Fanfic: Engorged by Quillbreaker (Read for Free, 1,332,114 Clicks)

Description: Everyone in town fears the haunted Riddle Manor but Harry can’t stay away from it. When he gives in to his curiosity and finally goes inside. What he discovers is something he had never even imagined in his wildest dreams. This is my take on The Sleeping Beauty.

Characters: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive WarningsHarry Potter/Tom Riddle Harry Potter/VoldemortHarry Potter Tom Riddle | Voldemort Voldemort (Harry Potter)Horror Mystery

Summary: Summary:

Everyone in town fears the haunted Riddle Manor but Harry can’t stay away from it. When he gives in to his curiosity and finally goes inside. What he discovers is something he had never even imagined in his wildest dreams. This is my take on The Sleeping Beauty.

Notes: Notes:

For Vladimir_Mithrander, StarOfFeanor, Shin_Akazawa, InkD00dle, crystallocks122, Momma_Time, Veneya, kuroyuki_nekochan, RichieVonDoom, Topa, It_is_I, DeepInLOve_MARS, Life_Is_Pointless_And_Absurd, Sun_Shy, zerousy, amanda1994durante, Zelphi_Peverell, PT8, Verity_Black, Whackink, Jose2bJose, Nenene, JFC, Artisan03, Rubles.

So, this had been stewing in my mind for a while. I hope you enjoy it. Let me know through your reviews what you think about it. Love you all loads. Looking forward to your feedback.

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

The biting cold chilled his fingers into clumsy numbness, cold seeped into his toes and spread painfully throughout his feet as if it were his bare feet on the side walk rather than sneakers. His lips turned a more blueish hue and his teeth chattered like a pneumatic drill. His second-hand clothes were useless as insulation. He might as well be immersed in a bath of ice for all the protection they afforded him.
He was marching but the night air was wicking his heat away faster than his body could replace it. He could turn back of course, but then what if his uncle was awake? What if his uncle was in the mood to dish out another serving of hurt? What then? No thanks. The blocks passed in a blur, no-one but him was out tonight and who in their right mind would be? The only reason he was outside was to walk off the pain. He shivered again, effectively taking his mind off the pain and making him aware of the cold again. It wasn’t a pleasant coldness. It was the kind that made him walk all the faster and brace his head against the wind. No matter how warm the blood in his veins, his face got frozen just the same.
Wintry air swirled around him taking every lick of warmth it could. He wrapped his arms tighter around himself, tucking his chin downward into his hoodie. His breath was now only visible under the sporadic streetlights. He had no specific destination in mind. He just needed to escape the pain¡­the violence¡­his uncle’s rage.
He found himself on the outskirts of town and that surprised him a bit. He had never walked this far before. Maybe he should turn back now. His uncle would have fallen asleep by now. He could easily sneak back into the house and tiptoe up to his room. But¡­a shadow of doubt crept over him and discouraged his feet from walking back. So, he made his way forward until he found himself infront of Riddle Manor.
He didn’t like the Riddle Manor. The mere sight of it made his bones ache and his guts knot. That house was a visual representation of the blackest kind of black, the darkest kind of dark. Evil things had happened there. It was where evil things still lingered.
The old Riddle Manor was located at the edge of town and backed right onto the marshlands. There was a dock in the back of the house that stretched out far into the swamp. The house’s windows were shattered, its paint chipping away. People had lived there once, but he’d heard that something wicked had happened behind that black door. Whoever had lived there moved out, leaving the large, dark house to sit on the end of the swamp and slowly crumble.
No one in town went near the old Riddle Manor, not only because it was out of the way and on the edge of town, but because, much like the swamp, there were tales of evil that lurked inside. Those tales scared away even the bravest of children and gave all reasonable adults a good excuse to go nowhere near it.
The closer he walked to the Riddle Manor, the slight prickle in his stomach turned more and more violent with each step he took. He stared up at the second-story windows, the rusted hinges of the dangling blinds. The outside of the house had once been painted navy and white but had long since faded to the colour of rotten wood and chipped flecks of blue. The once-white windowsills still had a few old clay pots sitting on them, no life inside. Inside there was nothing but darkness. There was nothing¡­no one¡­but the fine hairs on his arms stood on end. He kept staring at the black depths inside the second-story windows, expecting to see something¡­someone.
He was afraid. He was afraid, and more curious than he’d been in a long time. He wondered what the inside of the house would look like¡­if ghosts played with white drapes that covered old pianos, or if glass chandeliers creaked on high hinges as if prepared to crash into the wooden floorboards below. He imagined there would be ancient, moth-ridden floral rugs, different in each room, and a massive oak wardrobe in the foyer with etchings of wizards and butterflies carved into the sides. Maybe an endless staircase into the basement abyss, a tunnel that led to a cellar full of cherry-coloured wine bottles.
Harry had no idea for how long he just stood there, stared up at the house and imagined what it looked from the inside. In the end, his fear won over his curiosity and he turned his back to the manor and was about to walk away when his muscles protested and his body screamed. He was sure there were bruises all over his body. If only he could just sit down for a minute and rest before walking back. He looked at the Manor and shook his head at the thought that popped into his head. No, he couldn’t set foot in that house. It was probably locked but even if it wasn’t, he couldn’t go in there. Who knew what lurked behind those doors?
He sat down on the mouldy stairs and rubbed his hands together to warm them up. For a moment, he imagined the door creaking open, and a monster grabbing him and dragging him into the house but nothing like that happened. The house remained quiet and still and no monsters made any appearances. When he felt that he could walk again, he rose to his feet, gave the house one last curious look and began walking back home¡­no¡­not home¡­just a place where he worked day and night, lived on scraps and dressed in rags.

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