Authors Note: This story was written based on a request from Winter.Poem, and long faithful fan of my other stories. She challenged me with writing a dark fic, and I think I'm enjoying this story the most so far, at some point... you might even see me in it. lol. This is story 3 of 4 new ones that I am posting today. I was going to space them out a little, but I'm selfish and want to post them all right away. lol. There is only one chapter to each so far, and they will all be longer multi chapter stories. I hope you enjoy.
Chapter 1 Scars
Harry could feel the thrumming music even from the street outside the club.
It was just after midnight and Harry had no idea what he was doing on this particular street corner. The club was called The Castle, but Harry had seen real castles, went to school at one, fought a war there, and helped to rebuild it. This was no castle, only a warehouse.
The small slatted windows along the top of the building were grimy, the walls a corrugated rusted out silver. Only the large wooden doors with their iron work hinges and handles made it look unlike any other building in this industrial district, that and the red neon proclaiming it 'The Castle'.
Of course the name was false, even a muggle Brit has seen their fair share of real castles, enough to know that this worn out building wouldn't count. But then everything inside would be false as well, the clothing, the hair, the pleasure and the pain.
Which brought Harry back to why he was here in the first place.
It was his last ditch effort to make himself feel something other than the lonely heartache he had been feeling in the years since he took down Voldemort and ended the war.
From that point, his life had been a downhill spiral of trying to find a use for himself. Trying to find a reason to exist outside of his childhood mission. What does one do with oneself if your whole reason to live is over at the age of seventeen?
Harry hadn't figured it out yet.
Not for lack of trying of course, but as of yet, Harry had not found a new purpose in life, and because of that his mind caught up with him. With no distractions he was being consistently reminded of the emotional pain of losing people he loved. The only thing he found that could drown it all out was physical pain.
He looked down at his scarred up wrists and grimaced. The mounds of light pink flesh stood out like a beacon over his head begging for someone to release him from his metal prison. Every single time he closed his eyes he was barraged with flashing images of terror.
Snape lying on the floor of a rotted out house, his life slipping away. Fred falling backwards, the light draining from his eyes. The rows of bodies lined up in the Great Hall. All the people he couldn't save. Fred, Lupin, Tonks, Snape, Dobby, Mad Eye, Hedwig, Dumbledore, Sirius, Cedric… his parents.
The list only seemed to get longer the more he thought about it, and that only included the people he could name. He didn't even have a touch on how many innocent muggles and wizards died because he wasn't smart enough, wasn't fast enough.
Harry took a deep breath and walked toward the doors to the club, the music from inside getting louder with each step he took. As he reached the entrance one of the doors swung open, seemingly of its own accord, but Harry knew better. This was a muggle club.
An ominously tall woman stood in the doorway, her silver leather platform boots helping add to her height. Her hair was blonde, but not the natural sort, and it was flowing down her back in braids. Her outfit left little to the imagination, silver hot pants and a studded bra with black fishnet under the whole ensemble.
She reached her hand out automatically and gave Harry a withering look. In only jeans and a loose fitting tee shirt he guessed that he was the one who looked like a freak here. Not that it was an unusual feeling for Harry to have; he was usually the freak everywhere he went.
Harry pulled out his wallet, flashing his muggle ID but she held out her palm further, indicating that he would need to take it out and hand it to her. He sighed and pushed the slim piece of plastic into her hands. She scrutinized it as if she didn't believe he was really twenty-seven, but it was true and Harry thought it could be seen plain as day on every facet of his face.
Ten long years he had struggled with his demons, only to have them strengthen each day, instead of fade like they did for everyone else.
The woman at the door finally handed back his ID and ushered him through with a wave. He handed some cash off to the man sitting next to her, and he stuck a fluorescent red paper bracelet around his wrist.
Behind the entrance was a thick red velvet curtain, which blocked the view of what was waiting for him inside. He walked ahead and pulled the curtain aside, stepping through into the pulsing beat of music and lights.
It sounded like several car alarms were going off at once in his head. He resisted the urge to clamp his hands over his ears and let the music vibrate through his skin. After a few minutes a gravely, yet melodic male voice in the song caught his attention and Harry began actually liking the music. It was different than anything ever played on the wizard wireless, and more intense than any of the muggle music he usually picked out.
All around him were what looked like holding cells with curtains instead of doors. Some were open and some closed, but most seemed to be full of groups or pairings of people apparently enjoying themselves.
He walked through the dungeon-like corridor and into the area beyond, which was a wide expanse of dance floor, filled with writhing sweating bodies. The music had changed to something full of bass that made the entire floor thump beneath him.
He edged around the dance floor, keeping a safe distance. No chance was he getting roped into that nonsense. Most of the people dancing seemed to know what was expected, working their torsos and limbs in time with the rhythm of the music, kicking, spinning and reaching their arms up toward the sky. Some of them even managed to do all this with a drink in their hand.
It looked beautiful and almost choreographed, but Harry knew that with his two left feet he would manage to take down the entire crowd in seconds, a domino effect of shiny PVC clad bodies.
Along the side of the floor were red leather sofas and large wooden structures hanging against the walls. Harry's eyes drifted to the third structure, and sort of 'x' made of thick ebony beams. A fat bald man was strapped into it, almost completely nude except for a thin piece of black material covering the crack of his arse.
A small girl stood in front of him; she seemed young and petite, wearing a shiny white dress and a black corset cinching her waist. Her black hair was pulled up on top of her head a came down like a waterfall. Red mixed in with the black, as well as other things that didn't seem to belong, like lengths of black tube, making her look like a futuristic drag queen. Her make up was dramatic, and she seemed to catch Harry staring and winked.
The black leather riding crop in her hands flicked out and whipped across the skin of the pasty man tied up in front of her. His body flinched as the tip struck his flesh.
The young girl noticed his face immediately and her lips twisted into a subtle smirk. She walked over to Harry, her white buckled boots clicking against the concrete floor.
"I thought you might be lost at first, but you seem to be enjoying yourself," she said. Her voice was tiny and soft, and he could barely hear it over the music.
He nodded and leaned into her. "Yes, this seems to be exactly what I'm looking for," he replied.
Her smiled widened. "Do you want up there?" she asked, eagerness sparkling in her golden eyes.
"Does it hurt?" Harry asked.
She nodded wickedly.
"Then I'm in," Harry said with a grin.
The girl marched over and removed the straps from the pasty fellow that was currently up there. She grabbed Harry's hand in her own small one, and led him over to the ominous structure. "You'll have to remove your shirt at the very least, otherwise it won't be any fun," she pouted.
Harry pulled his tee shirt off over his head, messing up his shaggy black hair and pulling off his glasses in the process. He reached for the glasses and felt a sting surge up his bare arm. He pulled his hand back with a yelp.
The girl stood there with a smug grin, having just taken her first swipe at Harry. "Leave them," she ordered and Harry nodded his assent.
She strapped him in tightly, his chest against the structure and his arms splayed wide. All he could see was the wall and he couldn't turn his head enough to see the girl behind him.
Several quick swipes fell across his skin, each of them barely grazing his back. Not painful. He scowled slightly, waiting for the pain to come, willing it to flow through him in thought crushing waves.
A few more swipes and he barely felt a twinge of discomfort. "Is that all you have girlie?" he shouted, hoping it would piss her off.
It worked. The next few hits stung, but it still fell far short of what he needed. He heard a man's voice behind him, addressing the girl as ' Mary' and asking if he could give it a try. She grumbled and Harry didn't know if she had conceited or not until the blow hit him straight across the back, making him arch up and scream.
Slowly the images of the war faded into muggle television snow and his mind was clear. It was bliss, pure and simple.
That was, until he heard the girl shouting.
"Malfoy," she exclaimed, "you got blood on my skirt!"
Malfoy laughed, and Harry went ridged. He could hear the lilt of Draco's voice that he hadn't heard before. What the hell was that prat doing here?
"Get me down," Harry shouted.
The blonde came into view at his side, looking smug as ever. "Well, well, if it isn't the savior of the wizarding world, the Golden Boy. This place is a little degrading for the likes of you, isn't it?" he drawled.
"Don't pretend to know anything about me, Malfoy," Harry spat.
Malfoy sneered at him and stepped back, taking another skin breaking swipe at his back. Harry gritted his teeth so as not to let Draco know how much he enjoyed the pain. He was trying to hurt the Great Harry Potter, but it would be worse if he knew how much Harry liked the pain, needed it.
He didn't want Malfoy to deny him this respite from the bright nightmares that flooded his mind every waking moment.
Another swipe and Harry's legs buckled from the pain, the only thing holding him in place were the straps on his wrist.
Another swipe and the edges of his vision became fuzzy and warmth spread through his body.
Another swipe and he lost consciousness, sagging completely in his bindings, only vaguely aware of the girl, Mary, screaming at Draco to stop.
"Don't stop," Harry mumbled before losing himself to a thick dreamless sleep.
Authors note: Review hint hint.