Freezingflames7 - FreezingFlames

~“ We Parselmouths belong together.”~

modality t/w: dv, murder

Harry was not sure what happened.

One minute, Harry was absentmindedly folding laundry, tucking and stacking his relatives’ clothing into three neat piles. He was daydreaming, imagining escaping the Dursley household. He would leap onto his broom, would fly off into the great unknown by himself and never ever have to see their miserable faces again. Then again, it was his last summer at No. Four Privet Drive; the building anticipation of finally getting to leave this forsaken place was becoming near painful.

The next minute, without warning, Vernon Dursley flew into the laundry, flesh puce and spittle spraying, crowding Harry against the wall and lurching forward to grab Harry’s biceps with punishing strength.

“You stupid, stupid boy,” Vernon hissed, nails digging through fabric, hands bruising.

“W-what?” Harry stammered, eyes wide, alarmed at having been yanked from his daydream so abruptly. Harry’s mind raced over the last few days – he hadn’t done anything!

“You told your little friends to watch you, didn’t you?” Vernon raged, his grip tightening as he yanked Harry's smaller frame too close for comfort. “I saw them! Standing out there! As if they had a right to be on my driveway, on my private property! You think you can intimidate me? You think I’m scared of your lot?” Vernon screamed, shaking Harry harshly.

Harry gaped at Vernon, eyes wide with astonishment and horror. He could smell it now – the hint of whisky on the furious man’s breath, the crazed whites of his eyes rolling. Vernon did not drink often, and it was for good reason. He was a terrible drunk.

“Uncle Vernon,” Harry answered lowly, desperately attempting to remain calm, staring up through his eyelashes at the hysterical man. “I didn’t ask them to be there, but they are. For everyone’s protection, including yours.”

“How fucking dare you, you ingrate,” Vernon roared in Harry’s face. Vernon slammed Harry against the wall as Harry choked on an inhale, the breath struck out of him. Harry frantically, fearfully recalled what had happened the last time Vernon was drunk, remembered the loud slapping of flesh, snapping of bone –

Harry felt panic swell as a knot in his throat, felt his nerves tingle painfully up his spine. If this were anyone else, Harry would have squirmed until he had shoved them off or cast wandlessly, but there was something so… So oddly terrifying about Vernon, something instinctive and cowering that had been beaten into him from a young age. Harry knew he should fight back, and yet he froze - don’t fight back it will make it worse just stay still don’t move don’t move - and Harry felt the bones in his arms now beginning to creak with the pressure of Vernon’s grip. Harry’s lips parted on a wordless, silent cry, rational thought telling him to call out for help but a childhood of experience and instinct keeping him silent - don’t move don’t move stay small and quiet -

“I’m going to kill you, you miserable little snot, you ruined everything, everything!” Vernon was babbling, one hand yanking off Harry’s arm and wrapping around Harry’s neck with unrestrained strength as he pinned Harry to the wall. “Your whore mother getting herself knocked up, that stupid bitch, and your fucking useless father – ”

Harry felt a loud keening whine of panic and horror well up in his chest, Vernon’s purpling grip sealing off his throat and his weight crushing Harry’s chest.

Shit, Harry thought dazedly, realising that his Uncle was actually going to suffocate him. After all this time, it wasn’t going to be Voldemort who got to him – it was going to be muggle Drill Salesman of 1994 Vernon Dursley who murdered The Chosen One. If Harry could breathe, he would have laughed in hysterical disbelief. The world was beginning to blacken a bit at the edges.

Are you going to let him kill you? A voice hissed in Harry’s mind, surprising Harry out of his numb, detached shock. Harry stared at Vernon through unseeing eyes, mind burning as the oxygen in his blood evaporated. A muggle. How pathetic, the voice continued, laconic and lazily amused.

It was as if a bolt of energy revitalised Harry - what on earth was he doing, why was he not fighting back -

Voldemort, Harry recognised distantly, struggling against his uncle’s tight hold.

He will kill you, Voldemort replied, somehow sounding so very far away despite being in Harry’s own head. Harry didn’t reply, weakly struggling against his uncle. Harry realized he was very close to death – he hadn’t breathed for too long.

Help, Harry felt himself think weakly, not even sure to who he was calling out. Harry knows Voldemort won’t help, the idea near laughable, but he’s hoping that the guards outside the house might hear his magic’s weak cry for aid.

Disgusting. I will help, if only because my supposed equal dying by muggle hands is too pathetic an ending to bear, Voldemort replied dryly.

In the moments between a heartbeat, Vernon seized as if electrocuted and jerked back from Harry. Vernon turned a horrid pale shade, choked loudly once, and fell over backward like a stiff plank of wood, a loud slapping thump vibrating the floor as he collapsed. And then Harry was gasping for breath, barely holding himself up against the wall as his weak knees bore the brunt of his weight with abruptness. Harry blinked the spots out of his eyes, tears tracking down his cheeks, inhaling in rough gasps through his bruised throat.

Harry’s gaze flickered down dazedly to Vernon Dursley on the cold tile of the laundry, Vernon’s eyes glazed and expression muted in half-horror.

Harry shuddered as he looked down at the dead man at his feet, a strange and shameful feeling of overwhelming relief coursing through his veins. Vernon was dead. The bully of his childhood was nothing more than a cooling, hollow shell of a corpse.

Dumbledore left you with these people? Voldemort hissed through Harry’s mind, a monster lurking and pacing in the shadow of his consciousness. The voice turned amused, victorious, Ah, but I know where you are, Harry Potter.

Harry pushed against the wall and leapt over Vernon’s body, racing for his bedroom. He could feel it, the enchantment breaking down around him. His mother’s love no longer protected him here; it finally recognized that despite his blood coursing through his relatives’ veins, there was no love here.

I am coming, Harry Potter, Voldemort warned, a cold, high-pitched laugh echoing endlessly in Harry's head, and then Voldemort was gone from Harry’s mind.

btw can we talk about harry not being concerned that Tom's about to kill someone, he's only concerned that people are watching????? Character grooowwtthhh

The closer they get to each other the better they understand the others motives and change their views, most notably in Tom's behaviour because his personality is pretty wild to begin with but seeing Harry change and adapt and being able to make decisions other people in his life would not let happen is pretty neat <3

They know each other extremely well at this point. And Harry has admitted before that he doesn't necessarily want Vee to change-- but rather be better. Live up to his actual potential, as it were.

It will come with a bit of angst, of course, because Harry has to come to grips with the fact that he essentially gave Voldemort the green light to kill someone-- even if it was to kill someone dangerous that would continually try to kill them, etc-- and that he might do so again in the future.

Harry is good, at his core, and taking life feels contradictory to him, especially considering the mild success he's had in sort of... reforming or rehabilitating Voldemort on this journey (not fully, but enough that Voldemort has clearly changed the way he is behaving on behalf of and in regards to Harry)-- plus, just the idea of what his parents might think if they were alive to witness all of this unfolding when they died fighting the man he's growing to love in order to protect Harry. There's a lot of tangled up feelings there, but Vee has a way with words and with twisting them around to make Harry realize things he would otherwise beat himself up for.

This scene comes to mind for what's to come, for instance:

“Lovely thing,” Voldemort mutters, breath hot on Harry’s skin. “You’ve just secured another night free of the bogeyman. The monster that witches and wizards tell their children about.” Harry lets out a wet sound. Maybe a sob. Maybe a laugh. He clutches at Voldemort’s shoulders tighter. “There’s no need of guilt, Harry Potter,” Voldemort says, pulling him closer, kissing at the sensitive spot just before Harry’s ear. “Not when you are the only thing that stays my hand.”

On the Beach at Fontana is my first try at manga, inspired by James Joyce’s Poem of the same name and Harry Potter, one of my first fandoms that I was invested in. There will be 3 parts to this story, however, I am working to create an experimental style of fan content that is enjoyable to people of multiple fandoms, thus, the story telling would be non linear, and it would be up to the reader to figure out what the sequence of events would be. To better illustrate this, my next post would be a story about DC, with some overlapping themes, and references. And the next might be back to this storyline. Huge thanks to Lexipurple for proof checking and providing guidance to this project. Please check her out on AO3 as well, I believe she is on there. I hope you enjoy this read and support me by asking me anything or just sharing.

do you think voldemort spent several years going around being all 'the T is silent' before just giving up?

site that you can type in the definition of a word and get the word

site for when you can only remember part of a word/its definition 

site that gives you words that rhyme with a word

site that gives you synonyms and antonyms

Tom: Harry, you love me, yes?

Harry: …normally, I’d agree without hesitation, but I feel like this is about to go somewhere I won’t like.

Mermaid AU where they are each other's only friend, but Harry is very curious about life on the surface and Tom is deeply afraid that someday Harry is going to leave him.

Happy anniversary, VII

I cannot believe it's been a whole year since I posted VII. I wrote and posted it at a pretty dark time for me, and figured it'd be a weird little oneshot that some people might like but would ultimately just kind of. exist.

That is not what happened. I'm still overwhelmed by the response it got. To the folks who loved it and left such wonderful comments, you will never know how much that mattered to me -- and still matters to me. And to everyone who has shared their love for the sequel or helped build that world with me, thank you all so, so much. It's been so fun and such a thrill to see your reactions and your support for my codependent trauma buddies.

I was really hoping to have a new chapter of A long, hard road to post today, but the brain is just not braining right now. Fingers crossed for March 19 (the anniversary of ALHR)!

If you haven't read VII/ALHR, you can read them here: Your legs give way, you hit the ground

I cursed my readers with this snippet, so now Tumblr gets cursed too. (If you haven't read any of it yet, this is not indicative of the fic whatsoever):

Maybe-canon-but-probably-not omake: Because no one has any chill whatsoever “Okay, so you think it’s romantic that he would, like, literally sew you two together if he could. We’re going to ignore how weird that is for the moment.” “Ronald…” “But mate, he’s a giant, skeletal snake-man. You can’t honestly say you find him attractive.” Harry mutters something under his breath that sounds a little too much like, “Oh, can’t I?” for his friends’ tastes. “Is this some problematic holdover of your infatuation with the diary horcrux?” Hermione asks as Harry sputters and turns bright red. “No!” he shouts. And, after a suspicious delay, “And I wasn’t ‘infatuated’ with the diary!” Ron and Hermione both give him a look at that. Traitors. “Psychologists would fight to the death for the chance to sort through all your issues, Harry.” “Sy-ko-wha?” “Good to know if I ever decide to hold gladiatorial contests,” Harry says dryly. The topic of conversation dies out for a couple minutes before Ron turns back to Harry and looks him dead in the eye. “So, given the chance – you would bang the snake-man?” Hermione puts her head in her hands and regrets several life choices. Harry sighs. “Like a screen door in a hurricane.” Ron chokes on air.  “Harry!” “He asked!”

tom, at 3am: harry wake up

harry: *sighs*

tom: harry please wake up.

harry: no

tom: harry

harry: what!

tom: would you love me if I was a worm?

harry: I would feed you to Hedwig

tom: :(