Harry Potter #2 (Tomarry)
Tom Marvolo Riddle stood in his study before the fire, the hearth glowing softly and warming the room in this cold night. He sat in his chair, slowly swirling the glass of fire whiskey he nursed in his right hand.
Potter. Just what was he going to do with the brat? He thought back to his last meeting with the fool...
It was his fourth year. He had finally done it, he'd finally managed to get the precious Boy-Who-Lived in his clutches!
Lord Voldemort looked at the boy just before his faithful servant dropped him into the cauldron. He'd spent ages planning this out to the very last detail, and he'd finally gotten the boy away from Dumbledore! He cackled mentally before feeling unbearable pain and then darkness.
Harry Potter watched as the little white homunculus was dropped into the cauldron and Pettigrew began the ritual. When the rat approached him to take his blood, he grinned maliciously and shot a silent Imperio on the bastard. He made Pettigrew release him before he cut his hand and dropped his blood into the cauldron, whispering "Blood of an ally: revive your friend!"
And with that, the ritual was complete. Harry made Pettigrew bind him against the statue above Tom Senior's grave once more and silently cast a secrecy ward on the pathetic excuse of a man before he released the curse. Pettigrew didn't have a chance to even try speaking as his Lord was suddenly standing before him. Quickly, he ran off to get the garment and cloak his master.
Lord Voldemort looked... healthy. His skin was not a pasty white as it was before, and he was tall now, with the body of a young adult. He eyes were still an intense red, but now he had short, wispy brown hair that shadowed his face, a sharp jawline that could've cut through glass, and a strong athletic body. His dexterous fingers were long and pale, elegant yet strong. And those swirling blood-red eyes of his focused on the boy that stood bound before him.
A low, dark chuckle erupted out of the man as he glided forth, eyes locked with the teen that he had at his mercy. Fingers were soft and delicate as they caressed the boy's face, drifting across his skin and alighting a spark between their souls. His fingers carded softly through Harry's midnight black hair, as messy as a raven's nest as it's always been, before gripping tightly at the few tresses covering the famous lightning-bolt scar. Voldemort brought his face as close as possible to Harry's without them touching, his breath fanning across the neck of his prey, and watched in sadistic delight as the boy shuddered under his gaze. An audible gulp sounded throughout the eerily silent graveyard.
But before Lord Voldemort could begin his wonderful speech about how he was the greatest wizard of all time, a loud screech interrupted the thick silence that blanketed around the woven souls and the next second, he saw a pure white owl land on the boy's shoulder. In just a few moments a bright light had enveloped the surrounding area and when he looked back, the Potter brat was gone.
It had been three months since then, and it was nearing the end of the boy's fourth year. He didn't know what to do. He was also confused - he felt sane, remembered everything that had happened before, and didn't come to a conclusion until tonight about what had happened.
Somehow, Lord Voldemort was no longer immortal. Somehow, Tom Marvolo Riddle had reabsorbed his horcuxes, and he was now mortal again. He also felt a lot better, physically, mentally and emotionally. When he was researching horcuxes, it hadn't stated that losing your sanity was part of the deal for splitting your soul and slowly losing your humanity.
He sniffed. Standing, Tom made his way to his bedroom in Riddle Manor and went to sleep.
———
Harry left the Great Hall after experiencing the Welcoming Feast for his fifth year. He trudged up the moving stairs, muttered out his House's password to the portrait of The Fat Lady, then shuffled into his dorm. Looking out the window beside his bed, he could see the faint glow of orange and pink slowly turning to blue and purple as dusk set in. Heaving out a sigh, Harry entered the conjoined bathroom and took a shower to ease any hint of anxiety before bed.
As he came out of the bathroom, he could feel something was different. His dorm mates had returned during his time in the shower, but the strange thing was that they were all sleeping. It was then he noticed a sweet scent in the air. He felt a shift in the space behind him and, within moments, instinctively brought out his wand and had it held to his assailant's neck. Yet before he could even comprehend just who was attacking him, he was knocked unconscious.
———
When he came to, Harry found himself in a... well, he couldn't exactly call it a cell as it had a lavish bed, four strong and smooth walls painted an airy blue, and a soft green carpet. The only reason he immediately thought he was in a cell was, not because of the iron door and lack of windows but, due to the currently stoic Dark Lord sitting at the end of the bed he lay in.
The scariest thing was that, the moment their eyes connected, this specific Dark Lord had smiled.
Voldemort, as if nothing unusual was happening, nodded his head and casually spoke: "I require an explanation for what happened during my rebirth."
At the mention of the ritual that took place during the Triwizard Tournament, Harry stiffened and turned his back to the man in an attempt to conceal the panic gleaning his eyes.
The Dark Lord swiftly moved to sit behind him, his chest pressed firmly against the teen's back. The action caused Harry to shudder in response, moreso when he felt rather than saw two elegantly pale yet strong arms wrap around his midsection. Usually, this would've caused the teen to feel mildly embarrassed and to panic or become fearful of the Dark Lord's odd behaviour, but for some reason he could only feel relief at the moment.
"I can sense that you're a dark wizard, little Potter," Voldemort breathed into his ear, his chin resting on his stiff shoulders. "In which case, you belong to me." His grip tightened. "And you will never be harmed again."
Harry's tense shoulders relaxed and he slumped down, engulfed in the embrace of a Dark Lord. Feeling cosy, warm and safe, he hadn't realised he'd opened his mouth until the words had already left his lips.
"I wanted to save you."
It was uttered ever so softly that the Dark Lord had to triple check he hadn't misheard. His arms around Harry's waist tightened, a sign for the youth to continue.
"I wanted to save you," Harry repeated, "...because I would've wanted someone to save me." His words were confusing, but the boy continued. "You were manipulated into going down the wrong path, you were deliberately taught the wrong things, and the instigator caused you both mental and physical scars. I... also experienced that," Harry's voice confessed, but his next words caused Voldemort to stiffen in his place. "We're the same, Tom."
"The difference between the two of us, is that someone was able to save you in time."
As if it had taken everything out of him to say those few lines, Harry was sound asleep in the next moment. His small and delicate fingers splayed over the ones resting on his stomach.
Tom, still as a rock, eventually snapped out of it and looked down at his supposed 'enemy' that was currently unguardedly asleep in his arms. A small smile flittered across his face. He'd gotten his answer, but he'd received so much more than what he had been expecting.
For the rest of the night Tom sat there with Harry in his arms, thinking. Every now and then his hand would brush across the boy's cheek or entangle itself within the boy's messy hair. By dawn, he had decided what he was going to do.
After placing the teen properly in the bed with the covers wrapped around him, Tom stood up and stretched his stiff limbs before leaving through the iron door. As he walked away, he snapped his fingers and a house elf appeared before him awaiting her master's orders.
———
Harry woke up around noon. Upon waking, he blearily looked around and noticed the absence of the Dark Lord. The same Dark Lord he'd fallen asleep on just last night. The thought sent a rush of blood to his cheeks.
A delicious smell wafted through the air. Harry turned to his right and saw a bowl of warm porridge with pumpkin juice and a treacle tart sitting on the bedside table. He dug in without hesitation. Normally, this would've been cause for alarm but Harry felt he was safe here. Yes, this might be the Dark Lord Voldemort's evil lair or some such but it happened to feel just as welcoming if not moreso as Hogwarts. To Harry, Hogwarts was the only place he could call home. But in this place, where the Dark Lord resided, he was comfortable. And for that reason he let his guard down and chose to relax. After all, there was treacle tart.
He had just finished his breakfast when Tom strode in.
He saw a smirk resting on the man's face, and the confidence that exuded from his every pore made Harry question just what was going on. In his mind, all he thought about was what had caused the handsome man standing before him to look at him with such an intense, fiery gaze.
Tom took a step forward. Harry unknowingly flinched. Another step. Heat travelled across his face and crawled beneath his shirt. One last step. He'd adverted his gaze.
Tom was standing right in front of him now but for some reason he felt like he couldn't look the man in the eye. Biting his lower lip in both confusion and frustration, Harry attempted to figure out just what was happening. Before a word could escape Harry's mouth, a dark shadow loomed over him.
"You've been hiding thingsss from me, my little ssserpent," Tom hissed in Parseltongue. This sacred language that belonged only to the two people in this room. Harry shivered. Hesitantly, he lifted his gaze.
Sparkling emerald clashed strongly with wine red and a hint of familiarity surrounded the two.
"My sssoul..." Tom whispered, his right hand outstretched as though longing to hold what belonged to him.
All of a sudden, Harry Potter was gone. Looking around Tom spotted him standing in the back corner of the room, a surprisingly crooked smirk on the boy's face. His holly and phoenix feather wand was grasped in his right hand and a hint of excitement could be seen in his eyes.
"Come now, Tom. You didn't think I'd sit back and become yours just like that, did you?"
The Dark Lord's eyes gleamed with shock and delight at the abrupt change in the teen stood before him, and then he took out his faithful yew wand and pointed it at the brat. And so, the duel commenced.
Flashes of blue and red streaked past the two, leaving charred marks to decorate the walls behind them. Neither spoke, casting their spells in silence and dodging if they couldn't shield. During this time Tom finally assessed the other half of his soul that fought against him. The boy, still yet to fully mature, had an immense amount of magic. Not only that, his physique was top notch allowing him to move around perfectly in good form. The spells he cast were mostly Dark, some bordering on Grey, and very rarely with a Light thrown in at times. The strength and accuracy of his casting, even of the most formidable spells that even inborn dark wizards struggled with at times, were effortlessly performed. The teenager stood before Tom now was certainly not the snivelling and naive 1st Year he'd encountered five years ago. He'd grown, far exceeding the expectations of everyone, including himself.
A grin settled on Tom's pink lips and with a flash he appeared before his soul and caged him against the wall. Harry grinned in response.
"Hah, it seems I still need some practice. I'm sure you've guessed my identity by now, Tom."
Raising a brow, the Dark Lord leaned down to the boy's flushed ear and spoke low. "The one who tortured, killed and published the scene of the Ministry's Undersecretary without getting caught; the one who robbed half the Purebloods of their fortunes without recieving complaint; the one who snuck into and stole from Gringotts without getting punished... the one who saved me." Tom moved his head back for a moment to look at his soul's flustered face, and grinned. "The assassin I've been searching for the past decade, my soul... is you."
Harry's chin lifted in pride and he looked straight at Tom with indignation. "If I am yours, wouldn't that make you mine?" A stubborn glint appeared in his eye, but with Tom's response all thoughts were instantly forgotten.
Holding the teen's hands above his head, Tom dived in to taste those luscious red lips that had been teasing him all morning. Their lips touched, and a thousand sparks of electricity danced across their skin. The two souls were united. The magnet drawing them together vanished and replaced with an intense desire to hold, to own, and to belong. A moan escaped the teen's mouth and he gasped in shock when the man pressed harshly against him. His fingers trembled and his legs felt weak but he couldn't stop and wanted to drown in this feeling for eternity. It felt like all was suddenly right in the world, as though he's found what he's been looking for and missing all his life. His other half.
Tom leaned back, his bruised full lips quirking up at the ends in amusement when his lion made to follow him. He didn't want to part. Never again did Harry want to experience that loneliness. Never again did Harry want to be forgotten, overlooked or mistreated. Never again did Harry want to lose himself...
"My sssoul," Harry whispered, his right hand reaching out and caressing Tom's smooth cheek. Tom lifted his own hand and let it rest atop Harry's in response.
"You are mine and I am yours, and we will never ever part."
Harry smiled as the words left Tom's lips, and then they were back to kissing again. Passionately, fiercely, softly, slowly. They went back to each other again and again, content and feeling whole, and this is where the story ends.
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