A Summer to Forget
Harry was downright sick
of his life. He hated himself, he hated the... things that he lived with, he hated his 'friends', he hated everyone and everything. The only things that he didn't downright hate was,
perhaps, the bright summer Pansy's that were currently growing in Number Four's
front garden bed. They were the most lovely shade of blue, as deep as…
(No, don't say it, merely thinking it will...)
As deep as... (Grey blustering London days, bitterly cold still warm)
As... (Spring visits to a cold, damp, bitter cave blinding happiness)
…as Sirius's eyes. The bright twinkle of deep royal blue as he glimpsed a shining happiness that nothing he saw could compare. Oh god, it hurt. The blinding pain of sadness, despair, nonodon'tgoawaydon'tevergoawayGETAWAYFROMMEICAN'TDOTHISGOAWAYCOMECLOSER– NO! No, no, no, I can't, I won't do this. Oh god, oh god, oh god. Guilt. Pure, blinding guilt, doing nothing for the pain. Fuck, the pain. Against his will, the knife rose to his skin. Press and slide (oh god it hurt). Anything to distract. It felt good. Reminded him that he was still alive. Again. He dug deeper. Just like him, to find he was living, that he had stole the precious life, life, the life that he had stolen, however indirectly, from... from…
"Sirius!" The blood, red, red blood, ran down in rivulets on the contrast of white, white, pale skin. It fell in drops to the wooden floor of his 'bedroom' in Little Whinging. He didn't deserve this. Didn't deserve 'life', for whatever it was worth. His didn't mean very much, now that his was gone. His was always worth it.
The knife dropped, and he was being screamed at all at once by Petunia. He seemed to be pushed out the front door, with orders to 'never come back'. She didn't mean it, and both of them knew it. He stumbled to the park, half-blind with pain, blood still dripping behind him, all over his clothes, smearing the pretty red lines as he plopped down into a swing with all the grace of a drunk elephant who was high... Say, getting high didn't sound too bad at the moment. Absorbed as he was in his thoughts, he didn't notice the person in front of him until they had grabbed his hurt arm. Ouch. He was about to rip into this person until he noticed how oddly she was dressed. Three-inch platform heels, a bright purple corset with feather trim that showed off some very well bestowed assets, a sequined-studded petticoat, with a very prominent red thong peeking through, topped off with a sky-blue feather boa. The white-blonde lavender streaked waist-length curtain of hair only served to make the picture even stranger. Currently, she was examining his arm, before she saw that he had blinked and stopped staring. To his embarrassment, he noticed that his mouth was hanging open and quickly shut it, hoping that this stranger hadn't noticed. She glanced up at him briefly before going back to staring at his arm.
"Do you need any help?" He started. The... voice, if that could even come close to describing that silky, smooth, husky, crème de la crème hypnotic voice that had come out of the being before him. The white chocolate skin of her face sparkled in the amber of the late afternoon sunlight as she tilted her head back up to look at him, still waiting for an answer.
"Uhh..." he uttered intelligently, still stunned. She smirked in reply, showing off teeth that were a shade of white that would make hospital nurses cry. They seemed to glitter in the light, too, as she spoke.
"I thought so. Hold on a sec and I'll take care of these cuts, then I'll take you clubbing in... Oh, I'm in the mood for London tonight. I was planning on France, but I think that would be too much for you at the moment. I just got an invite for me and a plus-one to go to a rockin' party for tonight, star studded with drugs of both magical AND muggle. I think someone even managed to get their hands on some Spice. What'cha say, Vert-les Yeux?" {Green-eyes}. He was brought back to reality in a snap. The situation hit him: He was sitting on a rusty swing in a withering park with an arm that was cut by his own hand and still bleeding heavily with a complete stranger which was dressed in an obscene outfit who was offering to take him all the way to London to a party with drugs. Harry knew what he would normally do, but if he did it, he thought he would cry out of pure despair. So he did what he thought any OTHER 15-year-old teenager with a pretty girl standing in front of them would do. He smiled smoothly and said in his best debonair voice,
"Of course, who wouldn't be honored to accompany such a beau girl to what sounds like the perfect stress reliever.” {Beautiful} He wanted to try drugs, anyway. Maybe it would make him forget. She giggled in response. And the leaned down very, very close to his arm and... licked it. The wounds sealed after her... tongue… passed over it.
He had a feeling he was going to regret this.
After grabbing the girl's hand (whom he still needed a name for), he was promptly transported to a set of old, dilapidated warehouses in the industrial part of London by way of a curious falling sensation, accompanied by a sort of still darkness, which was odd in and of itself, considering that they were moving rather fast. Turning, she looked over him with a criticizing eye. She pulled out a wand without pausing at his flinch and transfigured his baggy Muggle clothes into a skintight emerald green long sleeved shirt and black leather flare pants. She smirked at her handiwork and then proceeded to pull him into the building that did not look like it belonged with the rest of the teens and young adults that were flooding the entrance. There was even a limo, for Merlin's sake! His companion also noticed as well, and gave it a disapproving glance before pursing her lips and shaking her head.
"My name is Voler l'Oiseau, but you can call me Clarissa. Forgive me for not introducing myself to you. I am, as you know, a magic- user. Wand-waver if you will. What might your name be, Vert-les Yeux? Unless you want me to call you that forever. We are currently at a party for Muggles, hosted by a close friend of mine. And please be careful with whom you bare your neck to." Quite frankly, Harry didn't hear past 'What your name might be'. EVERYONE knew what his name was, knew what he looked like. It was... a novel experience for him. Someone didn’t know his name. So he decided to covet a name for the evening. No, he wasn’t Harry Potter, he was-
“Daniel Reosson’s the name,” he replied, smiling at her- Clarissa- and rubbing the hand that was connected to his, her means of pulling him around.
Clarissa, for the most part, looked pleased and guided him further into the warehouse, where music was already blasting over a PA system. At the refreshments table, where most everything was spiked with alcohol of differing origins (Who ever heard of vodka watermelon, or wanted apple juice spiked with Merlot?), a gaggle of girls came and swept up Harry and Voler. From what he could make in between the whirl of color and getting fervently kissed, these were Clarissa's friends. Damn, these girls liked to use their nails, and they were sharp, too. Granted, it was hard to concentrate when being French kissed, never mind for the first time on his life, by girls who seemed very experienced. At one point, he was pretty sure that there were two or three on him at once. Needless to say, there was a LOT of lipstick being pressed to his face. His mind was still spinning with flashes of pink, purple, blue, and ribbons of all colors when they finally let him go. He was deposited (still mentally spinning) near the drinks, where he noticed that there had been a table covered in yellow erected, where the drinks had little tags on them. Some tags had stars on them next to the lines of scribble.
Now, Harry was pretty dazed by this point, and he wasn't getting any sharper. Heck, he had a hard-on after those girls. So you can understand when he picked up a drink at random at threw it down. Damn, it was sweet. It tasted like pure sugar, with a bitter undertone. Yech. So he picked up another one, only to find the same thing. Shaking his head, he staggered over (he would like to have called it walked) over to the previous drinks, where he picked up a wine glass. He sipped at it, and sighed at the pleasant bitter taste. At this point, other guys were being dropped off by the whirlwind of girls, all with stunned looks on their faces.
"Damn, man, that has got to be the hottest thing I've done since the Denmark party with the snow," one guy half-slurred. "Did they hit you with the drugs? They must've got me a couple a' times, duuude." Harry just stared at the guy with a vacant expression. "Ah, you been hitting the drugs alread-d-dy? Tell me, whatchya take, hmmm? You look happysh." He numbly pointed. The American looked confused for a minute, and then chuckled in a stuttering way. "Must've been hittin' harder th'n I shoughsh, maaan, cause there ain't nothin' therrre." Hnn. Interesting. Clarissa mentioned that there was magic stuff at the party. Must have notice-me-not charms over it. Hey, speak of the devil. Here she comes now, free of her gaggle and giggling. He started staggering (walking!) toward her, only to trip and have a nice, warm body catch him. He snuggled down into it.
"Hey, Daniel, you alright? They didn't hit you too hard, right, I told them you were a newbie, oh, I bet Jessica hit you good she always was fond of the needles in her nails, hey you have a drink! Here, let me kiss you I wanna know what you had so I can see if it mixes with Spice oh my god you just HAVE to try SPICE! It's the best drug since Demon-Faerie blood!" Harry didn't really understand a word of that. He was pretty sure she was hyped up on something, too. Maybe he was, as well? No, he wasn't hyped UP, more like drugged DOWN. Well, damn, if this was the effect, he needed to get drugged more often. Quite suddenly, the girl-Volay? Classy?- had her mouth on his. Without thinking, he fought his way into her mouth with his tongue. It was yummy. Sweet, but dangerous, like… like… like vanilla mixed with chocolate and topped with exotic honey. Mmmm. Moans reached his ears, but he had no idea who it was. And then the sensations were intensified a hundred-fold. His eyes shot open wide and he broke away, rubbing his wrist from the sharp pinch it had received. His eyes were blurry, so he decided to take off the irritating wire resting on his nose. Wow. The picture was clearer than it had ever been before. His mate was now inserting the needle of a previously unknown syringe and inserting it into her arm with precision before pressing the plunger. Apparently the other half had gone into him.
If possible, she started chattering even faster-.
“Hey, SWEET! They say that this is what a vampire’s senses are supposed to be like in fact there was a study a few years ago when they switched consciousness, that is a vamp’s and human’s and gave the human body with a vampire conciseness Spice among the endorphins and general unhinged-ness, he said that it felt almost exactly like being in their vampire body. Although, I think that that’s also how Vampyres, pronounced Vamp-years, were created- they have the mental abilities of a vampire with better reflexes, but not the full-blown strength. They’re also less sensitive to the sun, hey let’s dance! You seemed to like kissing, so maybe we could do that again. OH, OH, I KNOW WHAT WE COULD DO! We can get some venom aphrodisiac to get even MORE high! Oh, oh, that sounds even better! C’mon, DANCE!”
With that, she drug him onto the dance floor, where there was a mass of gyrating, pulsing bodies swaying to the beat of some popular Muggle music. His senses were going out of control. He felt like he knew every single thing going on in the room. He could feel the beat of the music, pulsing through the room. He could hear every heartbeat in the room, delivering warmblood to their bodies at an accelerated rate. Just being able to see without his glasses was a brand new experience for him. His sight was better than it had ever been before. The sheer amount of scent in the room was astounding. He could smell twenty different kinds of expensive perfume from the gaggle of girls that had apparently drugged him. The musk of the cologne from the men, most of them expensive. The sweat and a sickly sweet stench from the dancers and what he thought was drugs, respectively. The bitter burn of alcohol.
Then he was being pulled from where he was standing in awe and forced to bounce around off-beat with his crazy companion. Then, he smelled something that he just had to have. It was a drink, sitting innocently on the refreshment table. It smelled so good. He downed it in one gulp and his pupils immediately dilated. He went cross-eyed for a moment from the sheer pleasure. His emotions and mind were dulled even further. He didn’t even remember what he was so upset about anymore. Celia- Celly? He couldn’t remember- was at his side again. He stared at her face. It was sparkling again in the strobe lights. She laughed at him, and he dimly noted that her eyes were a deep sapphire blue with a light ice-blue ring around them. No human had eyes like that, but he couldn’t bring himself to care anymore. So pretty- no, beautiful. So beautiful. Without thinking about it, he kissed her.
From the moment his lips touched hers, it was ecstasy. Their mouths met, open, and she seemed to melt into it. Her hands found their way to his hair, pulling and tugging, while his gripped her waist. Her mouth was wet, hot, and oh god his heightened senses were here too, her mouth tasting like mint and vanilla and alcohol, something spicy and sweet and Clarissa. He vaguely remembered kissing other girls, and it wasn’t anything like this. Their tongues fought for dominance, hers winning by sheer winding and twisting over his. Pleasing, pressuring. Bodies pressed close together, skin on skin, mouth to mouth, hands to body. Her corset was satin, silky smooth under his touch, tongue teasing the other’s, and-
Nothing. She had pulled back, wanting for air. He examined her, face flushed, lips puffy and red, feathers in disarray. Her head was cocked to one side, still panting for air.
“Damn drugs,” she muttered, “Reduced air capacity. Dammit.” Then she smiled at him. “Hey hot boy, how about a dance? Then maybe we can find another avenue for the evening.” In response, he shrugged and nodded. Fiery pleasure still racing through his veins, he took great satisfaction in grinding against anyone who came in contact with him. He kissed a few more girls, experimented with a guy a bit, drunk some more alcohol, and was pretty sure he got a couple more of the sweet drinks with the drugs in them.
As the night progressed, he eventually found himself in a corner with another guy and a girl, kissing and nipping and biting, rutting, grinding, squeezing. After achieving gratification via a hand down his pants (Someone else’s maybe, he wasn’t sure), he staggered back to the dance floor. Clarissa found her way to his side sometime or another, because the next thing he was cognitive of was being dragged to a shadow and being kissed with more of those addicting kisses. Hands were wandering, and somehow found his half-hard erection. Lips trailed down his chest while nimble fingers pulled his pants down and freed him. Suddenly, teeth had found his sensitive nub of nipple a bit down for a second, and then released only to engulf his cock. Dear god, he nearly came then and there, but for fingers around the base of it. A hot, pretty little mouth bobbed up and down, swirling, kissing, sucking. His fingers wound in and pulled platinum hair as the torture grew more intense. Biting, nipping, scraping, prolonged nibbling. Her fingers found their way to his nipples through the cloth and pinched them, hard. She then rubbed them, back and forth, back and forth. The heat was unbearable, the breath shuddering. He didn’t notice that the pressure at the base was gone. He was leaking pre-cum, eyes dilated to extreme proportions. That hot little mouth was bobbing faster, faster, faster fasterfasterfaster and oh god,hewascomingagain. A scream of pleasure was wrangled from his mouth as his cock pulsed once, twice, three times as it was deep-throated and sucked some more. He leaned against the wall for support, hardly noticing as his dick came free with a wet pop. He vaguely recognized being kissed by that sinful mouth as she headed back on the dance floor.
Damn.
The rest of the night was a hazy blur of more drugs, alcohol, kissing, and fooling around. At some point in the night, he was partially aware that the drug table had disappeared from his sight, but was too damn high to care. He just kept on drinking, drugging, and dancing. The night continued on, regardless. He met the floor sometime during a rare slow song, and stayed there as acromantulas and thestrals mixed with Hippogriffs came crawling out of the walls and windows and attacked the few dancers left, as they danced on, oblivious to the spectacle going on. He laughed his ass off during the entire time.
No one noticed a passed-out lump against the wall. And if they did, well, Just another one, after all.
