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Title: Narcissus Beware
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Horror
Pairing: Harry/Harry, *Harry/Horcrux*
Warnings: Rough sex
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Harry’s reflection has developed a will of its own. He kind of likes it.
Author's Notes: This was based on a prompt that![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
leontinabowie left on the ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
hp_darkarts Horror Fest. The prompt was When he looks in the mirror, his reflection looks away and, even though I signed up to write other things, it wouldn’t leave me alone until I wrote it. It also fits my prompt 'La Porte dea âmes (The Gate of Souls)' on my GenPrompt Bingo table
When he looks in the mirror, his reflection looks away. He jumps and blinks. He stares suspiciously for a moment with narrowed eyes, but his reflection does the same so he shakes his head and walks away.
When he looks in the mirror, his reflection looks away. He holds his breath, waiting to see what it does next, but after a moment it looks back at him, bored. He blinks and sighs and finishes washing his hands. Watching the soap suds whirl down the drain, he misses the smile.
When he looks in the mirror, his reflection raises an eyebrow in an expression he’s never been able to manage, and smirks. It leans up against the edge of the mirror, settling in to watch him back this time, and Harry feels himself flush under the scrutiny. He wonders if this is what he would have looked like if he’d been in Slytherin, and the thought makes him stick his tongue out at the boy in the mirror. His reflection rolls his eyes and looks away.
When he looks in the mirror, his reflection is pressed close to the glass – green eyes huge and staring. He jumps back reflexively, and his reflection laughs soundlessly, madly. Harry flicks water onto the mirror in retaliation, earning a lazy smile, and washes his hands before leaving. His reflection watches him go, and the droplets of water sink into the glass.
When he looks in the mirror, Ron is behind him, and his reflection behaves. It mimics his every action perfectly, and it’s fascinating to watch. He lingers, trying to catch it out, until Ron grows impatient and drags him out of the bathroom by his sleeve.
When he looks in the mirror, he’s alone; locked in the bathroom and staring as his reflection slides a hand down his belly. He licks his lips and watches as it plays with the hem of Dudley’s cast-off shirt before pulling it over its head in one movement. It looks practised – Harry knows he’s not that graceful in reality; mirror-him is better – and it looks lewd. His reflection catches his eye and winks, smirking like it’s reading his mind as it slides its hands over its chest, pinching its nipples before moving down and down. It keeps its eyes on Harry as it shoves its pyjama bottoms down, displaying its cock, and Harry watches back as it wraps its fingers round the base and starts to stroke. He finds himself moving closer, mimicking his reflection’s movements; his breath mists and his come spatters on the glass. His reflection smiles through its own orgasm: a wanton expression that widens when Harry darts away without cleaning up. His come sinks into the glass unseen.
When he looks in the mirror, his reflection blows him a kiss. He can’t meet its eyes.
When he looks in the mirror, his reflection drops to its knees and tips back its face – mouth red and parted and panting and mouthing silent pleas. Harry stands over it, stroking his cock; his reflection’s hand is moving too, slower than his own, but he can’t tear his eyes away from its face. It’s his face, but he never thought he could ever look like that. He aims for that face when he comes and watches in astonishment as his reflection leans forward and licks it off the glass. It smiles as it leans back again, displaying itself decadently for his viewing pleasure, and he watches until it comes and its dragged its fingers through the mess on its belly and tasted itself.
When he looks in the mirror, his reflection looks far better than he does. Hermione has been asking him what’s wrong: he looks like he hasn’t slept, she says, but his reflection is bright-eyed and chirpy. It presses a kiss to the glass that separates them, leaving a faint imprint in its wake. Harry smiles back, weary, and finishes washing his hands.
When he looks in the mirror, his reflection is pressed close to the glass. He mimics it, touching the cold flat surface instead of himself like he usually does, and gradually it warms beneath his touch. He presses close, slips his cock out of his pyjamas and kisses his reflection’s red, red mouth until they both come, leaving streaks of come and saliva that are swallowed up in seconds. He touches his fingers to where they were – the glass ripples under his fingers – and when his reflection mimics him, he could swear that he feels its touch.
When he looks in the mirror, his reflection is there seeking his acknowledgement. It flirts and smiles and begs him for more. He loves it, desperately, this wanton image of his gangly self, and when they fuck right up close to the mirror, he’s making love to it.
When he looks in the mirror, his reflection pushes through. Slow, inexorable movements as if it’s wading through water. He reaches for it, grasping his own slim fingers – cold, so cold; like silver – and he pulls. The mirror is reluctant to let go, but united they win and his reflection crashes into him. They fuck, there on the bathroom floor; Harry draws blood in his desperation, thrusting up hard into the cold vice of his reflection’s arse so that this time – for the first time – he can hear the moans and gasps that it makes.
When he looks in the mirror, his reflection is part way through putting its pyjamas back on – just like he is. When he moves, it moves. Another reflection is next to it – one of a boy with dark hair, his back turned, dressing carefully in pyjamas that match Harry’s own while come and blood trickle down his pale thigh. The reflection turns, looking over its shoulder with blazing red eyes and a Slytherin smirk and catches his gaze in the mirror.
“Hello Harry,” it says, its breath washing over his neck as it leans in close enough to kiss.
When he looks in the mirror, his reflection is trapped – silently screaming – in the arms of its twin.
Author: Evandar
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating: NC-17
Genre: Horror
Pairing: Harry/Harry, *Harry/Horcrux*
Warnings: Rough sex
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and am making no profit from this story.
Summary: Harry’s reflection has developed a will of its own. He kind of likes it.
Author's Notes: This was based on a prompt that
leontinabowie left on the hp_darkarts Horror Fest. The prompt was When he looks in the mirror, his reflection looks away and, even though I signed up to write other things, it wouldn’t leave me alone until I wrote it. It also fits my prompt 'La Porte dea âmes (The Gate of Souls)' on my GenPrompt Bingo tableWhen he looks in the mirror, his reflection looks away. He jumps and blinks. He stares suspiciously for a moment with narrowed eyes, but his reflection does the same so he shakes his head and walks away.
When he looks in the mirror, his reflection looks away. He holds his breath, waiting to see what it does next, but after a moment it looks back at him, bored. He blinks and sighs and finishes washing his hands. Watching the soap suds whirl down the drain, he misses the smile.
When he looks in the mirror, his reflection raises an eyebrow in an expression he’s never been able to manage, and smirks. It leans up against the edge of the mirror, settling in to watch him back this time, and Harry feels himself flush under the scrutiny. He wonders if this is what he would have looked like if he’d been in Slytherin, and the thought makes him stick his tongue out at the boy in the mirror. His reflection rolls his eyes and looks away.
When he looks in the mirror, his reflection is pressed close to the glass – green eyes huge and staring. He jumps back reflexively, and his reflection laughs soundlessly, madly. Harry flicks water onto the mirror in retaliation, earning a lazy smile, and washes his hands before leaving. His reflection watches him go, and the droplets of water sink into the glass.
When he looks in the mirror, Ron is behind him, and his reflection behaves. It mimics his every action perfectly, and it’s fascinating to watch. He lingers, trying to catch it out, until Ron grows impatient and drags him out of the bathroom by his sleeve.
When he looks in the mirror, he’s alone; locked in the bathroom and staring as his reflection slides a hand down his belly. He licks his lips and watches as it plays with the hem of Dudley’s cast-off shirt before pulling it over its head in one movement. It looks practised – Harry knows he’s not that graceful in reality; mirror-him is better – and it looks lewd. His reflection catches his eye and winks, smirking like it’s reading his mind as it slides its hands over its chest, pinching its nipples before moving down and down. It keeps its eyes on Harry as it shoves its pyjama bottoms down, displaying its cock, and Harry watches back as it wraps its fingers round the base and starts to stroke. He finds himself moving closer, mimicking his reflection’s movements; his breath mists and his come spatters on the glass. His reflection smiles through its own orgasm: a wanton expression that widens when Harry darts away without cleaning up. His come sinks into the glass unseen.
When he looks in the mirror, his reflection blows him a kiss. He can’t meet its eyes.
When he looks in the mirror, his reflection drops to its knees and tips back its face – mouth red and parted and panting and mouthing silent pleas. Harry stands over it, stroking his cock; his reflection’s hand is moving too, slower than his own, but he can’t tear his eyes away from its face. It’s his face, but he never thought he could ever look like that. He aims for that face when he comes and watches in astonishment as his reflection leans forward and licks it off the glass. It smiles as it leans back again, displaying itself decadently for his viewing pleasure, and he watches until it comes and its dragged its fingers through the mess on its belly and tasted itself.
When he looks in the mirror, his reflection looks far better than he does. Hermione has been asking him what’s wrong: he looks like he hasn’t slept, she says, but his reflection is bright-eyed and chirpy. It presses a kiss to the glass that separates them, leaving a faint imprint in its wake. Harry smiles back, weary, and finishes washing his hands.
When he looks in the mirror, his reflection is pressed close to the glass. He mimics it, touching the cold flat surface instead of himself like he usually does, and gradually it warms beneath his touch. He presses close, slips his cock out of his pyjamas and kisses his reflection’s red, red mouth until they both come, leaving streaks of come and saliva that are swallowed up in seconds. He touches his fingers to where they were – the glass ripples under his fingers – and when his reflection mimics him, he could swear that he feels its touch.
When he looks in the mirror, his reflection is there seeking his acknowledgement. It flirts and smiles and begs him for more. He loves it, desperately, this wanton image of his gangly self, and when they fuck right up close to the mirror, he’s making love to it.
When he looks in the mirror, his reflection pushes through. Slow, inexorable movements as if it’s wading through water. He reaches for it, grasping his own slim fingers – cold, so cold; like silver – and he pulls. The mirror is reluctant to let go, but united they win and his reflection crashes into him. They fuck, there on the bathroom floor; Harry draws blood in his desperation, thrusting up hard into the cold vice of his reflection’s arse so that this time – for the first time – he can hear the moans and gasps that it makes.
When he looks in the mirror, his reflection is part way through putting its pyjamas back on – just like he is. When he moves, it moves. Another reflection is next to it – one of a boy with dark hair, his back turned, dressing carefully in pyjamas that match Harry’s own while come and blood trickle down his pale thigh. The reflection turns, looking over its shoulder with blazing red eyes and a Slytherin smirk and catches his gaze in the mirror.
“Hello Harry,” it says, its breath washing over his neck as it leans in close enough to kiss.
When he looks in the mirror, his reflection is trapped – silently screaming – in the arms of its twin.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2014-06-01 03:57 am (UTC)From:This prompt was so so so tempting! I was itching after it a bit myself, but I'm so glad you decided to use it.
The last lines of this fic… God. I have chills.
no subject
Date: 2014-06-01 12:57 pm (UTC)From:The prompt really was fantastic. It was vague enough that there was plenty of room left to develop whatever you wanted with it. I just couldn't leave it! Though, I didn't think it would be long enough for the fest (shows what I know) which is why I picked it up after.
Sorry if I've been spamming your FList a bit, lately, btw. I'm trying to get blackouts on some bingo cards and the deadlines caught up with me.no subject
Date: 2014-06-14 09:50 pm (UTC)From:no subject
Date: 2014-06-14 10:13 pm (UTC)From: