Chapter Text
The Aurors arrived long after the ‘battle’ had taken place, closer to midday the next morning. Tom sneered at their incompetence as they bumbled about the scene creating all manner of outlandish theories when the true facts were clearly presented to them.
“I’m telling you it was Evans, Harrison Evans. He did all of this!” Dippet exclaimed his explanation for what had to be the third time. Incompetent number one frowned, he was older than the others, but just as foolish.
“You’ve all said that he was only out of sight for maybe a half hour,” the other Professors nodded vigorously, hoping that this time the man finally got it. “Well, that’s impossible.” Immediately all their faces fell.
“It’s not impossible, because it happened!” Professor Merrythought was on a war path by this point. “Just because you lot couldn’t take down a Reaper if he’d lost both arms and worn a blindfold does not mean—“
On and on it went. Tom had followed the proceedings to make sure nothing too terrible was pinned on Harry, but apparently the Ministry was more willing to believe that the entire Hogwarts staff had suffered some sort of mass hallucination than the idea that one man, one mudblood, could take down over 50 highly trained Reapers in less than an hour.
Of course, Tom could benefit from the Ministry’s naiveté. In fact, he fully intended to. Still, the entire aftermath of the incident was only fueling his desire to go forward with his plans. This level of ineptitude was unacceptable and it would not stand in his new world.
Tom silently exited the room in which all the Professors and Ministry officials had gathered; everyone except Dumbledore. He couldn’t believe he had actually forgotten about the old man until he appeared before everyone just after the sun had risen.
The Professors had returned to the Great Hall, temporarily stalling their search for the errant Assistant in favor of reassuring the student body that all was well. The massive fissure that Harry had created during the Halloween feast stretched beneath three of the four tables and halfway up the wall, the house elves completely incapable of repairing it.
The irritating Professor had wandered inside, looking thoroughly exhausted, and spun a magnificent tale of his capture at the hands of the Dark Lord Grindelwald himself. Tom had looked upon the proceedings and immediately noticed that the man didn’t have a scratch on him.
As powerful as Dumbledore was, Grindelwald was hailed as one of the most powerful Dark Lords of all time. Tom had serious difficulty believing that the old man had been with him the entire night, and had returned without so much as a wrinkle in his clothes.
Unfortunately, the other Professors, particularly Dippet, were too eager to have him back to even consider the inconsistencies in his story.
Tom was heading to the Healing Wing, to which the few injured students had been returned, trying to ignore the persistent niggling sensation at the back of his mind, the cloying ache that only seemed to worsen the longer he put off searching for Harry.
The Medi-witch prowled about the room, ensuring that none of her charges could escape. He smiled at Madame Willowby as he entered, at the very least she would make sure his wayward Knights had a less than pleasant time during their stay. She entered her office to allow him some… privacy.
Tom sat in one of the guest chairs and crossed his legs lazily, staring at the three boys that had been laid out in adjacent beds. His displeasure was easily visible. Harry had already retaliated, so now it was time for him to administer his own punishment.
“So,” he paused, taking in their downcast expressions and shaking hands, “what exactly deluded you into thinking that acting against my orders was a good idea?” The question came out sounding rhetorical, but Tom fully expected an answer.
“My Lord,” Abraxas began cautiously, “we were only acting in your best interests. We—“
“How fascinating it is that you three claim to know my best interests better than even I!” He smiled dangerously, baring his teeth. Orion shuddered and babbled out a response.
“No my Lord, we were just—“
“Silence.” Tom’s eyes were hard. The light streaming in through the window enhanced the shadows on his contours making him appear positively demonic. “I had hoped that the previous incidents would make the matter clear, but apparently you all are in need of further clarification.
“Harrison Evans is off limits,” he ground out. “He is an asset, one far more valuable than you three combined. Thus, I will have no difficulty making the choice should it come down to it.”
The three boys paled further. Tom was making his stance clear, between them and Harry, he would choose Harry every time. He looked over to see that Silvus was looking especially ashamed.
“What about you Lestrange? Do you have anything to add?” The boy looked up, allowing himself to make full eye contact with his Lord to communicate his sincerity.
“I deeply regret my actions, my Lord. I will make sure to make amends with Evans as well.” Tom allowed the satisfaction to show on his face.
“It seems Lestrange has come to a very important realization.” All of the amusement in his tone fled. “Pray you have a similar epiphany.”
Lestrange nodded solemnly while the other two boys looked towards him with wide eyes, as though they could divine what he had just learned with sheer desperation. Tom stood smoothly and moved to leave the room.
“You know where to go after you are released. Any attempts to delay and I will be very displeased.” Tom did not wait to see their reactions, there was somewhere he needed to go as quickly as possible.
Ever since ‘The Battle’, as the others had taken to calling it, Tom could feel Harry’s magic more intimately than ever before, when Harry had disappeared Tom almost when mad at the lack of sensation. When he had finally calmed he noticed that the sensation of Harry’s magic had never truly left him. It was just… muddled.
He swiftly made his way out of the castle, ignoring the looks he received as he passed. They were irrelevant now. He needed to find Harry, it was all he could think about.
He followed the connection, the long and straining link between their magics which Tom was constantly aware of no matter the situation. The closer he came the better he felt, until his magic was all but pushing him forwards, urging him towards his destination with an uncharacteristic intensity.
He followed the link until he ended up outside a horrible looking shack with boarded up windows and a rotting wood frame. The entrance to the pitiful structure was at the base of the ever unwelcoming Whomping Willow.
Tom barely noticed as the massive tree wound itself up, preparing to crush the tiny creature that had dared to invade its territory. Without even a cue from Tom himself, his magic reared up and squeezed the bark of the tree in its terrible grip, crushing and grinding the ancient Willow until it submitted meekly and allowed him entrance.
The teen made quick work of the entrance, pushing past the unresisting wards that Harry had undoubtedly laid down. He stepped inside the oddly cozy structure and was almost knocked back by the sheer intensity of the magic within the enclosed environment. Tom’s eyes shuttered as he took a deep, relishing breath of the vast and powerful magic of his Harry.
He forced himself to move forwards, passing through the entrance area and into the house proper, coming directly before the exact man he was searching for.
Harry was leaning back on a rickety chair, daring it to collapse under the strain of his full weight. His feet were resting casually on an equally untrustworthy table, as his head lolled back, eyes half closed and still glazed over with something Tom couldn’t identify.
He made quite the picture.
Tom took a few steps, unable to resist when his prize was in sight.
“Don’t—“ Harry’s voice was strained, thin and breathless. His magic twisted and curled about the room, seemingly beyond the man’s control. Tom narrowed his eyes at the order, before resuming his forward movement.
“Stop” this time Harry’s voice was barely above a whisper, but the full force of his magic rang out behind the command forcing Tom’s feet to cease their movement.
At first he pulled at the restraints, using his own magic to attempt to remove the compulsion, but all he felt was a sort of warning chime in response, as though his magic was reluctant to follow his commands.
‘This is ridiculous,’ Tom thought, as his magic continued to bob about uncertainly. He wanted to get closer, he needed to be near Harry, to
touch him, feel him, taste him.
The urge was practically overwhelming him.
Harry finally turned sluggishly, moving only his head to look at him for the first time since he had entered, eyes unfocused and pupils dark as his thick, dark, lashes blinked slowly. Having the man’s captivating eyes looking at him and only him, was enough to quell the urge somewhat.
“My magic is not…” the man trailed off as he searched for the word to finish his awkward and stilting sentence. Even after such a short period of time, Harry’s voice sounded hoarse from disuse.
“Yes?” He prompted, patience wearing thin once more.
In his half-conscious state, Harry apparently went through some sort of mental debate before sighing and allowing himself to look directly into Tom’s eyes.
Tom noticed the implications of this action and took it to mean that Harry was trying to communicate something for which there were no words, and thus, was allowing Tom access to his mind just this once.
Just this once.
Tom shivered at the gesture of trust and eagerly fell into the mind of his Harry.
*****
The urge was back. Harry’s magic churned violently beneath the surface of his skin, demanding the freedom which it so desired. He did not usually restrict his magic so much; normally he was content to let it hang about his person, falling over body like the most comforting of cloaks.
But now it was far too dangerous. His magic had a mind of its own. It did not obey the verbal commands he gave it, rather it followed the brief flashes of emotion he tried to smother, the terrible thoughts that slithered into his mind in his darkest moments.
His magic liked those commands, those strong and childish desires which were far more destructive in nature than Harry would ever be willing to admit.
But that was not the worst part. No, by far the worst was that on some level he wanted it. He wanted so badly to release his magic, to let it run wild and unchecked, to feel the rush of power it provided as it moved through his body and filled his very soul. It encouraged him to
take that extra step, cast that extra spell
Every time he used it fully, every time he gave in to the oh so tempting desires, it grew a little stronger, took more control from him, made it even more difficult to resist the next time.
And there always was a next time.
*****
Tom gasped as he left Harry’s mind. He was shaking, no, shivering in delight. His magic was purring in pleasure; he could still feel the echoes of the sensation which Harry was trying to communicate to him.
Once again he strained against the hold of the compulsion, trying with all his might to take that another step, to move closer to that man, the one that could make him feel like this.
It was enlightening. The man that lacked so much control so as to not even be able to produce halfway decent Occlumency walls actually had more control than anyone else. Or rather, more stubbornness.
He would not yield, not even to himself, and so he fought, desperately, every day. Tom wanted nothing more than to be able to touch him in that moment, to be able to reach out and feel the veritable flood of magic that was hidden just beneath the surface of his skin. That magic that he had let out in earnest for the brief period of time it took for him to defeat the Reapers, his enemies.
Tom blinked, shaking his head.
This was exactly the opposite of what he should be doing. Just that small glimpse of Harry’s memories was enough to make him lose his highly valued self-control, and if he lost control then what hope was there for Harry?
Tom took a mental step back, breathing deeply as he reinforced his Occlumency shields, carefully placing the memory of the temptation behind several layers of protection.
With a final breath, he focused his magic and moved through the compulsion effortlessly, the same way he moved through all of Harry’s magic. They were connected somehow, their magic recognized each other. Harry could not keep him away and Tom could not stay away.
He stopped only inches from the errant Assistant, once again taking in his features. Harry was borderline catatonic. His eyes were dull and unseeing as he fought a battle inside his own mind, against his own magic. His body was relaxed, limp in its casual position and his head was tilted back just far enough to reveal the scar that shaped his entire life.
Perfect.
*****
Harry awoke sluggishly. That was the only indication that he had not actually been sleeping. Years of war had conditioned him to wake up fully aware, ready for anything, but now he felt dazed.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but looking around through bleary eyes Harry could tell he was inside a very familiar room, lying on a very familiar couch, resting on a very familiar lap.
A dark and amused chuckle alerted him to the fact that the other resident of the room was aware of his consciousness, aware that he had finally returned from the jaunt inside his own mind. What Harry didn’t understand was his sudden desire to snuggle deeper into the warm confines of the body next to him, the strange urge to purr at the sensation of a hand gently running through his hair.
‘What the hell is happening?’ He thought. Harry tried to sort through his recent memories in the hopes of gaining some insight on his current baffling circumstances.
‘There was a battle,’ he thought. ‘I was fighting… again.’ Harry felt a cold dread coil in his stomach. He had gone too far again, he had gotten lost in his own magic and given control over to his instincts.
It would explain the fog that continued to cloud his mind, the blank spaces in his memory. But it didn’t explain what was happening now, why he was in this room, on this couch, cuddling into Tom Riddle.
With that thought Harry jumped from the couch, landing in an uncharacteristically ungainly heap on the floor as he tried to scramble away from the baby Dark Lord, who was currently smirking with a horrifying satisfaction.
Now more than ever, he needed to know what happened.
He looked up at Riddle from his graceless position on the floor, wondering how much he would be giving up to just ask the boy. Tom seemed to be aware of his conundrum, and was thankfully willing to concede for free.
“If you haven’t already noticed, we are once again inside Salazar’s study beneath the school. It has been four days since your… confrontation, and you have been in and out of consciousness during that time.
Four days, he thought, forcing himself to keep a blank expression. Riddle was staring attentively at him, watching his every movement as though it was the most interesting thing in the world. Harry could not afford to show any signs of weakness.
Still, he couldn’t help the gulp, or the sudden sheen of sweat that broke out on the surface of his skin.
‘Four days,’ he thought again. ‘It’s getting shorter.’
He had to remain unmoved, unbothered by the circumstances, the strange and irritating imbalance of power that currently existed between him and his student. Apparently, Riddle had seen him during a very personal moment of weakness. While he was thankful that Riddle was likely the only one that saw him, he was nonetheless annoyed that he had been seen at all.
Didn’t he put up wards? Why hadn’t they worked? It was possible that Riddle had broken them, but in the state Harry had been in he doubted even the young Dark Lord possessed the raw power needed to shatter those wards. Later, he would, but not now.
It was a question for another time. Meanwhile, Harry was still on the floor, which was strangely warm despite being made of stone, and Riddle was still studying him.
A quick getaway was the obvious solution.
“Well, if it’s all the same to you,” Harry stood swiftly, practical, if not smooth movements. “I’ll be leaving now.”
He immediately felt the warm presence of another standing at his back even as he exited the study through the mouth of the ostentation Founder’s statue. At the moment, it was more confusing than irritating. Riddle was not usually willing to take the role of the follower in any sense, but here he was, persistently dogging Harry’s heels.
“Look, Riddle,” he resisted the urge to sigh when he saw the expectant, wholly manufactured, expression on the teen’s face. The young Dark Lord was apparently eager for another dance.
“Yes Harry?” Even in the dim light of the Chamber, he could have sworn he saw Riddle’s eyes flash red for a moment.
“Whatever happened, I am sure it was traumatizing for all parties involved. Why don’t you go console your minions or whatever, while I go speak to… someone.” Harry honestly wasn’t sure who he’d have to talk to. His memories became hazy about halfway through the fight, but until then he made sure to keep the Professors out of sight. They probably didn’t know any more than him.
Still, he would start with the Headmaster and hope he didn’t do as much damage as last time.
“They don’t know anything.” Harry winced imperceptibly at the sound of Tom’s teasing voice. It was grating and frankly he didn’t want to deal with it.
He continued.
“They only saw the aftermath, and that only lasted a few minutes before you disappeared.”
He clenched his fists, refusing to look at the teen’s smug face. Whatever Tom had seen, Harry had no intention of talking about it with him.
He kept walking.
“Stop,” Harry felt the exact moment when Riddle’s patience wore out, when he stopped being satisfied with the charade he was playing. He felt the temperature rise and heard the crackle of magic behind him, but none of that should have been enough to stop him.
And yet he stopped.
Harry’s eyes widened as he felt the pull. It was a horrifyingly familiar sensation that tugged the very core of his being and burned up to the scar on his forehead.
It was impossible, yet the sudden bleeding said otherwise. In an instant, Harry had turned around and crossed the gap between them, kicking Tom’s legs out from under him and roughly shoving him to the ground.
“What did you do,” his voice was pathetically weak, the pain in his scar still distracting his concentration and the blood obscuring his vision. When Tom grinned, unafraid, Harry felt another bout of rage surge forth and he lifted the teen’s shoulders and slammed them back into the damp ground. “What did you do!”
Tom laughed, low and sensual, betraying his obvious amusement and utter lack of fear. Harry didn’t understand, the teen knew he could kill him, every other confrontation they’d had indicated that he would at least be wary.
But instead Tom lifted his arms slowly, carefully encircling the still baffled Harry’s neck, his eyes shining in a distinctly predatory manner. Then, in one swift move, he wrapped his legs around Harry’s torso and threw him to the ground, taking his place on top.
Harry struggled briefly, vainly, knowing that Tom’s greater weight and height would be enough to pin him to the ground, and even more irritating was that Tom had apparently adopted his technique of augmenting his muscles with magic. The boy may be less skilled, but he was currently at least Harry’s equal in pure strength.
Tom lowered his head, allowing his lips to brush against Harry’s ear, enjoying the way he shuddered beneath him.
“You can feel it then, our connection?” He whispered, magic lacing every word, leaving Harry a writhing mess. “It’s so powerful, so strong. I can feel it, always.”
It was strange to see the normally composed Tom Riddle practically manic with excitement. For one, Harry noticed that Tom didn’t get excited like other people, who would normally scream and shout, maybe even hop about happily. No, instead Tom focused those feelings, holding them deep within himself and finally directing all of it towards the object of his interest.
Which, in this case, was Harry.
“You can’t escape me Harry, even our magics want us together. You can’t keep me away.” Half coherent phrases were continually whispered, magic licking his senses and setting his nerves on fire. Somewhere in the haze, Harry found the composure to notice something.
‘Tom hasn’t once mentioned horcruxes.’ He thought.
A sudden giddiness filled Harry, the kind of adrenaline filled emotion that came from dodging a bullet. Fortunately, or unfortunately, Tom noticed this as well and paused in his rapturous sweet nothings.
“You don’t know?” Harry’s laugh was tinged with a very noticeable hysteria, one which immediately put Tom on guard, but it wasn’t enough. Harry kneed the teen in the stomach, knocking the air out of him long enough to once again switch their positions.
From his place on top of Tom, Harry could see his confusion warring with annoyance and slight pain from his now bruising abdomen.
“What don’t I know Harry? Tell me!” At the very least, Harry was glad to see that both of them had lost control to a certain extent, the cause of which he wasn’t ready to confront just yet, but he’d be damned if he told Tom about it.
“That’s for me to know and you to never find out.” And with that, Harry made his getaway, moving too fast for the still winded Tom to be able to catch him, all the while ignoring the renewed pain in his forehead.