Dancing With Both Eyes Closed

By: warwithdarkness

Paring: HP/DM or DM/HP as a main pairing, others will most likely pop up later

Rating: M for Mature

Summary: HP/DM slash Fate is a fickle thing. When Harry lived when he should have died, the world titters on the edge of what should have been and what could be. Now the organization that should have conquered the world fights desperately for what ought to have been. Harry has to decide which is more important: the present or the future that he always wanted.

Warnings: slash, relationships between two males, violence, language, AU, angst, character death

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything related to it.

Authors Note: This kind of came to me one night while I was reading Loveless, though this has nothing at all to do with Loveless, so I thought I would take a chance and write something. I do not have a beta and I particularly do not want one because I feel bad when it takes me forever to write a chapter. But never fear! The only real problem I have is commas but I have been working on those. If you see in mistakes, please inform me and I will fix them. Also, I do not have this planned out (I have a general outline) because I usually never stick to the original plan anyway. I thought I would just go with the flow and see where it took me. (Just in case you are wondering I have other user names at other sites.) Thanks for reading!

Prologue

Sanctuary

The gentle lapping of the seawaters caressed his nearly bare legs as he pulled the wooden boat up onto the shore, enjoying the feel of the sand under his feet. Once the boat was far enough onto the shore he collapsed onto the beach, spreading his arms out as if offering himself as a sacrifice to the gods.

He breathed deeply, the salty air making his nose twitch, and closed his eyes to the world around him.

He loved this.

He loved to listen to the waves crashing onto the shore, the birds singing to their lovers and the quiet beating of his heart. For him, this tortured man, this place was his paradise. The beach and the rolling hills that surround it was a place where he lived in lovely solitude.

Here no one bothered him. To the small Italian village five kilometers away, he was just a strange and despicable British man who came there to buy food and other necessities. The mothers told their children not to bother the hermit that lived amongst the hills or else they would be cooked for his dinner. The husbands hid their wives behind them as he passed, sure that he would kidnap their women and use them for his pleasure. The children would gawk as he walked by, staring at the scar across his face. Some would throw stones and sticks, but no matter how good the aim, one would never touch him. The man was slightly amused by their treatment of him and ignored them for the most part.

Taking one last deep breath, he got to his feet. Not bothering to brush the sand off of his naked back, shorts and legs he tied the boat to the post he had forced into the ground three years ago when he had arrived at his sanctuary.

Once done, the man began the short trek to his house by way of the stone path he had constructed with pure hard labor. He allowed himself to smile as he watched the sun set over the water making it red like blood.

Frowning, he turned away. Running his hand through his windblown hair, he jogged the rest of the way to his house.

Reaching the house, he washed the sand off of his body with the hose beside the door. He shook his whole body, trying to get the excess water off, before opening the heavy oak door.

The house itself was small. A kitchen, a bathroom, a small living room and a bedroom were cramped into a 500 square foot space, but for him it was wonderful. It was sparsely furnished with antique furniture from Asia that he had bought at a state auction in the United States and had brought them with him when he moved to Italy.

Walking swiftly passed the living room and into his bathroom, he pealed off his shorts and threw them haphazardly into the hamper beside the door. Leaning over, he started the water in the bathtub. The perfect white, claw-footed bathtub was his favorite place in the house. It curved at the right places, its lines were sleek and the pearly white surface reminded him of flawless alabaster skin.

Shaking his head, the man waited patiently for the water to fill the bath before turning it off and slipping into the warm water. Letting his body relax, he leaned his head back against the tub. Closing his eyes he let the water soak away his sores and let his mind drift.

"Are you sure you want to this?"

"What else do you suggest? Just sit here and let them come! The sheer power in this place would let him do ANYTHING that the sick bastard wanted to do!"

"There has to be another way!"

"No! This is the only way Hermione!"

Jerking awake, the man quickly got out of the now cooled water, took three steps to the toilet and emptied his stomach. His whole body shook with the force of his heaves. Wiping his mouth with the back of his hands he curled up on the floor, not bothering to dry himself off, and cried.

Well into the night he laid there, never noticing the brown owl that sat quietly outside his window.

End Chapter

I know it is a short chapter but it told what it had too. I'll update the next chapter tomorrow. Thanks and don't forget to review (if you want)!