Temporary Loss of Control
( Warning : smut will be included by this point )
The room was silent. Everything was unnaturally quiet and still, as though every living thing had left the area, avoiding this place, avoiding adding any ounce of life in the room. It was eerily still. There was no wind, no air, nothing to signify any sign of life inside or outside of the room.
There was nothing...
He stood in the room, a place that looked strangely familiar yet new. He knew that he had been here before, or a place very similar to it, but he just couldn't pinpoint when and where.
The couches were in their places, the walls lined with books, and the hearth glowed. Yet...the flames seemed to have been stopped mid-movement, not a crackling sound, no rhythmic, hypnotic move of the flames. It was as though they had been frozen to the spot.
He looked around, hearing only the loud thundering of his heart in his chest, shivering in the still, cold air. The fire gave no heat; the fridge gave no hum...
Everything was still, frozen, as though time had come to a halt.
His throat sealed shut, mouth drying as he began to gasp for air.
Something...something bad happened here...
He eyed the staircase, gazing into the shadows that bathed it, and felt dread slowly begin to consume him. A morbid fascination held him rooted to the spot, contemplated over whether he would take a step forward or turn and run.
He didn't know what to do...he wanted to move ahead but at the same time, it took all of his willpower not to flee. What...what happened here?
A shadow flickered above, shifting along the staircase, and his heart leapt wildly against his ribs. Every breath he took was a shuddering gasp, painful rippling through his body as he pushed back every ounce of fear that threatened to consume him.
He took an involuntary step back as feet began to tread down the stairs.
He saw their legs, saw the pyjamas that were just too short, and recognition began to flow through him.
The sleeves were too short, reaching the person's forearms, and their hands were clenched in tight fists, either to hold back from hitting something or to keep something tightly in their grasp.
His heart raced, panic rushing through his body as blood roared in his ears. Something told him, whispered to him in the silence, that he knew who was coming and what had happened.
The young man's freckled face created no shock. There was no confusion, no bafflement; the sight of the man created only unwavering terror and a gruesome curiosity that kept him rooted to the spot.
'Ron...'
He thought to speak the words but discovered that his vocal chords had all but ceased to function. He tried opening his mouth to croak out the words, but it was sealed shut. He was as silent as the room.
The man stopped at the landing, fists clenched, and the faintest sound began to pummel his ears.
Drip, drip, drip.
What was that? Was sound dared interfere with the unholy silence of this room?
"Harry..." Ron's voice was peculiar....he didn't sound like himself. He sounded detached and hollow, as though he was a complete separate entity from his body.
"Harry," he repeated, dark, empty eyes lifting to look at the brunet, "I did it. They deserved it, so I did it."
'Did what? What did you do? To who?'
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Merry Christmas Mr. Malfoy (Book 1)
Fanfiction"Granger, there's nothing special about Christmas. Christmas doesn't exist for us!" - Draco Malfoy has never had a real Christmas, and Hermione Granger has taken it upon herself to give him his first real Christmas. Dramione. (Original by:...
