A discourse by BlackenedAngelKawaii-chan
~~~~
Oh, how Harry longed to touch him. Him. Yes, his best friend. His lover. His secret lover. To touch... and release that emotion! It was like electricity. Only not.
This feeling. A deep pain. A stabbing wound. It stabbed, wounding his chest. His heart. His soul. Would anyone understand? He knew it was wrong. Had God not stated so? Harry was torn. How could he commit such an unchristian act? Had God not destroyed entire cities for doing as he and Ron had done? Had the Lord himself not smote down those sinners as Harry had smote Ron's prostate with his length of pulsating, heartbeating, throbbing turgid manflesh? ...Would God smite Harry down for this?
Harry wept, his ivory fingers clenched in fists. Fists. Yes, another of Ron's fetishes. To don that rubber glove, lubricate and thrust... Ron, a willing student of Harry's expertise had cried aloud. Such ecstasy. Elysium was within Ron's grasp at that moment, just as Ron's very prostate was within Harry's.
But now, those days were truly over. Oh woe! It had been two weeks now. Two weeks without His carress... Harry was finished crying now. It was time for action. It was time to do.
He reached into Hermione's makeup kit. Harry would return it before she would even notice. That pitiful child, he thought. She had no idea how to use it correctly. He paled his face until it was beyond the white of the finest ivory, and using the many powders and assorted items that he had procured from that evil, mouthy man-bitch Hermione, he began to change himself.
His lips were black as tar, and just as glossy. His skin, flawless and now white as bone; a tear had been painted on, just beneath his right eye. His scar, his vile, disgusting mark. The one that had drawn Ron to him. The marking that had signalled the beginning of their sordid, ungodly affair, hidden away beneath layers of greasepaint. His eyes were surrounded by dark blue hues and deep blacks, reflecting the true nature of his soul. His soul, bruised, blackened, blued by the beatings of his heart. Oh, how he suffered for his love.
"Look upon me and despair, for now mine soul hath been laid bare. My skin painted in the colours of pain, the pain I feel inside myself!" Harry proclaimed. He unfurled his cloak, swishing it through the air and around his youthful slender body. It was black, like he felt inside. Harry admired himself one last time, and left.
Dumbledore smiled. A new arrival for Hogwarts. A girl... very talented apparently.
Upon her arrival, she was quickly ushered into Dumbledore's office.
"Hi," she intoned, her voice, her beautiful voice filled with such sadness and despair. And yet, such beauty!
Dumbledore was momentarily taken aback. "Why... You have the voice of an Angel! To hear you speak is to hear the very words of Metatron," he told her. Glittering diamondesque tears formed in his eyes. She had uttered but one word, and yet it had almost made him weep with sheer unadulterated joy. Yes, this was truly a special pupil.
"I am so glad that you have decided to join us, Ms. Lavigne."
Harry sat alone to dine. His meals were to be interrupted by no one. His blackened soul could not stand the very sight of these cretins he had surrounded himself with! How dare they look upon his countenance. They were not worthy. No one was...
His train of thought was derailed. A girl had walked in. She was dressed quite unlike anything he had ever seen. She almost reminded Harry of himself... Such pain, such agony laid bare for all to see. He knew love for the first time in that moment, that delicious second in which his eyes had encountered her countenance.
"Truly, a Goddess walks among us... A Goddess... My Goddess." Harry decided in that moment.
This Angel had noticed him too. She walked towards him. Their eyes met, there
was electricity sparking. Harry could feel it. Such power she had over him and
she had merely walked into the room! He noticed her lips, set in a beatious
pout. He wished to touch those lips, to carress them with his own...
"Hello. My name is Avril Lavigne. You must be Harry Potter. I've heard
a lot about you..."
Harry looked at her, and knew Christian love for the first time.
Four months had passed. Harry and Avril's engagement party was underway. Harry had forgone his gothic outfit and had become a true punk. Good Charlotte played on the radio and Harry and Avril danced with each other. They were booked for the wedding, as were Sum41. It would be a beautiful day, in hues of black and blue to reflect the deep, dark hearts of the two black souls that were to be wed, bonded forever in the eyes of God.
"Oh Harry, my beautiful, beautiful bishounen," Avril whispered into her lover's ear as they embraced. "How I longed for thee, a soul whose darkness matches mine own."
Harry smiled grimly at her. "Yes, Avril, my beautious darling, whose azure eyes I could lose myself in forever. We shall be wed, locked together soon. And then... we shall consummate our relationship."
Avril gasped, her beautiful eyes wide with amazement. "Harry dearest! Do not say such naughty things in public! People will talk."
So they danced, in the pits of neverending mutual despair. Two losts souls, found.