May 11
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written for @drarrymicrofic‘s 25th january prompt: shattered
warnings for: violence, blood, death, moral ambiguity / dark!drarry
I feel the bones shatter under my knuckles. A fleshy slap, every time my fists connect with their skin. Breaking bones, drawing blood.
I want to hurt them. I want to see them crumble and fall, I want to see their pain.
“Darling”, your voice calls to me sweetly. “You’re done. They won’t hurt me anymore.”
You kiss me softly, smearing blood over your beautiful face.
“They’re dead.” You smile.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
It has been so long since Harry could recall feeling warm by the fire, or safe in someone's arms. Almost ten years since the inky dark swallowed him and spit him back out in bloody pieces.
He thought they had a deal. He'd promised, but Harry knew then what he still knows now - there's no way he'd ever come through with his end. He just doesn't have it in him.
But then why does he keep returning to the Malfoy Manor's attic as though it was the first time all over again? Why does he torture himself like this?