pink_mint | Art: Spare the Rod (R)

Title: Spare the Rod
Characters: Harry
Rating: R
Warning: blood, bruises, come
Created with: Painter X
Notes: This is This is fanart for

calanthe_fics's Spare the Rod, part three in the Mudhoney trilogy. Additional notes and an excerpt from Spare the Rod are below.
Additional notes: First, I have to say that I had residual inspiration from

calanthe_fic's trilogy that needed to come out, and this is the result! Plus, how could I not draw her Harry after doing Draco?

I wanted the two paintings to compliment each other in look and in intensity of emotion, and at first I had a tough time picking one emotion of Harry’s to show. The one of Draco was really obvious to me, but this one I had to think about. Then I remembered the Exanimus scene, which is nearly my favorite – it gives me chills.

Do correct me if I’m mistaken, Cal: in the picture of Draco, it was the moment that his fantasy and desire for Harry finally manifested. And in this picture of Harry, it’s the definitive scene for him personally. He realizes he wants to live.

Admittedly, I took some artistic liberties with this one. Cal, please forgive me if he’s a bit more bruised and bloodied than you wrote him. I also realize that these bruises are probably a lot further along than they realistically could be, given the time frame. ;)

Please let me know what you think. Once again, I'm a bundle of nerves!

A happy birthday to darling Harry Potter! So sorry I made you look terrible on your special day. ;)

Lastly, my companion piece to this, featuring Draco.

Excerpt:

“Finite Incantatem,” he annunciates, his low voice carrying clearly across the space between us.

My lungs spasm painfully and I hear myself drag in a ragged, bubbling breath that’s deep enough to curve my spine up off the table. I choke out the remaining jism from the back of my throat with unfettered relief. After that first breath in, the one that makes black blobs dance across my vision, I flop back onto the table and pant, drawing a shaking hand up to scrub at my face, wincing as the raw pain of an overstretched muscle in my shoulder protests.

Thank fuck! I’m alive! I experience a blinding moment of euphoria as my survival moves from fantasy to fact before my body starts to palsy and shake in shock. I put both hands over my face and try to breathe even though it’s hard. I’m alive.

I turn my head eventually, moving it painfully slowly to stop my focus blurring and breaking up.

He must have moved the moment I turned my head.

All I see is the flutter of a grey-trimmed black cloak disappearing round the doorframe and out of sight.

I lie there and watch the empty space for minutes, curling my toes and then flexing my limbs, testing to see what works and what hurts.

When I finally get up to dress, a changed person from the one who lay down, I consider life and death. I consider love and hate. I consider how fine the line between extremes can be.

I look down at the crumpled form of my Stupefied attacker and consider kicking him until his ribs break and his stomach is black with bruises. But I don’t do it. He’s broken enough without my interference, so I merely turn and walk away.

- from Spare the Rod by calanthe_fics