Title: Delicious Soul
Side-Pairings: Ron/Hermione, Neville/Draco, Severus/Lucius, Past-Sirius/Remus, Sirius/Fred/George, Seamus/Dean
Warnings: Slash, Abusive!Dursleys, Threesome, AU, OOC, M-Preg. (Abuse includes verbal, mental, physical, and object penetration. You have been warned.)
Rating: M for extreme explicit abuse and future sexual implications.
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. All belongs to J.K. Rowling.
Summary: The night Harry comes to age, Remus Lupin is jerked awake by a terrible feeling. His desired mate, whom he presumed dead, was alive. Seventeen, but alive. Should be happy, right? Except that his mate was dying. As he races to rescue his unknown mate, the thought doesn't even pass his mind - who is his mate?
Start Date: 5/31/11
Edit Date: 3/25/14
A/N: I still don't know whether I'll finish this story, but I'm going to attempt it. Things have been added to this story and it is being edited.
Chapter One: Mine
Chapter Warnings: Slash, Language, Abuse via Vernon in the form of verbal, physical, and object penetration. This is not a chapter for the faint of heart.
Remus woke with a start, his breath harsh as a chill traveled like spiders over his spine. His dirty blond hair was mussed from tossing and turning through the night, his eye blood-shot with deep shadows underneath them. Light brown eyes still clung with remnants from the past full moon, merely a week ago, and were swirled with amber. Sweat dripped down his face, traveling down until it rolled off his chin to fall onto the mangled comforter. Remus's labored panting was the only sound in the room, coming out in heavy gasps as he struggled to recollect himself. Insomnia had been plaguing him since the last full moon, a rarity, as normally the traces of the wolf would have left him by now. He was constantly restless, though, and sleep was becoming harder and harder to come by. His wolf had been antsy, itching to get out no matter how far away the moon was, fighting to be in control. Remus had a foreboding sense of dread, as if something terrible was going to happen. Every bump in the night startled him, every slightly out of ordinary event made him suspicious, nothing seemed to calm him; his paranoia was in overdrive. Not that terrible things happening was an odd occurrence, they were at war, after all. But this... It seemed much worse than some raid or battle, if possible. His mind hadn't felt so troubled in a long while, and this struck a chord of fear in his heart. Fear was a constant companion nowadays, and he wasn't foolish enough to deny it. Fear kept people alive, though with consequence.
A clap of thunder went through the air and Remus's eyes darted up, taking in his surroundings before landing on the clock. Midnight. What could wake me up at midnight? He knew it wasn't the storm; the small town had been having thunderstorms all week. Cracks of thunder and flashes of lightning weren't enough to wake him. Remus wasn't exactly a heavy sleeper, but he had learned to block out inconsequential noise after spending seven years of his life sleeping next to a snoring Sirius. Though the habit had faded, that still wasn't a reason as to why he would wake up in the middle of the night. He lay back in his bed, a sigh escaping his lips. Sleep eluded him; despite his mental weariness, his mind was simply too awake now.
As if to answer his previous ponderings, a strange feeling of rightness filled his chest, as if everything in the world was fixed. Remus Lupin was suddenly no longer a werewolf, no longer had to deal with paying for food, and no longer had to help fight off a certain Dark Lord. As if he had no need to look over his shoulder, no need to worry about his few family and friends left, no need to hate, and no need to live in fear. Euphoria filled him, and the world seemed golden. The dam of pain had disintegrated and joy flowed through him with the force of a waterfall. Nothing could compare to this high. Not when the Marauders first became his friends, not when they exemplified their acceptance by becoming animagi for him, not when he first held baby Harry, not even when Sirius was discovered as innocent and he finally regained the two most important people to him, Harry and Sirius. Remus had never felt this happy and at peace before in his life. Nothing else mattered anymore. Everything was right in the universe for that one second. And then it all came crashing down around him.
Pain ricocheted through his chest and he was out of his bed in moments. He was a flurry of action, pure instinct guiding him. Clothes flew everywhere as he struggled to get dressed, while some part of his brain, the animalistic side, noticed his frantic movements for what they were. Mate, mate, mate, mate! Mate's in pain! Must save Mate! Dressed and armed with his wand, Remus didn't waste time putting on a coat before he rushed out into the rain, urgency pounding through his body. He was soaked to the core in seconds, but nothing could stop him. Logic had left him, and he had one goal in mind. To save his mate.
Lightning illuminated his lithe frame as a silent pop echoed through the night and Remus disappeared from sight.
His mate was hurt.
Harry was lying on his side, curled in a ball as he faced the blinking red numbers on one of Dudley's old clocks, which happened to be five minutes fast. He resided in the smallest bedroom of Number 4 Privet Drive and rested on a long ago broken cot, stained lightly with his own blood. Rejected toys littered the walls, forgotten over time. Dust lightly coated nearly every surface, gathered from lack of use, as Harry couldn't touch most things in here even if he wanted to. Thunder crashed outside his barred window, but Harry took no notice. He was watching the clock, 11:55 it read. Ten minutes until his seventeenth birthday, till he came of age. Ten minutes until he could grab his trunk and leave this house forever, maybe to live with Sirius or Remus. Ten minutes until his suffering at the hands of his relatives could end. Ten minutes until he was free. Though the numbers were blurred, his glasses having been crushed due to Dudley reliving the days of 'Harry Hunting', he could tell he had ten minutes left. He sat up slowly and painstakingly, wincing. A wound on his back protested and his broken rib gave a twinge, but he managed to sit up, leaning heavily on the wall beside his bed.
Uncle Vernon hadn't taken well to being threatened at the end of Harry's fifth year. Before then, it had mostly been neglect with a few beatings thrown in. He had impossible chore lists and was punished constantly, but only with lack of food. Only if he did something major did he get a real thrashing. Mostly, he was just ignored. Now, though? The chores had grown harder and more ridiculous, often tedious and pointless. Any food at all became scarce, and when he received some, it was only burnt scraps. While they let him keep his school things with the promise he would not use them, he was punished daily. Beatings became more and more frequent, his uncle giving him barely any recovery time in between. The chores piled up regardless, though, and he was still expected to complete them despite his physical condition. From dropping a dish, burning food, or even for something as obscure as "contaminating the morning paper with his freakishness", he was punished. This had been going on for two summers now. Every year when he returned to school, he was careful to apply glamours on the train and show no pain, no discomfort. He couldn't have more people worrying about him, or anyone trying to help or take him away. It would just lead to his uncle escalating as Dumbledore was adamant in him staying there. Every once in a while he'd catch a concerned glance from his teachers when he limped or skipped a meal, though. Harry's stomach seemed to shrink every year, being unable to hold much food without throwing up. He was the shortest kid in his year and probably the shortest in the sixth and fifth years, too, due to living in a cramped cupboard for the first eleven years of his life. Malnutrition was taking its toll on Harry, and everyone seemed to notice.
Harry had to get out before tomorrow. He had no other choice. His uncle had found out the one thing that could have possibly made him more of a freak then he already was. He had discovered Harry was gay. Harry hadn't meant to leave his letter from Hermione lying about, but he didn't expect to be gone from his room for long. Uncle Vernon saw the regular, muggle post, though, and read it, trying to figure out what a normal person would want with someone unnatural like Harry. Of course, it had to be the one letter Hermione mentioned his sexuality, attempting to reassure him about it. And if there was one thing Vernon hated more than motorcycles or even wizards, it was homosexuals. He ranted about them daily, saying they were the biggest freaks of nature to inhabit this planet, and he was rooting for them to just be locked up and done away with. Harry had no doubt in his mind that he would die tomorrow if he did not escape; there wasn't a greater sin in his uncle's mind. Uncle Vernon had gone to sleep without touching him that night, leaving the beating to Dudley, as he had an important meeting in the morning. But Harry had a sinking feeling in his stomach that he was just planning, waiting for the opportune moment to pounce. If anything, killing him tonight would have put him in a better mood for his meeting. Nothing cheered him up like bloodying Harry up a bit. If he was going to kill Harry, he'd have to make sure Harry suffered as much as possible before he went. And the teen didn't plan on staying around long enough to find out what torture he had in store.
Nine minutes. Harry stood slowly, biting his lip to hold back a gasp of pain. His whole body throbbed with pain; it seemed Dudley was getting just as efficient as his father in beating him. Hobbling over to his trunk, he pulled it back to the broken cot, taking a seat with a sigh of relief. He'd been slowly packing for days, anxiously awaiting his departure after he turned seventeen. He had decided to leave at midnight, despite the late hour. Harry didn't notice that the sound of his trunk scraping across the floor had happened during a calm spot in the storm, making it louder than he would have wished. Glancing around the room to make sure everything was packed, Harry froze like a deer in the headlights when he heard his uncle's snores falter for a moment.
Eight minutes. Harry heard a muffled grunt, a bed creak under enormous weight. His uncle grumbled, heavy footsteps thudding against the ground as he made his way to his door. Harry's breath caught in his throat. This wasn't boding well for him, not at all. Emerald eyes darted to the window, but it was hopeless as the bars still caged him in. Glancing toward the door, he tried to calculate how much time he had to make a break for it. Not much, judging by the thundering footsteps that were sounding closer and closer every passing second. Despite being disrupted from his slumber, his uncle was making a beeline toward his room, as if to make sure Harry couldn't escape. He was sure to be enraged from being woken up so abruptly, and that would only exacerbate his earlier anger. Harry was out of time. He pushed the trunk hastily away with his feet, wincing as it scraped along the floorboards. It was soon at the end of his bed, and he scampered backwards, gasping for breath at the pain in his ribs. Curling into himself at the top corner of his bed, Harry couldn't help but think that this feeling, this absolute terror for his life, not someone else's, was the feeling one must get before they died, before their life was snatched into Death's cold grasp. There was nothing he could do now but wait for it.
Five minutes. Locks slid open outside his door and he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting and listening. The door creaked open slowly, which he was sure his uncle did purposely, to add dramatic effect, to make Harry's heart rate increase. He didn't speak yet - probably saving his voice for the actual beating. His uncle tended to yell bruising words at him while he punished him, trying to inflict as much pain as possible, whether it is mental or physical. Harry's eyes opened just as lightning flashed across the room, outlining his uncle's obese form. In that glimpse of the man, Harry saw the cruel, sadistic smirk, beady eyes filled with loathing, and a metal bat held at the ready in his hand. Eyes closed again, he heard the air whistle past the bat as it struck his shoulder, along with the shattering crack of his bone. He barely made a sound, biting his lip to keep him from crying out. He couldn't let himself scream. Showing it hurt, showing pain through any sounds at all just enraged his uncle further.
"Well, freak?" Another hit, this time along the back. "No one to help you this time, none of your freaky friends to save you now?" Vernon grunted out, hit after hit, watching with cruel satisfaction as blood stained Harry's shirt. The boy in question was biting his lip hard enough to break the skin, tasting blood, yet not letting himself even whimper.
"They don't care, either, you freak! You worthless waste of space!" Another crack went through the room, the pain forcing Harry to open his eyes. "You fucking faggot! We give you a home, shelter, food; we've clothed your back for years and even found the kindness in our hearts to feed you, a worthless FREAK that was dumped on our doorstep because no one else cared enough to take you! You parents just had to go and get themselves blown up! I bet they hated you, too! Who would want a worthless piece of shit like yourself? A faggot like you, a poofter!" He threw in a hit, sometimes even a kick for effect, as if to get the message to sink in. Harry felt anger swell up inside him, but not at the man who was beating him. No - at himself. I am a freak, a waste of space. Uncle Vernon's right, no one could like me, no one could care. His thoughts continued, colored with self-loathing, so distracted he actually let a whimper of pain out. That caused Vernon to hit harder, panting with renewed effort. "SHUT UP, BOY!" He dropped the bat, letting it to clatter to the floor, and yanked Harry's head up by his hair, causing him to gasp in pain as his injuries protested. Silent tears streaked down his. Multiple broken bones, he could tell already. There was no way he could survive this. That, though, Harry had expected. A sadistic smile crossed his uncle's face.
"I'll show you how we deal with freaks around here." He had obviously prepared this before entering Harry's room, for he pulled five length of thick rope from his pocket. Harry knew what they were for; he had done this before. His uncle liked to make sure all of him was hurt, and usually had Harry near naked for this special punishment as well. He liked to see all the pain he caused, reveled in seeing the dark bruises form. He was sadistic like that. So it was no surprise as he was yanked harshly, each wrist and ankle being tied before one went up to go in his mouth, gagging him. He bit the sweaty rope in pain, his injuries being jostled this way and that. Harry bit down as hard as he could, sobs building up in him as he struggled to calm down. Then, his uncle left. Glancing up when no immediate pain came, he saw his uncle enter his room again, this time with a metal flashlight. Harry stared at it, confused, as his uncle ripped all his clothes from his body. The chill hair settled over him, renewed fear flooding through him.
"You're going to learn your lesson, freak, and then I won't ever have to worry about you darkening this household again." Emerald eyes widened with realization as he felt meaty hands on his arse. He started to struggle, eyes wide with panic as he tried to speak. Cold metal touched his entrance and he screamed around the rope. Anything but this, he would take a thousand beatings over, but this… He couldn't handle this. Harry was consumed by his wild fear, and he struggled to his fullest extent, to no avail.
"Happy birthday, freak!" Cold metal tore his insides as it brutally entered him, sending unimaginable pain through his body, bloody and bruised. The last thing he saw before he passed out was his clock striking 12:05. Happy birthday, indeed.
Remus was in such a hurry, he didn't find anything unusual when he apparated to Number 4 Privet Drive, didn't make the connection in his frantic brain. All he could do was follow the pull to his mate, follow his instincts. The smell of blood was emanating from the fairly normal house and Remus growled under his breath. Striding to the door, he drew his wand with hands quivering in anger. Opening the door, he carefully followed the smell of blood up the stairs and to the first door on the right, near the middle of the hallway. Multiple locks adorned the door, along with a cat flap that had Remus growling again, quietly so not to alert the enemy, the person who dared hurt his mate. They'd pay, for sure. No one could get away with hurting his mate. The smell of blood reeked here, and Remus didn't even bother with alohomora. No, he kicked the door in, angered beyond belief at the sight before him. Red clouded his vision as he seethed. A fat muggle, with a bloody bat lying next to him, was pounding a metal thing in and out of his precious mate! The same mate that was bound to a broken cot, completely unconscious. He growled loudly, startling the whale of man, who jumped back from his mate as if he had been burned, turning to look for the source of the sound. How dare that man hurt someone so precious?
"WHO THE RUDDY HELL-"
"Stupefy!" Remus ground out, watching with a sick satisfaction as the man fell to the floor in the middle of his rant. Stepping around the man, he rushed to hismate'sside, not taking in the boy's features, just easing the flashlight's handle out of his mate's abused entrance. Remus choked on anguish and fury, wanting to turn around and torture the man for all he was worth, but he needed to tend to his mate first. He could come back later to deal with the man responsible for all of his mate's pain - right now, his mate's life was slowly slipping away, and that was his first priority.
The broken man was lying on his stomach, so he couldn't have seen his face if he wanted to - he didn't care who is was, as long as he was safe. Cutting the rope that bound and gagged him, Remus wrapped him in a slightly bloody, ragged, and threadbare blanket. Lifting him gently in his arms, he winced as his mate let out a soft moan of pain in his sleep. As much as he wished he could be gentler, there wasn't enough time; he had to get his mate to safety as soon as possible. Glancing down to get a glimpse of his precious mate's face, Remus froze. From unruly black hair, matted with blood, to the lightning shaped scar that adorned his forehead, Remus instantly recognized his mate, his best friend's son, the man he already had an unconditional love for, and after only knowing they were mates for approximately six minutes. The world threatened to tilt on its axis as he tried to cope, but he found he couldn't care at the moment. It didn't matter now. Right now, all that mattered was making Harry safe, his mate. Amber eyes glanced at the packed trunk, and he grabbed it with one hand while carrying his surprisingly light mate in the other arm. For once glad for the special port-key Albus had insisted on him having, he spoke the password before disappearing from Privet Drive.
Words in the Unedited Chapter, just the story: 3,443 (One of my shortest chapters. Ever.)
Words for Unedited Whole Chapter: 3,593 (I talk too much, obviously.)
I added quite a bit to this chapter and edited it myself. Personally, I feel like I improved it. Let me know what you think!