You can feel it in the air, the heart wrenching sound of a soul crying out for someone to come and stop the abusive words being thrown their way. For someone to take notice of the pain that they hide behind a mask of false happiness and a persona constructed to appear as if their home was a happy place when it is everything but. Crying out for anyone to notice the wounds and soul-deep pain, for someone to cut him free from the shackles that have chained this broken angel to the ground. Begging for anyone to mend his broken and bloodied wings so that he can fly free once more, screaming in raw agony because he refuses to die a weapon for a cause that wishes to see others like him burned at the stake. And so, a beaten and bloodied boy awaits his nameless saviour on this dark, moonless night where the stars shine bright and the wind whispers across the country in a desperate plea for help.
He can feel it, closing his eyes in defeat, for his life force is slipping from his desperate grasp, edging further and further away as darkness closes in. He bows his head, glistening tears streaming down a face bathed in midnight shadows. The broken angel can hear his Uncle thundering up the stairs again, searching to give out more pain and take and take and take from this lost, tortured soul. He clenches glistening emerald green eyes closed, lying in a deep red pool of his own lifeblood and prays for his end to come quickly, for he fears no nameless saviour will come. He is doomed to live a life of pain and sorrow, caged by a cause that wishes him and his kin dead. And he is so, so scared because he isn't ready to die, but he knows, oh he knows that death will free him from his chains. And if he dares hope that a saviour will come, he wishes it to be someone from the darkness he loves so dearly; not the glaring light that is filled with traitors and murderers. If he must have a reason to continue to draw breath, let that reason be so that this broken angel can watch the life leave twinkling blue eyes as he drains his worst enemy of his lifeblood. But they must hurry, the future of this bloodied boy is growing dimmer by the second; can anyone hear his soul pleading for help, begging.. or do they just not care enough to save him?
I’ll mourn for a kid but won’t cry for a King
— Neon Gravestones, TØP
Pain races through his body, blood flowing from his ripped wounds like a river; his life ebbing away as if it is nothing but a mere candle that can be snuffed out. The locks on the door are clicking open, heavy breathing accompanies the figure at the door to his prison, and he is scared, for it could be anyone- but if he dares hope, he hopes for his saviour. There is a heavy pause, as if someone is taking in the horrifying image before them, and the angel lifts his head, green eyes ignited in an eternal flame that blazes even as his life slips further from his desperate grasp. The whisper of a cloak on blood stained floors greets his ears, his eyes taking in the face of his tormentor, the man that took great bounties of pleasure in breaking him. He closes his eyes in defeat, head bowing once more as he braces for the pain that his torturers have come to gift him with.
In the distance, as the wind whispers across the country, begging for someone to help this broken soul, a gathering of people cloaked in darkness stiffen, for they can feel the soul-deep agony of the chained angel that is begging to be saved. Anger courses through them, for who would dare harm a child to such an extent that their very soul reaches out and begs for a saviour to come, hoping for someone to free him from the chains holding him to the ground?
“Come, my friends. Let us free this angel and mend his broken wings, this abused soul needs us.” Drawing in a deep breath, the feared ruler of darkness closes his eyes and disapparates alongside his friends, his trusted, to help free a broken and used boy from the poisonous grasp that he has been trapped in all his life. As he lands, he takes in the houses surrounding him and sangue eyes widen in surprise, for this kindred spirit is none other than the boy that he has vainly tried to save. Quiet pops surround him, and soon his comrades stand beside him once more. In the dark of this moonless night, as the wind whispers urgently, a bloodcurdling scream breaks the frigid air, their heads snapping towards a house cloaked in despair and drenched in the blood of innocence. And they know, oh how they know that this is the place that the fading angel is forced to call home. A horrified gasp slips past Narcissa’s lips, tears rolling from silver eyes down dainty skin as she breaks into a run, desperate to save him before time runs out. Her companions follow closely, for they can feel him slipping away, further and further from life as his torturer continues to bestow upon an already beaten boy immense amounts of pain and suffering.
He refuses to speak or scream out in raw agony as leather lands upon broken and bleeding skin, tearing old wounds open as blood oozes from his back, falling onto an already blood soaked floor, each lash accompanied by foul words and oily lies that the angel sheds from years of practice. He closes his eyes, dreading the inevitable of being raped once more, his soul screaming for someone to come and end it all. Little do they both know that help is coming, for they had heard the whispers of the wind and felt his desperation for a nameless saviour to come. Caught unawares, a scream erupts from his torn throat, his tormentor chuckling darkly in pleasure and satisfaction as he rips away what was not his to take. In his mind, he is screaming in desperation for his saviour to get here and end it.
Boom. The wooden door shatters, splinters covering the floor, as his saviours make their way in to the hell he has been forced to call home. A man elegantly steps in, sangue eyes glittering with hatred as he glares at a woman and child that cower back in fear, for they can feel his wrath. Time slows down as they launch up stairs and halt at a door covered in locks, blood pooling from underneath the prison door. Clang . The door bursts open and allows them to take in the sight of a boy, a broken and chained angel being used like a common whore, and fire burns in their bellies. The man with sangue eyes snarls and forces the cruel tormentor away, rushing forwards to shield the boy from further harm with his own body. His friends gather around him, forming a protective circle as the leader bathed in darkness kneels in a pool of this innocent, broken souls blood. He gently lifts the angels head, emerald eyes filled with desperate hope meeting sangue that burn with anger, but not at him, for the angel can sense the darkness and sighs in relief, jet black lashes touching blood stained cheeks as he bows his head once more. The man can hear him brokenly murmur “safe” as he gathers the beaten boy in his arms, and with a nod to his comrades, disapparates to their haven.
Wake up, stay with me
Through the flood and through the fear
Right now I need you here
I need you to stay strong
To remind me where I came from
And where I belong
So wake up and stay with me
— Are You With Me, Nilu
He appears in front of a manor surrounded by a forest, stars twinkling above as the broken angel in his arms fights to hold on to his life, for he has been saved. But he is struggling, and his breathing falters as his soul slips further from his desperate grasp, he can hear the spells of healing whispered above him, potions working as fast as they can to replenish what was lost and mend what was broken. He can feel his broken spirit and fractured soul being healed, for the shackles have finally been released. A hand desperately grips his own, and he knows that he must fight to say with them, even if he loses a little of himself along the way. He burns with an emerald flame that consumes his soul, for he is finally free to be himself once more, no more hiding behind glamours or masks, no more playing golden boy when he is everything but.
He has been in a half-drifting state for ten days, and on the eleventh, his saviours surround him, for they can feel that he will awaken on this night. Narcissa is the first to see his eyes flutter open, emerald green shining in the candlelight, and softly gasps in delight, tears welling in silver eyes. Hearing her exclamation, her companions look towards the angel, joy welling in their hearts as they watch him stir to life. Their eyes widen in surprise when his features begin to change, and they can feel in their souls the fact that he hid his true self from the light. The man with sangue eyes can feel the fact that this angel is kin, and hopes with every piece of his being that he can become a brother figure to this lost soul that has been found.
His eyes take in the people that saved him from a fate worse than death, he can feel the darkness surrounding them like a cloak. Finally, he slowly breathes a heavy sigh, allowing his magic to shed the glamours that have hidden his true self from view. Messy black hair lengthens and straightens, emerald green eyes turn to a swirling mix of emerald and amber, tan complexion paling as his masculine features fade away to reveal stunning androgynous traits. Against his will, he sighs in relief, his magic rejoicing, for he has finally found kin; a family that has suffered as he has at the hands of the same men. Eyes glittering in the light of the moon, a gentle smile crosses his face as he murmurs “freedom,” whilst the people surrounding him share fond looks. His lost, broken soul sings, for he is finally home.
They’ll never see
I’ll never be
I’ll struggle on and on to feed this hunger
Burning deep inside of me
But through my tears breaks a blinding light
Birthing a dawn to this endless night
Arms outstretched, awaiting me
An open embrace upon a bleeding tree
— Lies, Evanescence
The first thing he sees as he awakens from his healing slumber is the happy faces of the ones that saved him, and he relaxes in relief. For he has been saved by the darkness he has always longed to be part of; not the sick, vile light that entwined him in a poisonous web of lies and compulsions crafted to prevent his desperate escape. He looks at each of them in turn, names of his saviours floating through his mind- ‘ the Malfoy’s, the Zabini’s, Greyback, and…’ he looks at the last person, the man that held him tenderly and never allowed his soul to slip from his grasp - ‘…Tom Riddle, or should I say… Brother. ’
A whimper escapes his throat, tears welling into amber eyes as he greedily drinks in the sight of his lost son. His wolf howls in joy, and it finally hits him; his pup is back, he’s home. The feared werewolf sinks to the ground, a sob tearing from his throat as he glances up at his pup, grown and abused, used and trapped by the light. In that moment as he remembered the night his pup was taken, he was vulnerable, human in a sense, as his soul and wolf rejoiced. Under the darkness of the new moon, he raised his head to the sky and howled in joy.
“How can one man be so cruel,” he whispered, “to rip apart a family piece by piece, until nothing remained but the echoes of desperate, pain-filled screams and the lifeblood of a legacy so grand that none could hope to reach it?” He looked up then, tears streaming from emerald-amber eyes, “how could one man hold such hatred and bitter resentment in his heart that he burns with the soul-consuming need to destroy everything that makes us who we are?” He ignited in an eternal flame, “He wishes to see us exterminated like vermin, destroyed and humiliated until nothing but burning hate for our kind remains as he rules over all magicals, creature and human. He will drown everything in his path with lies and sickening light magic, killing off the sweet darkness and mother magic in one fell swoop.” Emerald-amber eyes narrowed to slits, “We cannot allow such a thing to happen- I will not allow such a tragedy to happen,” he hissed through clenched teeth, “I am with you,” he snarled, “I am with the dark.”
The statements the lost boy uttered reverberated through their very beings, and they knew that, at long last, the second ruler has come. The leader of the magical creatures and the man that stood for equality and wielded such darkness that none other than the first ruler could match. Finally, finally they are complete, with this broken boy that has faced such pain and bitter hatred leading his kin into a battle that will rewrite history as the world knows it.
I can feel it within my very soul , the fact that this young cub is to be the one destined to save magical creatures and the dark from genocide. I ache with the knowledge that this broken soul that has known nothing but pain all his life is being forced into a role such as this. How I so dearly wish that I could trade places with this fragile, pure creature that is expected to do too much, seemingly destined to be used for another's benefit or purpose. Eyelids slip closed over sangue eyes, his soul feeling as though a hole has been ripped into it with a dagger made of pure silver, bleeding from pain so raw that a tear slips down his skin, leaving behind a trail of sorrow so strong it would sadden a million men.
'Cause I carried on like the wayward son
And now through and through I have come undone
And now I am just but the wayward man
What with my bloodshot eyes and my shaky hands
— Hallucinogenics , Matt Maeson
“We’ve only just found him,” the wolf whispered, “and he needs us, all of us. It’s not time for him to rule, not yet,” he murmured, “first he must heal, then, and only then, can he begin to rule alongside Tom.” Amber eyes flash with fierce, fierce protectiveness as he brokenly whispers, “he’s just a boy,” whilst gazing at his cub with such love and acceptance that startled emerald-amber eyes meet his own, for the lost child has never felt such love, not from friends nor family, and here is a complete stranger bestowing upon him that which he craves with every inch of his being. It is a harsh truth, a startling reality that the man that calls himself the Light Lord has forced this upon a shattered, bleeding boy that has faced too much, that has been starved of love and basic human necessities, left abandoned and beaten in a tiny cupboard underneath dusty stairs as the family that was supposed to love him ignored his whimpers and cries of pain throughout the seemingly never-ending years of which he existed in that cold, unforgiving household.
Emerald-amber eyes belonging to the shattered boy on the bed stare into pure amber, feeling his words hit his soul and begin to stitch lost and ripped pieces back together, because finally, after endless nights of wishing for a saviour under those wretched stairs, he has been found. His breath shakes as he closes his eyes, tears slipping down his face as emotions that had been locked away escaped, for he can no longer feel the ghost of pain and sore bones that always accompanied him, the only evidence of his uncles abuse laying in the silvery scars criss-crossing his back and abdomen. And he is so, so thankful for these people that saved and healed him as he fought to hold onto his soul, even as it shattered and slipped through his desperate grasp on the night his innocence and humanity were seemingly ripped away by the harsh hands and flesh of his uncle whom longed for his suffering and slow, torturous death above all else. But his uncle is not alone, no, for the man that holds the grandfatherly facade wishes for the same as his uncle; a slow, torturous death ending only when he allows it to be so, resulting in him ruling over all beings that walk the earth- magical and mundane alike. And the broken boy knows, oh how he knows that he holds a grand destiny, one that Death himself bestowed upon him, but he is so, so scared of that very same path that will save him. But now, he knows that these people will love and cherish him every second of every day, the complete opposite of his wretched childhood in which he was hated so harshly that all the gods burned with anger from it.
I imagine death so much
It feels more like
It is strange for him to be surrounded by people that he once vainly fought, feeling their love and desire to protect him from the harshness of this world, to keep him safe above all else, even their own life. And he knows, with every part of his being, that he will stop at nothing to protect them; the father he never knew, the brother he never had, and the best friends that he had lost due to the manipulations of a man so vile that even the evilest of men cringe at the sight of him. Mirthless, manic laughter bubbles forth from his throat at the thought of Life, Fate, Death and Dumbledore being in the same room, for surely the Divine would strike the old man dead where he stood within the first seconds of meeting.
Of course, Hadrian was oblivious to such Divine interference with his life, believing in himself and distrusting others, for no one has ever stretched a kind hand his way. He has only ever been met with pain, hatred, and vicious, boiling rage. He has never known the touch of a mothers love, nor the pride a father possesses. He has been alone, breaking for all of his life while those around him smiled in victory. His life has been bleak and meaningless since his apparent parents death, only serving as a weapon to one and a punching bag to another. And he is so, so tired . But how can he give up now, when he has found family, kin, in these people surrounding him?
Tom knew, from the moment those emerald-amber eyes met his, that this boy, no, this man, was meant to be great. That he would strive to do good things and defeat those that used him for personal gain. His very soul rejoiced at the fact that his blood brother was safe and permanently out of the old man's grasp. Yet a part of him wished that Hadrian hadn’t had to suffer as he did, for such agony to be pushed upon him since the tender age of two. But without it, dare he say, this man would cease to be the individual he is today with an absence of pain and loss. Great leaders are people who know what it’s like to lose everything you’ve held dear, and continue on. They know the agony of soul-deep pain and how hard it is to struggle on towards victory. They know this, and so much more . And that, Tom thinks, is why Hadrian was chosen for this.
Fenrir thinks to himself that his pup is finally home. He thinks of the night he was lost, and the pain he felt not only in his soul, but in his wolves being. He remembers how the pain of loss drove his mate to suicide on Hadrian's sixth birthday, and how utterly broken he was. And so the proud Alpha bows his head and thanked every deity he knows that his pup has come home after an eternity of being lost.
Narcissa knew, in her heart, that this boy was meant to be great. That this was the one the creatures have spoken of for centuries, the leader that will bring a new age to this meaningless world. Lucius and Draco can only agree with her, for finally he has been saved. He is home, and that is all that matters.
The Zabini family felt in their very magic that they were intruding, and so they silently slipped through ancient wooden doors, set upon spreading the word to the dark that finally, he has been saved. The family of Assassins decided, in that very moment, that they would protect this man with their lives.
And I'll use you as a makeshift gauge
Of how much to give and how much to take
I'll use you as a warning sign
That if you talk enough sense then you'll lose your mind
And I found love where it wasn't supposed to be
Right in front of me
Talk some sense to me
— I Found, Amber Run
He sighed and bowed his head, tears dripping from tortured eyes, drowning in memories of pain and the loss of innocence. He was so lost in his torturous thoughts that he failed to notice the bed dipping next to him from the weight of his brother, stiffening when an arm reached across his shoulders and wrapped him in a comforting embrace. He relaxed slowly, and a hand reached for his chin and lifted it up, gently wiping tears from his face. §Cry no more, little brother. This world is undeserving of your tears. Your fears will fade over time as the wound heals, and we, I, will be here every step of the way. All will be okay in time§ he murmured in parseltongue, sweet promises to comfort his baby brother. Time, after all, is said to heal all wounds. Tom knows in his heart, that he will never fail to be there for his little brother, that even though Hadrian is a leader in his own right, he will always protect him. They will never allow another childe to suffer as they have, no matter what core they possess. They will protect all children; light, dark and grey, at the cost of their lives if the Deities call for it to be so. §Brother, I will never be enough , I am but a childe that is not worth saving nor protecting, can’t you see that? I bring only pain and suffering to those close to me, I will not bring pain to you by simply being here. I must return. I refuse to cause you danger,§ Hadrian whispered, §after all, I am nothing but a burden and a freak.§ Tom knew that the abuse went far, but it saddened him to know that it went this far. Far enough to make his little snakeling believe that he deserved nothing but pain and abandonment, and his heart ached from it. §Little brother, listen to me now. You are not a burden nor are you a freak. I will gladly lay down my life for yours if Death calls for it. You will not bring any such death or pain to anyone here from your presence, trust me. Little brother, please let us help you. Let me help you.§ Hadrian sighed, closed his eyes, and whispered, “very well,” finally letting someone in after 16 years of being alone. Tom smiled slightly and wrapped him in a comforting embrace, refusing to let go.
If the brothers knew that Death, Life, Magic and Fate were watching them in saddened joy, they would be weary. Alas, they were oblivious to the fact that the Deities were watching them so closely, for they held the fate of the world in their hands. If they knew that such a grand destiny was before them, perhaps they would shy away from it and beg for anything other than that. But Fate has spoken, and Life and Death have chosen their masters; it is only a matter of time until the two discover what is their true destiny.
We’re the pieces of the puzzle they don’t know what to do with, the pieces that don’t quite fit into their perfect little picture, so they choose to discard us, to keep their image untainted, but we can only be ignored for so long.
— J.M. Darhower, Extinguish