Title: Aeternus Insomnium
Warnings: Angst, AU?, Dark, Disturbed, Mild Squick, NCS, Slash.
Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to Becka; characters are used without permission for a non-profit purpose. No infringement is intended.
Am I? Harry thinks, staring up at the whitewashed ceiling blankly. Is that really all this is? He bites his lip thoughtfully, worrying it between sharp teeth.
Why should I? Harry asks himself, ignoring the only voice he can hear. It's been like this for quite some time, ever since he defeated Voldemort in the final battle. But that seems so very, very far away.
"I wish you wouldn't…"
Harry listens to the voice as it trails off. He wants to close his eyes and fall asleep, and dream pure dreams like a little kid. He thinks that would be nice, but he doesn't remember how.
"It's not fair."
Life isn't fair, or so Harry thinks. Life's not fair at all. It wasn't fair when Voldemort killed his parents; it wasn't fair that he survived; it wasn't fair that the world expected him to save them all when Voldie rolled around again. But what really isn't fair is the price he has to pay.
"I'm not sorry, though."
No, no, you're really not, Harry wants to shout. But he can't because… well, because he can't. He can still remember the final battle. Not that it's even remotely possible that he'll ever forget. He can't forget the green, glowing light that ended Voldemort's life because it came from his own wand. He can't forget the hysterical laughter, the whispered curse from Voldemort's wand, because… well, because he can't.
"I hate you for this."
I hate me too, Harry thinks. Join the club. If I'm the founder, I'll make you my vice-president. He feels two hands roughly unbuttoning his shirt, and he continues to bite his lip.
I won't, Harry thinks petulantly. I won't, and you can't make me. You can't stop me from this, just like I can't stop you. The hands pull his shirt off and set to work on his pants. Harry thinks that the voice might save time if it didn't bother to dress him between visits.
Harry doesn't know what the voice wishes. The voice never gets to that part. And yes, Harry will obstinately think of the voice as the voice because giving the voice a name would be a crippling blow. Ignorance is bliss. Harry's not ignorant, but he can pretend, can't he?
"Albus objects to this, you know."
Does he really? Harry thinks, staring at the ceiling as hands run down his body like water. I can't imagine why. Albus has used me my whole life – is he so selfish as to think that he has the market cornered?
"He knows what I do. He gives me these little, reproaching looks."
Harry wishes he could sigh. Or cry out. Or do _anything_ save stare at the ceiling and bite at his lip. Goddamn Voldemort, he thinks.
"Ms. Granger – I refuse to call her Weasley – thanked me yesterday."
It's simply not fair, Harry thinks. But then, life's not fair, is it? The hands are working between his legs now, and in a moment Harry knows that the voice will flip him over onto his stomach. The voice is predictable like that. The voice likes patterns and procedures and following the rules. Likes Harry, on his stomach, and fucking him until he bleeds.
"She said it was kind of me to take you in. Asked me how you were doing."
Then again, Harry thinks, nibbling his lip, it's better to be on my stomach. I can't very well close my eyes, and not seeing his face keeps the voice anonymous. Keeps me pretending.
"Stop that. And I told her you were still staring at the ceiling and nibbling your lip like a bloody vegetable."
The hands are replaced with a mouth, nibbling his flesh like Harry nibbles his lip. And a tongue, laving skin in the mockery of romance. Harry thinks this is a slightly new development.
"She told me I was growing bitter in my old age. Had the audacity to laugh at my sneer."
Harry thinks about the final battle when Voldemort whispered his final curse. Aeternus Insomnium. So much for Unforgivable, because Harry knows that one hit right below the belt.
"She thinks I have _feelings_ for you."
The hands flip him over, lips never leaving the surface of his skin. Now Harry's staring at the dark green pillowcase, and even though the voice can't see him, he continues to bite his lip.
Well, he amends to himself, the voice doesn't need to see him to know he's biting his lip. There's not really much else he can do, which is probably enough to drive a lesser wizard more than a little crazy. Something pokes at his bottom, and yes, Harry will obstinately think of the voice's cock as something. It makes it easier to pretend that way.
"We both know I don't have feelings for you."
Ah, Harry thinks sagely. Because it's completely normal to unfeelingly fuck an almost-comatose once-Golden Boy. But then, you're not normal, Mr. Voice, and I'm not really a boy anymore. Harry thinks his clarity of mind is rather amazing when he's being pounded through the mattress.
"If I – ah – had those sort of – nhh – feelings – Merlin –"
It's funny to think that Voldemort probably had no _idea_ how bloody cruel his final curse would be. But then, life is funny life that. Insomnium – bad dreams. Aeternus – eternal. The combination should have resulted in Harry being locked inside of his worst nightmare.
"I – ah –"
The tempo picks up a bit, and Harry knows the voice is close.
"Merlin – Harry –"
Eternal bad dreams would be welcome at this point. But then, this is the stuff of Harry's nightmare. To never sleep. To never close his eyes. To never do more than bite his lip at his helplessness. And to have someone fucking get _off_ on it.
Perhaps the voice doesn't know he's aware. Harry wonders if things would be different if someone, anyone, knew that his nightmare was to be completely aware of what was happening to him. Aware of the weight of another body pressed against his back. Aware of the warmth slicking his insides. Aware of the voice whispering in his ear –
"– sorry, Harry. I'm so bloody sorry–"
And wouldn't it be funny if one day the curse will just wear off, perhaps in the middle of one of these little sessions, and he could look at S… at the voice and say in his mildest tone of voice, "Stop that."
"– I wish –"
And then the voice would know that Harry had been completely aware of every word spoken, of every unwanted touch, of every bloody pointless "sorry" after being fucked raw. And maybe Harry could take revenge, cast Aeternus Insomnium on the voice, and show him what the stuff of nightmares really is.
"– I wish –"
Harry doesn't know what the voice wishes. The voice always skips over that part and cuts straight to –
"– but I'll take you this way –"
And it's all a dream anyway, and the tears that scald his back aren't real because he can't see them.
"– because it's the only way I can have you."