𝐏𝐈𝐄𝐋 | drarry

9 | prettier the garden, the dirtier the hands of the gardener

   this chapter is a filler that consists of some character development. well, if that's what you want to call it.

In the darkest depths of Hell, where the screams grew louder and the blood became thicker stood a fierce demon, controlling the tortured and teeth covered mutants. Green eyes lightened in the scorching flames, nothing but pure hatred fueled his actions, insanity in his mind and disgust in his heart. Harry watched the belittled souls cry in joy, the jaws of the once mortals melted as they begged.

As all this happened in Harry's vision, he couldn't help but think of the sweet blond angel probably curled up in his bed right now. He scrunched his eyes together tightly, washing the thought away instantaneously as he focused on the task at hand. His fists tightened around the blood dripping whip, striking the flesh covered souls that pathetically attempted to escape.

Harry's demented acts continued feverishly, gouging out the eyes of the damned, ripping out their tongues if their hysteria got too annoying for him to endure.

Everyday this happened, for thousands of years. He was rightfully chosen to be the controller of Limbo by Satan himself. Harry's only seen the entity once. Once surely being enough; being in the presence of the devil is indescribable, but it made Harry the most powerful demon in Hell.

With a malevolent look in his emerald eyes, he was chthonic, purely infernal from that day on.

Snapping out of his rage filled daze, he suddenly remembered the main importance; getting the angel back into Heaven, preferably safely. The one old soul who lingered about who could possibly help him was Hermione, as he mentioned before to the angel. Where she was, he had no clue. The difficult part would be locating her whereabouts.

This naive, gullible angel was interfering with every bit of Harry duties, the time that was going to be consumed was frankly, quite troubling. But it had to be done, it shall be done. Then, things will go back to normal.

Grasping the whip in his torn hands, he continued tearing the flesh of the guilty. Lonely, and forever full of hate, but nonetheless, determined.

† † †

When Draco awoke from his slumber, feeling quite energized and strangely content, he hastily realized the eery quietness in the room, which was signaling that Harry was nowhere to be found.

By now, curiosity wasn't a good look on him, but it didn't stop him from climbing out of the bed and venturing out the door gracefully on his tip toes. After all, this place alone was uncharted territory and Harry strictly told him to not leave, which he would happily oblige to. He didn't dare to wander outside of these walls alone.

Instead, he walked down the staircase, pupils blown wide at the significant difference between his home in Heaven and this one. Finally being able to get a decent look at the place, he was noticing more than weapons that hung along the wall. His soft fingertips ran across the bent wood that was forcefully made into the wall, a sign of pure aggression, something Draco had never witnessed in his life. Alongside that were blood splotches, putting two and two together, it was quite clear something violent went down in this house.

Moving on, Draco cautiously stepped away from the main area and stumbled down a wide corridor, seeing less and less decor as rooms passed, none peaking his interest. Harry didn't seem to appreciate the small things in life, the beauty in even the most horrid things. Draco was displeased, until the final door on his right appeared to be shockingly fascinating. The door itself was wide open, and Draco's pearl eyes gazed upon himself. As the room was entirely filled in with mirrors.