoi. If any of these may offend you, then stop reading. If, however, you do read this, in spite of my warnings, and find it offensive, then I have to say it is your own fault. Some scenes of an erotic nature, but I have attempted to write them as tastefully as my ability allows.
Note: I will not accept any flames, however, comments and criticisms are welcome. I am under the assumption that anyone reading this has a clear understanding of the difference between flames and criticisms so I don�t have to explain it. Here are some reason why I don�t accept flames: 1) they generally include an attack on the author�s character without regard to prev or or future works that may or may not be in the same vein, 2) not only are they childish, but they make the writer of them sound immature and not old enough to read the material contained herein, 3) flames help neither the author nor the flamer to improve the work and, therefore, are not constructive, 4) if something is so offensive as to elicit tmpulmpulse to flame then it is better forgotten and not dwelled upon, 5) you waste time writing it and I waste time reading and then deleting it, 6) it won�t do you any good to point out my lack of scruples, morals, intelligence, sanity, etc., because not only don�t I care, but I won�t listen.
Additionally, the chanslash does not start until Harry reaches an older age, which shall occur, most likely, in the following chapter/s.

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Mortal Eternity

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It wasn�t happily ever after�

�And the prince with hair of jet and eyes of blue glass knew that he had been betrayed by the faithless rat when he saw the hateful black wyrm slithering up to the castle�s gate.� Auburn hair streaked with sorrow-spun sliver, the woman rocks her young son and fills his small ears with poisoned fairytales. The boy shudders as tender horrors issue from his beloved mother�s bleached lips.
�The prince fought valiantly, but the wyrm�s venom proved too strong and he fell before the ancient castle gates.�
�I don�t like this story!� the boy cries and burrows his small head against her sagging bosom.
�And up in the tower the princess crowned with crimson flames held fast an infant angel. She heard the death cry of her beloved and all the fragile hopes of her soul perished with him.�
�Please, mommy!� Great tears trail down the boy�s smooth cheeks and soak the woman�s thin day gown. Gently she strokes his bowed head and continues the tale with a voice of tattered silk.
�Singing a mocking funeral dirge, the hateful wyrm slithered up the stone stairs that groaned with the passing of hundreds of years. The princess tried to block the door, but it was in vain. The wyrm breathed its poisonous words into the small room. Swiftly it attacked the brave princess and she fell before his onslaught like the prince before her.�
�No. Stop it! I don�t want to hear!� Small fists slam ineffectually against the woman�s chest.
�However, unlike with the prince, the wyrm did not let the princess die. Oh no, he sank his vile fangs into her red heart and filled her with his corruption and then he kissed the infant angel. With no prince left to protect them the wyrm was able to kidnap the maddened princess and the sweet angel. He took them back to his odious lair and chained them down with ribbons of barbwire and hate.
�No one ever found them. The prince�s remaining vassals had been mislead and captured. Even the beneficent king was powerless to rescue the princess and the angel.�
�No�� the child sobs weakly.
�Hush, love, it�s alright.� Lovingly the mother tilts the child�s head up to meet his piercing green eyes. �They found happily ever after.�
Spun-glass hope fills the child�s luminous face.
�They died.�
* * *
The earthworm burrowed beneath the castle walls and they crumbled�

�Stupid bitch!� the young man screams as he kicks the singing woman. She lands on the water-splashed black tiles of the bathroom floor.
�The prince is dead. The princess is dead. The angel is dead,� she trills in a voice that was once gentle and mellifluous. Now it is the breaking of ice and rent flesh. Crimson eyes blazing with ferocious malevolence, the youth delivers a rib-cracking blow to the woman�s chest. She wails in pain and curls into a fetal position.
�My Lord, he lives.� The young man pauses and looks inquiringly over his shoulder. His servant holds the eerily pale form of a drenched child. The small boy convulses with each wet cough. A thin line of water trickles out of his mouth.
Abandoning the wailing and whimpering madwoman, he strides forward and takes the wet child in his arms. He places his cold lips over the child�s and sucks out the last drops of life-extinguishing watehe bhe boy�s coughing ceases and he drifts off into an exhausted slumber.
�Put him to bed, Severus,� the youth instructs after spiting the water onto the floor. �I�ll deal with his mother. We shall have to adjust the wards upon her afterwards.�
�You don�t plan on��
�If she tries this again, I most certainly will. For now��He s a s a cold glare upon the woman��I�ll only remind her of her place.�
�Perhaps we should obliviate this incident from the boy�s mind?�
�Hmm�Yes, do that.�
�Yes, my Lord.�
* * *
�I love you,� she lied with a smile�

Harry closes his eyes. Mother is in the doll room again. He hates that room and its silent, glassy-eyed inhabitants, pretty little corpses lining white-pine shelves. He stands silently outside the door and listens to the soft rise and fall of her voice. She is telling them stories. She talks of the prince and the princess. She sings them songs of heroes and dragons.
He wishes she would tell him those stories, but she never will. Mother only tells happy stories to the deaf dolls. She croons silver words to them. She loves them. She knows the name of each one; she forgets his half the time.
He hates the dolls.
They�ve stolen his mother.
Maybe if he is a doll then mother will love him. Maybe then she won�t tell him the scary stories.
�Mommy,� he whispers to the door as he slides down its smooth surface. Listening to her voice with closed eyes, he can pretend the sweet words she speaks are directed towards him.
�I love you so much, James. Of course I�ll marry you!�
Harry hates James, too. He�s never met James, but sometimes mother calls him by that name and then bursts into fits of uncontrollable tears. He wants to hit her when she does that. He wants to scream that he isn�t James; he�s Harry, Harry not James! He doesn�t, though. He did that once and she only looked at him blankly. Her dull green eyes were flat and unknowing. She asked him who he was. That was worse than her calling him James.
�Would you like some more tea, Anne?� Porcelain clinks. �I�m going to be a bride. Isn�t that wonderful?�
Unless she�s telling him scary stories, mother ignores Harry. When she isn�t in the doll room or her bedroom�he�s not allowed in either�she wanders aimlessly about the mansion. He follows her silent form. She is like a sad ghost haunting the place.
Sometimes he hates her. Sometimes he wishes that she would die. But then he feels so guilty and vows to love her even more. He�s only told mother that he loves her one time. She hit him. He hasn�t told her since.
If only she would call him Harry and hold him and tell nicenice things.
Tom does, but mother doesn�t like Tom one bit. Whenever he comes over, and he seems to visit quite a lot, she vanishes into her rooms. Harry doesn�t understand this. He asked mother but she only cried. He asked Tom but he only shrugged and smiled. Harry wishes someone would tell him why!
At least Tom tells him nice stories unlike mother. His stories are strange, but they have happy endings. They don�t burrow into Harry�s stomach and make him feel ill. Sometimes Tom gives him peppermint candies for a kiss. Now Harry thinks that kisses taste like peppermint.
Every once in a while Tom brings older friends over. There is a man with silvery-gold hair and molten pewter eyes. There is also one with hair and eyes so black it seems that the sun never existed. The third is brown, hair and eyes, with pinched, unpleasant features. Others come, too, but less frequently, and Harry doesn�t feel any obligation to remember their faces.
Harry likes the fact that Tom doesn�t ignore him when his older friends are over. In fact, Tom makes it quite a point to have him there while they talk about things. He feels like such a grown up. He told Tom that once; Tom laughed.
If only mother would come out of the room�
He wants to burn the room, burn the dolls. Maybe mother would tell him nice stories then. Maybe Tom would give him another peppermint kiss.
* * *
Drip, drip, drip went God�s severed head�

�I really don�t think it�s wise to leave the child all alone with that�woman.�
Harry feels Tom�s laughter rumble deep in his chest. Strong arms surround him and hold him close. He feels safe and warm, perhaps too warm for such a sunny day, but he doesn�t care. Small birds twitter among the flowering bushes and dark green tree boughs. He can smell the grass and Tom. Everything is glowing with the barest traces of a sleepy afternoon.
�She can�t harm him now any more than she can harm herself. The wards make sure of that.�
�Still, it can�t be very healthy��
�Are you questioning me?� Harry shivers as Tom�s decidedly chilly voice whips the air. He turns his head and looks at Tom�s friend. The man has no expression on his face. Dark eyes catch his for a moment then slide away.
�No, my Lord.�
�Good. If you�re so concerned with his mental health, then perhaps we should find him a playmate.� Harry perks up a bit at this suggestion. �Someone his own age? What about Malfoy�s spawn?�
�I don�t think that is wise. Draco has certain�ah, predilections. He is taking after Lucius at a very young age.�
�Really? What has he done that makes you so reluctant to let him play with Harry?�
Harry likes it when Tom says his name. It sounds warm and much more interesting. When he is alone with his mother, he says his own name out loud so he won�t forget it. Tom told him one time that a name is the only thing that makes someone alive. Without a name you don�t exist.
�You remember those two geldings that Lucius was moaning about a while back, my Lord?�
�He was quite incensed about the matter, as I recall.�
�Indeed. My godson burst their eyes.�
�Hmm. Perhaps he would not be the best companion. Quite vicious. I�me Lue Lucius is proud.� The guest chuckles darkly. Harry curls closer to Tom. He doesn�t like the conversation. He has seen pictures of horses; what he remembers most about them are their large, liquid eyes.
�What about a tutor? Does the boy even know his letters?�
�Reading can be dangerous. Knowledge is power, especially for us.� Tom�s elegant hands comb though Harry�s unruly hair and slide down his back to gather him closer.
�As you say, my Lord.�
�But perhaps you�re not so far off. What say you, Harry? Would you like to learn to read?� Harry blinks sleepily and meets Tom�s garnet eyes.
�Read?� he queries softly around a dainty yawn.
�Yes. Would you?�
�Okay.�
�A Potter willing to learn anything? Now I think I have seen it all,� the guest scoffs.
�Severus.� Tom�s voice is a clear warning that immediately silences the guest. Harry is glad. The man�s derision hurts.
�I am sorry, my Lord. I let my tongue get away from me.�
�Perhaps, then, we should see it better occupied? Report to Bella after you leave.�
�Yes, my Lord.�
�Now, as for Harry, who should instruct him, I wonder?� Harry closes his eyes and decides that the conversation is no longer interesting. �How about our special guest?�
�No!� Harry jumps as the man�s enraged voice snaps through the air. He turns distressed eyes upon the man, who is partly out of his chair, face flushed with rage. He whimpers Tom Tom rubs gentling hands down his back.
�You promised me revenge, my Lord. You said��
�I am quite aware of what I said, Severus, there is no need to remind me.�
�My Lord��
�Do you really like spending so much time with Bella?�
�No, my Lord.�
�Then stop talking before I send you to her for an extended stay.� Tom presses a small kiss to Harry�s dark crown., lo, look, you�ve frightened the child. Shame on you, Severus.� The man makes no reply to Tom�s chastisement. Harry thinks he is a rather scary individual. He seeks reassurance in Tom�s willing arms.
�My Lord.�
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Mortal Eternity