Behind Lies Eternity

Tom had always been a master of patience, enduring a life marred by hunger, cold, beatings, ridicule, and deprivation. Patience was his familiar ally. Yet, when it came to Harry, Tom’s patience was a delicate soap bubble, ever on the brink of bursting. As summer drew to a close, Harry continued to resist the idea that he belonged to Tom. He was unpredictable, sometimes reaching out, other times withdrawing into a fortress of brooding thoughts. He sparked hope one moment, only to cruelly dash it the next. Exhausted by this dance, Tom was prepared for drastic actions if stubborn Potter didn’t fully embrace their bond by the start of the school year. While Harry busied himself selling Selwyn family artifacts, Tom dedicated himself to perfecting a ritual discovered in the Room of Hidden Things. He never considered his talents extraordinary; many challenges seemed trivial to him. Yet, even he marveled at the brilliance of his work on this ritual. It was an exquisite, intricate masterpiece of magic. If successful, they could only die if they killed each other simultaneously. “How poetic,” Tom mused, caressing the runic sacrifice stone he had incorporated into the ritual. “In death, as in life, we shall be inseparable, Harry.” Each time he descended into the Order’s meeting hall, the Red Phoenix flags, now coated in dust, were a grim reminder of a world without Harry. Fate had thrown Harry into his path, endowing him with power and the unwavering belief that Tom Riddle could conquer any obstacle. He rolled up the flags, hiding them under the ceiling, out of Harry’s sight until the time was right. Feeling the Galleon in his pocket grow warm, Tom read Harry’s latest message: “Where the hell are you? This mustachioed pest is driving me nuts!” Potter’s words were always vivid, full of life. A tender smile crossed Tom’s lips as he traced the letters with his thumb. Responding to these messages, attending to Harry’s needs, solving his dilemmas – it had become their routine. Harry, gradually depending on him, occasionally grumbled when Tom was absent. This dependence was so gratifying that Tom spent most of his time in a state of bliss, marred only by Harry’s stubborn refusal to embrace their shared eternity. Hurrying from the room, Tom unexpectedly collided with Dumbledore in the corridor near the doors. “Professor,” Tom greeted, halting abruptly. “Tom,” Dumbledore returned, assessing him with a sharp, blue gaze. “Enjoying your holiday? I trust you’re not too lonely here without your friends?” “No, sir,” Tom suddenly felt an overpowering urge to impress the professor, who always seemed suspicious of him. “Headmaster Slughorn has granted me permission to leave the school with Gordian Selwyn. He’s of age and looks after me. I’m on my way to meet him now.” “I’ve been following your ordeals with Mr. Selwyn,” Dumbledore’s posture relaxed, his gaze softening. “I’m truly sorry. We, the teachers, failed to see the malevolence in Professor Callahan. We should have protected you, but we didn’t.” “No one could have foreseen his intentions. Callahan’s motives were not evident, enabling him to deceive us. It’s not your fault, sir. The responsibility lies solely with him,” Tom said with a shrug. “Are you and Mr. Selwyn alright? I heard you’ve had a challenging summer, Dumbledore inquired, his tone conveying genuine concern, a notable shift from his usual look of disdain towards Tom, akin to how one might regard a dung bomb. “We’re coping,” Tom reassured him. “It’s been difficult, but we support each other. We’re in the process of selling the Selwyn manor and plan to move to Hogsmeade soon.” “I’ve noticed the strong friendship you share,” Dumbledore commented, a hint of sorrow in his smile. “I’m glad you’ve found someone important, Tom.” “He’s more than a friend, sir,” Tom couldn’t suppress his smile, pride swelling within him. “One day, I’ll invite you to our wedding. Then you’ll see I’m not the epitome of all evil you thought me to be.” Dumbledore’s eyebrows lifted in amused surprise. “Really?” he exclaimed. “Then I extend my heartfelt congratulations and best wishes to you both.” “Thank you, sir,” Tom replied, barely holding back a grin. “I should go; Harry is waiting for me.” “Of course, my boy. And remember — stay with Mr. Selwyn at least until the new year. Professor Dippet will soon resume his headmaster duties, and he may be upset because of Professor Slughorn’s indulgence”, Dumbledore advised. “Thank you for the tip, Professor,” Tom acknowledged, his smile returning. “I’ll heed your advice.” He had already been staying with Harry, only returning to school for the ritual, which was now complete. There was no reason to return to school. Harry couldn’t possibly send him away, especially since Tom had nowhere else to go. Tom altered his course, collected his few remaining belongings from school, and bid the caretaker a guilt-free farewell, informing him of his departure. “Where have you been!” Harry exclaimed as the house-elves ushered Tom into the first-floor gallery. “I nearly got into a fight with that mustachioed cockroach!” The gallery was nearly desolate, stripped of its statues, showcases, and paintings. Only the statue of the King, carved from black marble, remained, its gaze seemingly fixed on them. “I ran into Dumbledore. He mentioned Slughorn’s demotion back to dean, so I had to pack up. I can stay with you, right?” Tom asked, giving Harry a quick peck on the cheek. He was aware that Harry cherished these small, almost innocent gestures. They conveyed a depth of affection that transcended mere passion. “You’ve already been living here!” Harry retorted, jabbing a finger at him. “Don’t act like you haven’t.” “Fair enough, I won’t pretend,” Tom conceded. “Molly!” He snapped his fingers, summoning a house-elf, who eagerly took his bag of belongings and vanished. Harry had allocated him a room adjacent to his, steadfastly opposed to sharing his bed. Tom didn’t push the matter, knowing they’d soon be back at school, where Harry couldn’t hide from him. “You behave as if you were born for this life,” Harry observed, feigning haughtiness, prompting a chuckle from Tom. “I just like being in charge,” Tom admitted, planting another kiss on Harry’s cheek. “Just remember to treat the elves well, Commander. They’re not unfeeling homunculi. They form strong attachments to kind masters but can rebel against abusive ones. They’re quite shrewd and know how to navigate around direct orders,” Harry warned, seemingly unfazed by the second kiss. “Is there a story behind your sermon?” Tom curbed his urge to tease. “There was a house-elf once,” Harry began, his expression turning somber. “He saved my life, sacrificing his own in the process.” Their bond pulsed with melancholy and remorse. “Then I’ll treat the elves with the utmost respect,” Tom reassured, soothingly running his fingers through Harry’s hair. “So, what’s Siemens done now to earn the moniker of ‘cockroach’?” “He’s just stalling with that damned statue!” Harry fumed, motioning toward the black King. “I told him to sell it, even for half the price! But he…” Tom’s gaze shifted to the statue, feeling a sense of unease. The aura it emitted was dark and oppressive, reminiscent of damp soil. It was no surprise it remained unsold. “Let’s donate it to the Museum of Magical History,” Tom suggested. “Seems unlikely we’ll fetch any price for such a ghastly thing.” “That’ll turn the museum into a ghost town. How about we just dump it in the lake?” Harry proposed. Tom shrugged in agreement, sharing Harry’s dislike for the statue. Despite their efforts, the statue remained immovable, as if it was anchored to the floor, impervious to their magic and seemingly taunting them. “Bombarda!” Exasperated and drenched Harry finally attempted to blast it, but the spell bounced off the stone. Harry’s quick reflexes saved him from harm as the spell struck the marble floor, mere inches from his feet. “I have an idea,” Tom said, scrutinizing the grey marble tiles. “If it’s attached to the floor, let’s cut it out along with the tile.” “You’re a genius!” Harry’s face lit up. “Do you know the right spell?” Tom gazed at him with a hint of amusement, almost as if he were indulging a naive child, and confidently raised his wand. Naturally, he was well-versed in such spells, having honed his skills during his extensive work in the fake Chamber of Secrets. The marble submitted to his magic effortlessly. Tom carefully carved out a sizable tile and levitated it. “What the…” Harry’s eyes widened, and Tom hastily set the statue back on the floor. Both stepped back, sharing a wary glance. Black, sinister roots extended from the marble, pulsating grotesquely. “They look like roots,” Tom said, feeling his hair stand on end. “It’s as if the statue has taken root here.” “Dear Merlin, save us all,” Harry clutched Tom’s arm, his gaze fixed on the statue in horror. “Let’s leave, Tom,” he urged, pulling at his sleeve, but Tom remained unmoved. “Remind me, what did Lady Selwyn say in her last letter?” Tom inquired. “The King will return, and rivers of blood will flow,” Harry recited, his grip on Tom’s wrist tightening. “But she was delusional, obsessed with legends…” “Think, Potter,” Tom insisted. “You mentioned the statue was found thirty years ago in the Gaunt manor ruins. Since then, no Selwyn has lived long, except Lady Selwyn. The place feels like a tomb. The old lady talked to someone unseen, and this fucking statue has roots in the foundation! Doesn’t that ring any bells?” Harry pressed closer to Tom, who instinctively wrapped his arms around him, both slowly backing away from the statue. Its presence was unnervingly oppressive. “We need to check the basement. We have to follow where these roots lead,” Tom said firmly. “But the Aurors combed through everything, how could they have missed THIS?” Harry’s voice was edged with tension. “Some rooms reveal themselves only through blood,” Tom realized. “If the greatest wizards missed the Chamber of Secrets, couldn’t there be a hidden room here too? There’s something beneath us. We need to find where these roots are leading.” “Fuck,” Harry cursed under his breath. “I just hope we don’t stumble upon a room full of corpses. Captain Shacklebolt will have our heads for this.” They scoured the basement, rifling through a dusty wine cellar and cluttered rooms, but didn’t uncover anything that even hinted at a secret passage. “Molly!” Tom’s snap summoned the elf instantly. “Is there another entrance to the basement?” “Yes,” the house-elf nodded. “But it was off-limits, only Lady Selwyn went there.” “And what about you or Gibby? Do you know what lies there?” Harry crouched before the elf. “We were forbidden to enter or speak of it, but with the mistress gone, Molly obeys the new master,” Molly confessed, her eyes wide as saucers. “Merlin’s pants,” Harry groaned. “I should’ve known how damn obedient elves are. It’s no wonder the secret room stayed hidden. Molly, lead us there. Or should we call Captain Shacklebolt right away?” Tom pondered briefly, deeming it excessive to involve Shacklebolt for every minor discovery. Still, the unsettling nature of the statue urged him to get Harry out of this house swiftly. “Let’s go. Stay close, okay?” he said, grabbing Harry’s hand.  “Why should I? I’m practically an Auror, and you’re still wet behind the ears,” Harry quipped back. “You should be clinging to me.” Tom found Harry’s fiery spirit both endearing and exasperating. Molly guided them to Lady Selwyn’s room, effortlessly moved aside a colossal dressing table, and unveiled a hatch leading to a steep stairway. “Hells’s bells!” Harry gasped. “Secret passages are usually behind walls, but this one’s beneath a dressing table. Clever disguise! Nobody dares to tamper with a lady’s belongings.” “I’ll take the lead,” Tom insisted, pushing past Harry. A foul stench of decay and cold emanated from the opening. “It reeks worse than Slytherin’s arse! Recognize the dear scent of home?” Harry teased, pulling Tom in for a quick cheek kiss. “I’ve got more training and muscle. I’ll go first, so listen to me.” Tom acknowledged this statement. He had witnessed Harry’s training and prowess. While not as adept in physical agility and experience, he possessed immense magical strength and knowledge. “For now, maybe stronger. Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Tom retorted playfully, stealing a quick kiss from Harry’s weathered lips and discreetly caressing his cheek. “Be cautious.” If Tom had sensed any impending danger, he wouldn’t have let Harry go down first. But his intuition remained silent, with no hint of an approaching tsunami, so he allowed Harry to take the lead. Navigating the spiral staircase, a question nagged Tom: how did the elderly Lady Selwyn manage these steps? At the bottom, a narrow corridor awaited, its walls lined with magical torches that flared to life at their approach. Molly led them down the corridor, stopping before a massive black door. “Here, master. Molly has never been beyond this door,” the house-elf said fearfully, her ears flat against her head. “To open it, you must drop blood of the great Selwyn line on the handle.” “Ha, I told you,” Tom couldn’t help but interject. “Go on, Harry. Let’s see what lies beyond.” “Yeah, you’re the smartest,” Harry muttered, bracing himself. With his typical recklessness, he sliced his finger and smeared blood on the handle. The door swung open, releasing a horrific stench. “Fucking hell,” Harry exclaimed, covering his mouth and nose with his sleeve. “Shacklebolt is going to have our heads.” Tom cautiously peered inside, realizing Harry was correct. Black roots entwined the ceiling, walls, and floor, ensnaring dozens of bodies in various stages of decay, ranging from mummified remains to those recently deceased. “Well, that’s the end of selling this place,” Tom remarked dryly, quickly shutting the door and ushering Harry back. The appalling vision of the mass grave haunted him. Not that Tom was faint-hearted, but he hadn’t expected such a macabre scene while leisurely breakfasting in his pajamas that morning. They sat on a couch outside, gazing at the open hatch. “Do you think it’s all because of the statue? Did it make everyone insane and turn them into murderers?” Harry asked in a hushed tone. “I don’t know,” Tom replied quietly. “The Selwyns amassed rare and ancient artifacts but overlooked the true danger of this object. Perhaps the statue merely intensified what was already present? I can’t fathom a sane wizard suddenly deciding to hunt children in his own garden.” “You’re probably right. Lord Black began his atrocities without any statue,” Harry remarked bitterly. “And Hector. And those Ministry officials. The rot in people doesn’t need a curse to thrive.” They silently gazed at the family portrait on the wall. The young Lord and Lady Selwyn, with two smiling, well-dressed, blond boys on their laps, radiated happiness, oblivious to the nightmare their lives would become. “But why did she bring bodies to that statue?” Tom mused aloud. “I don’t know. Lady Selwyn mentioned an ancient king who wanted to annihilate all wizards because we ‘stole’ magic from his people.” “From what people? Tolkien’s elves?” Tom sneered skeptically. “It’s just a dark artifact. Maybe it gathers the victims’ magic to later transfer it to its owner, or something of the sort. Anyway, the Department of Mysteries can handle it. I’m steering clear of that statue.” “You’ve read Tolkien?” Harry expressed surprise. “I skimmed through it when bored,” Tom dismissed nonchalantly, swiftly diverting the conversation. He certainly had no intention of confessing he’d read ‘The Hobbit’ several times over. “Call the captain, I don’t want to stick around until they haul that statue away.” Predictably, Shacklebolt cursed and rolled his eyes extensively upon arriving at the manor with a team of Unspeakables. “Selwyn, Riddle, I can’t imagine what mess you’ll find yourselves in next,” he grumbled as he emerged from the hatch. “You’ve turned my hair completely grey!” “We’re not responsible,” Potter shrugged. “But now the mystery’s solved. You’ll get your commendation, and you can retire in peace.” “You discovered a room full of corpses and you’re this nonchalant?” the captain squinted at them. “I’ve seen worse,” Harry admitted. “And I’ve witnessed the bombings of London,” Tom added, not concealing his experience. The room of corpses and the sinister statue didn’t bother him much, as long as they posed no direct threat to Harry or himself. “Poor kids,” the grey-haired Auror shook his head. ““I just hope I’m never called to investigate a crime committed by either of you. What you’ve endured won’t just disappear. Support each other, and if it ever becomes too much — reach out. I’ll be there to help.” While Harry effusively expressed his gratitude, Tom pondered idly that it was all futile. These people would die eventually, while he and Harry would live on. Once, it seemed like a lifetime ago, he had seen the world through Harry’s eyes, where skeletons in lavish attire danced in a grey, faded world, and only Harry and Tom were truly alive, flesh and blood. “I’ve never seen anything like it,” a young Unspeakable emerged from the hatch, now with a streak of grey in his dark hair. “This artifact feels alive!” “So, can you uproot it from here? I need to sell this manor somehow. I’m millions in debt,” Harry inquired. Both the Auror and the Unspeakable gave him a very peculiar look. “Of course,” the Unspeakable finally said. “This artifact must be isolated immediately. But for now, living in the manor is unadvisable. It’s unclear how it influences the mind, but the effect is undeniably negative.” “We figured that much,” Harry retorted with a snort of discontent. Once again, they packed up and retreated to their house in Hogsmeade, now in complete disarray following the battle and Auror investigation. Tom summoned Molly and Gibby, instructing them to tidy up. Meanwhile, Harry collapsed onto an old couch, interlacing his fingers behind his head and gazing blankly at the ceiling. “You know, I’ve been wondering,” he began, his voice tinged with introspection. “When does death become routine in one’s life? When do you stop feeling anything when confronted with others’ crimes? Seems like that moment’s come for me. I’ve turned into an emotionless monster.” “That’s not true,” Tom joined him on the couch, gently caressing his cheek. “You’re just exhausted. Burned out. It’s what happens when one calamity follows another. We become desensitized to protect ourselves from madness. You’ve just adapted.” “And you too, right?” Harry pulled him closer, and Tom laid his head on Harry’s shoulder. “Yeah, I’ve adapted as well.” Lying there next to Harry, feeling the resurgence of warmth in his emotions, which blossomed like rosebuds reviving a barren bush when Tom kissed his neck and entwined their fingers, was his purest joy. In that moment, Tom recognized his folly. He had been blind to what was evident since the birth of the Red Phoenix. “I love you,” he whispered into Harry’s ear. “Endlessly.” The bond between them surged with astonishment, disbelief, then intense joy, followed by more disbelief and fear. “Don’t say anything. Just know that I love you.” Tom didn’t expect Harry to reciprocate. Harry couldn’t yet admit his love, but his emotions betrayed his true feelings. They were destined for each other, and not even time could prevent their union. Despite the relentless hardships, they endured without losing their sanity, still capable of experiencing something as profound and splendid as love. “Tom…” Harry’s whisper broke the silence before he turned and pressed his lips to Tom’s. Initially, it was a gentle touch, a tender caress, but then Tom felt a tongue probing his lips, and he moaned, inviting it deeper. Harry’s tongue traced the edge of his teeth, met his tongue, and upon receiving a response, softly moaned into the kiss. Tom was overwhelmed with ecstasy. He leaned over Harry, breaking the kiss momentarily to breathe, and then dived into a deeper kiss, taking the lead. Harry moaned again, arched beneath him, and wrapped his arms around Tom’s shoulders, as if trying to meld their bodies into one. All Tom could hear was Harry’s labored breathing, the wet, illicit sounds of their kissing that sent shivers to his toes, and the sound of blood thundering in his ears. He had been holding back for so long that ceasing now felt like it might kill him. His greatest fear wasn’t Harry pushing him away, but the possibility that this was all an illusion, a mere response to Gordian’s raging hormones, not because Harry wanted Tom as desperately as Tom did him. Summoning all his willpower, Tom managed to pause their frantic kissing. “Do you really want this?” he gasped, his voice hoarse, pulling away slightly while rocking his hips toward Harry. “Do you really want… me?” Flushed, with bruised, crimson lips and eyes ablaze with desire, Harry nodded fervently. “Yes. I want you so much,” he groaned, clumsily undoing the buttons on Tom’s shirt. “What are you doing to me…” It was as if a supernova burst in Tom’s mind. For a moment, he felt as if he were in Harry’s place, experiencing his yearning as intensely as his own. He admired Tom, desired him, and was ready to surrender entirely. These emotions made the dark shadow in Tom’s soul roar triumphantly. Tom quickly discarded his shirt and helped Harry remove his, covering every reachable inch with tiny kisses and bites. The release was intoxicating, allowing him to fully immerse himself in this whirlpool of sensations, overwhelming both physically and emotionally. “Come here. Just lie like this, okay? For me,” Harry skillfully switched their positions, straddling Tom’s hips. He ran his tongue slowly from Tom’s chest to his nipple, played with it, then nipped it gently. “Do you like this?” he asked huskily, his breath heavy. “Yes, yes,” Tom could barely form words, overwhelmed by pleasure, moaning incoherently in agreement. He felt Harry’s passion resonate with his own, doubling the pleasure, because Harry was insanely enjoying licking him, biting his skin, leaving painful hickeys. Harry loved that Tom submitted, entrusted himself to him. “You can do whatever you want with me.” With biting, passionate kisses, Harry trailed down to Tom’s stomach and groaned, rubbing his face against it. “You don’t understand what you’re doing to me. That fucking mole,” he growled, licking and nibbling at the spot he found appealing. “I’ve come a hundred times already just imagining getting to touch it.” “Oh!” Tom arched under the wave of Harry’s desire, helplessly whimpered, and moved his hips, rubbing against Harry’s chest through his trousers. “Tom,” Harry exhaled, suddenly moving upward. He crashed into Tom’s lips with a scorching kiss and thrust his hips forward. His hand feverishly worked the button fly. “You’re okay with this, right?” “Merlin, yes!” Tom breathed out in relief. He hadn’t dared hope it would happen so soon. Harry’s nimble hand swiftly unbuttoned Tom’s trousers, slipped into his underwear, and Tom let out an unrestrained sob, feeling hot fingers on his cock. It was too little, maddeningly insufficient, but for the moment, he could endure it. He urgently yanked the buttons on Harry’s trousers, sending them clattering to the floor, and tugged his underwear down to his hips, immediately digging his fingers into Harry’s firm, smooth buttocks. Craving more, closer, and explicit contact, Tom was momentarily frustrated by Harry’s obstructive hands. Pushing them aside, he pressed his naked cock against Harry’s groin. Desire overwhelmed Tom’s senses, urging him for more intensity, a deeper, more fervent connection. Harry’s cock, slick with pre-cum and searingly hot, demanded more than just the friction against fabric. Tom grasped Harry’s buttocks tightly, pulling them up and pressing in with all his strength, relishing the sensation of their wet, slippery skin touching. Consumed by the piercing pleasure that shot straight to his spine, Tom thrusted forward, fiercely deepening their kiss. He was lost in passion, barely able to utter soft moans under Harry’s relentless assault. Harry, realizing their positional advantage, pressed his cock against Tom’s stomach, actively moving his hips, each thrust igniting sparks within Tom. Their hands interlocked behind Tom’s head, trembling with the intensity of their union. He was lost in a swirl of heated breaths and moans, wishing for the moment to last eternally. The world around them seemed to crumble, dissolving into bright fragments, leaving only the sensation of Harry’s touch, his lips, his raspy voice. “You’re incredible, Tom. Fuck, I can’t take it anymore,” Harry desperately whispered into his mouth, his voice trembling. “You’re so fucking sweet, so passionate and beautiful, yet so tormented inside. And all mine… I can’t, I just can’t!” At Harry’s words, biting his lower lip in overwhelming emotion, Tom reached his climax, dissolving in a wave of ecstasy. For a few seconds, he simply blacked out, losing himself in the intensity of double orgasm.  “Hey, are you alright?” Harry’s concerned voice, laced with emotion, brought Tom back to reality. Opening his eyes, Tom met Harry’s gaze – an unspoken understanding passing between them. Harry’s blue eyes, brimming with tears, darkened with admiration and remorse. Harry’s tears, falling on Tom’s cheeks, symbolized surrender to his desires. “I died and was reborn,” Tom smiled contentedly, still trembling from the aftershocks of their post-orgasmic bliss, enveloped in the scent of sex and the weight of Harry’s gaze and body. “Merlin, what are you doing to me,” Harry whispered, resigned but tender, leaning in for a gentle kiss. He released Tom’s hands, attempting to pull away. “I just love you,” Tom asserted, not letting him go. He held Harry close to his chest, letting him feel the entirety of his emotions. Time seemed irrelevant as they lay there, enveloped in each other’s embrace, exchanging caresses and gentle kisses. Tom was certain of one thing: despite the inevitable doubts and guilt that Harry would soon grapple with, their undeniable passion and need for each other could not be faked or suppressed or gotten rid of. They both knew it. ***   Harry long berated himself for his capitulation. Riddle had encompassed him entirely, leaving no room for escape. Together they lived, together decided their meals, and jointly tackled the Selwyn inheritance issues. And Tom, of course, completely stunned him with his declaration of love. Harry had been teetering on the brink, resisting the urge to throw himself at Tom. Now, his resistance had crumbled, leaving him alone with his desire and an intense need to give Tom everything he had been deprived of. By some cruel, ironic twist of fate, Tom Riddle provided what Voldemort had once stolen: care, love, support, affection. He became family to Harry, who hadn’t realized it until now. The universe couldn’t be more ironic. Shesmetet’s laughter, akin to that of a madwoman, echoed in his mind, reveling, no doubt, in Harry’s turmoil. He felt like a despicable monster, worse than Voldemort. He was exploiting Tom’s feelings, each kiss and embrace a lie. He couldn’t believe in Tom Riddle’s love. Dumbledore had said that a child conceived while one parent was under the effect of Amortentia couldn’t love. Tom’s emotions, usually hidden, occasionally seeped through their bond, and Harry could feel his greed, his desire, his happiness at Harry’s closeness. It all seemed like a painful obsession. Tom craved a family, affection, care, and sought it from Harry. He didn’t want to sever their bond or part ways; he feared losing Harry. And Potter remained silent, giving Tom what he wanted, creating an illusion of normalcy, while internally he cursed himself, torn between duty and the urge to protect Tom from further pain. The guilt was so overwhelming that he couldn’t think of anything else. “So, do you still think I shouldn’t sleep in the same bed with you?” Riddle asked smugly that evening. His face radiated joy, and Harry, of course, couldn’t refuse him. He wanted to believe in this charade, in a passionate romance, in confessions and a blissful life together. He longed to caress Tom, to cherish and adore him, to offer care and acceptance. His desire for Tom was so intense that even memories of his deceased parents and friends couldn’t dampen it. When Harry looked at Tom – so happy, earthly, passionate, and tender – every fiber in his body ached, his insides melting with the need to be closer, to touch, kiss, and caress Tom’s body, to gaze into his passion-clouded eyes and bask in his pleasure. “Merlin, give me strength,” he muttered, rolling his eyes and pulling back the blanket. “Get in, I can’t send you to the couch. You might actually become friends with the boggart.” Riddle, nonchalantly, stripped down to his underpants and slid into bed. Harry’s reticence around Tom had vanished. He knew that, sooner or later, Riddle would take him, and he wouldn’t have any regrets. Being bashful about the word “cock” seemed pointless now, given their recent encounter on the old couch. Overwhelmed by passion, he had lost control, and now the evidence of his fervor was vividly imprinted on Tom’s pale skin: on the chest, neck, stomach, and ribs. Especially the mole had endured a lot. Tom, lying amidst the white sheets, his body marked with Harry’s passion, was an enthralling sight. Gazing at Harry with mischievous, sparkling eyes, he was fully aware of the effect he was creating. “Fuck, this is the last time,” Harry muttered to himself, sitting on the mattress, and determinedly placed his hand on Tom’s bare leg. Holding his breath, he gently caressed Tom’s ankle, relishing the smoothness of his skin. Unlike Harry, Tom bore no bruises or scratches. The pristine skin seemed so soft and tender, its sparse, barely visible hairs only adding to its appeal. Harry’s hand crept up to his knee, edging past the underpants, and he nearly gasped seeing Tom’s Adam’s apple quiver. Memories of their duel flashed through Harry’s mind, the rapier at Tom’s throat, how the adrenaline surged through his brain, how triumphantly those dark eyes burned. Tom knew how to push him to the very edge. Destroy or fuck, inflict pain or give all his tenderness – there were no half-measures with him. “I’ll let you do anything,” Tom whispered, his eyes alight with anticipation at Harry’s almost reverent touches. “Only you.” “Please don’t,” Harry implored, his grip tightening just above Tom’s knee. “Why?” Tom asked, his smile fading as his muscles tensed under Harry’s fingers. “Isn’t this what you want?” “No, no!” Harry groaned. “I want… You don’t have to, Tom. I just want you to be happy.” “I am happy,” Tom replied, his expression radiant. “I’m happiest knowing you want to make me happy. I want everything, Harry. Everything you’re willing to give. Is that so wrong? Let go… Let me see what you can do.” Harry’s breath hitched at the sight of the tight fabric of Tom’s underwear stretching at the crotch, a damp spot forming. In that moment, guilt was the furthest thing from his mind. He was consumed by the desire to show Tom how much he wanted him, how eager he was to please. He could… Harry had to shut his eyes, overwhelmed by the vivid image of sliding his fingers higher, squeezing Tom’s buttocks, parting them, and pressing on the hot, saliva-moistened entrance. He could fuck Tom Riddle, and Tom would welcome it. At this realization, Harry felt dizzy, and he softly growled, shaking his head. No, he couldn’t do that to him. Not like this. “Tom, please…” Harry whimpered, his forehead pressed into the tense flesh of Tom’s thigh. His fingers worked frantically at the fabric of Tom’s underwear. “What do you mean, please?” Tom’s voice was a low purr. “Please, stop it…” Internally, Harry was screaming, “Why did you let me see this side of you? Why did you show me your tenderness, make me crave you like this? I’ll never be able to forget you now.” “I’m not forcing you,” Tom’s voice was gentle as he freed Harry’s numb hands, guiding them to rest on his stomach. “You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. Just relax, Harry. May I?” In his voice, Harry sensed profound understanding. Through their bond, he felt Tom’s care mingled with burning desire, rendering resistance futile. He was already ensnared; why prolong the torment? “No, let me,” Harry’s voice was resolute as he shifted into a more comfortable position on the mattress. He couldn’t let Tom take the lead; it felt unfair. So, Harry finally let himself indulge.  Goosebumps rose on Tom’s skin as Harry’s fingers traced the birthmark, explored its contours, grazed a nipple, and pressed a reddening hickey into the tender flesh. This was his mark, imprinted on the body of the young Dark Lord. The realization fogged Harry’s mind, sending blood rushing downward, igniting an unbearable craving in his muscles. “I could come just from this,” Harry’s voice was hoarse with desire. “Merely caressing you with my fingers. Nature created such perfection solely to torment me.” “You’re torturing yourself,” Tom breathed out passionately, his gaze wild and focused on Harry. “I want to give myself to you.” “You’d let me fuck you?” Harry placed a hand on Tom’s throat, feeling the pulse under his thumb. “If you want to—I’d be more than willing. I want to experience everything. With you,” Tom rasped, his breath catching as Harry’s grip limited his oxygen. Coherence fled from Harry’s thoughts. He leaned in, fiercely renewing the mark on Tom’s skin with his mouth. Tom Riddle lay beneath him, utterly vulnerable, open to any of Harry’s desires. He left a trail of fresh hickeys across Tom’s chest, reveling in the accompanying quiet moans. His lips reached the lower stomach, and he unbuttoned the underwear in a daze, touching the firm, smooth shaft. “Ah!” Tom arched, moaning deeply. “Fuck, you’re driving me insane,” Harry exhaled, transfixed by Tom’s reactions. His hand ran along the length, spreading the pre-cum, tightening his grip as he sensed Tom liked, moving rhythmically from base to tip. “Do you like it?” “Yes-yes-yes,” Tom moaned, his hips thrusting in tandem. “You can feel it, can’t you?” “But I want to hear it,” Harry’s voice was raw with need. Sweat glistened on Tom’s face, his dark curls clinging to his sweaty forehead in large ringlets, and his bitten lips parted, releasing sweet moans that sent Harry over the edge. The air was thick with the heady scent of sweat, the sharper fragrance of his cologne, and lubricant. “Yes, I like it,” those lips whispered. Harry locked eyes with the clouded gaze of dark eyes and surrendered completely to their pull. He hastily undid his own buttons, freeing his aching cock, craving attention. “Come on, come for me,” Harry urged, increasing the pace. Tom reached his climax with a loud moan, his release in Harry’s firm grip utterly unhinged Potter. Harry milked him thoroughly, then spread Tom’s come over his own cock, and climaxed onto Tom’s stomach with such intensity that a few drops splattered onto Tom’s face. “Oh, yes…” Harry groaned, the image of the liquid sliding down Riddle’s cheek imprinted in his memory. “You’re so beautiful…” Collapsing next to Tom on the pillow, Harry was struck by the thought that he was transforming into someone obsessed. With Ginny, he never felt such a deep need to deliver and witness such intense pleasure. The scent of sex was dense, clouding his thoughts. They both lay there, breathing heavily, their bond softly transmitting their mutual satisfaction and bliss. Harry wanted to immerse in this feeling every damned day of his life. “Next time, I’ll take the initiative,” Tom murmured contentedly, languidly curling up beside Harry after a few moments. “I want to suck you off.” Harry choked on his saliva, coughing. The vivid image of Tom on his knees, submissively taking him in, sent shivers down his spine. “Eh-eh-eh,” was all he could stammer. “For now, let’s just…” “Let things be?” Riddle chuckled knowingly, magically cleansing their bodies of the remnants of their intimacy. “Yes,” Harry managed to say. “You wanted to fuck me, Harry. Changed your mind?” Potter tensed, recalling his earlier lascivious desires. His lust had seemingly obliterated some moral boundaries, revealing the real Harry. Harry that craved to  brand his enemy, to fuck him to the point where he’d beg with tears in his eyes. He wanted complete control over Tom. “When you’re aroused, you’re much more expressive. I like that,” Riddle said, smiling again. “Let’s sleep,” Harry muttered, tucking himself under the blanket, settling on the very edge of the mattress. Tom, predictably, moved closer, wrapping his arms around Harry, and rested his head on his shoulder. “Goodnight,” he murmured, nuzzling Harry’s neck. “Goodnight,” Harry replied, feeling his resolve melt away. He lay awake for a long time, enveloped in heavy thoughts, listening to Riddle’s soft snores, absentmindedly stroking his head and running his fingers through his hair. Had he truly altered Tom’s path? Was his intervention sufficient to prevent Tom from delving into dark magic and shattering his soul? What did the future now hold? Harry yearned to glimpse it, yet he feared putting his wand to his temple and killing himself. He was terrified he might not see Tom again. Torn between the prospect of choosing Tom over his friends and family, he simply drifted along, immersing himself in their relationship to an obsessive degree. This self-centered indulgence gnawed at him. Was this the pursuit of personal desires Tom had spoken of? Harry indulged these urges, yet he was wracked with guilt and loathed himself for it. His thoughts often wandered to Ron, Hermione, Ginny, the entire Weasley clan, Teddy, and Andromeda. What would become of them in this altered timeline? Would they even exist? The yearning for them was overwhelming. If only he could bring Tom into a new future, one devoid of war, where his friends led joyous, loss-free lives. The possibility that his parents might still be alive intruded into his thoughts. Time was a capricious entity, dictating life and death, but what if… He was so mired in the complexities of past, future, and present that he felt utterly lost. He longed to confide in someone, seek guidance, but there was no one. The following day, he penned a letter to Alphard, recently discharged from St. Mungo’s. He even managed to escape Riddle’s orbit long enough to visit the legal office of Siemens and Siemens, which was driving him to the brink of insanity. “Excellent news, the gallery’s being purchased!” Siemens greeted him exuberantly at the door. “And for how much?” Harry asked gruffly, forgoing any pleasantries. Mr. Siemens was a sly fox, skimming hefty commissions from already destitute Harry. “Two and a half million!” the wizard exclaimed. “With the proceeds from Mrs. Selwyn’s jewels, your debt will be cleared!” “Thank the stars!” Harry sank into the chair across from Siemens. “I might just avoid starvation. There’s still the manor and the remaining artifacts.” “Selling the manor, I fear, will prove challenging,” Siemens’ mustache drooped. “Nobody wants a macabre estate known for years of girl murders and a cursed statue.” “They’re removing the statue soon!” Harry protested. “I can’t afford to keep up with the manor’s costs!” “Let’s wait for the uproar to subside, then offload it to some oblivious foreign fools,” Siemens suggested, a glint of avarice in his eye. “So, Lord Selwyn, what can I do for you today?” Harry made a face. He needed to claim his inheritance, but another Selwyn had surfaced — a distant cousin of Cecil’s. In other circumstances, Harry might have let him inherit; it would have been the just thing to do. But now, he had a compelling reason to stake his claim to it all. “I want to end my engagement with Alphard Black and write a will. After settling the debts, I’ll bequeath everything to Tom Marvolo Riddle.” Harry had pondered this decision deeply, understanding its gravity. He couldn’t bear the thought of Tom being left knutless if something were to happen to him… The Selwyn estate still had valuables to liquidate: paintings, artifacts, apparel, jewels. And if the manor sold, Tom would be well-off. The idea unsettled Harry. Who would care for Tom if he wasn’t there? What would Tom do without him? A knock interrupted his thoughts, and the secretary ushered in Alphard Black, accompanied by his guardian, Walburga. Alphard’s appearance shocked Harry – he’d lost significant weight, his head drooped, his posture slumped, his clothes disheveled. In stark contrast, Walburga appeared flourishing, her demeanor more haughty and disdainful than ever. “Let’s make this quick,” Walburga asserted, shielding Alphard and thrusting a stack of parchments forward. “Sign these and never summon us again like we’re some insignificant mongrels.” “Alphard,” Harry addressed the boy directly, ignoring Walburga. “Hi. How are you?” Alphard jerked his head slightly but didn’t meet Harry’s gaze, hands buried in his pockets. “Sign it, you scum, and leave him be!” Walburga snapped, brandishing her wand. Harry exhaled deeply, skimmed the betrothal dissolution documents, and signed under Walburga’s signature. “Alphard, I’m sorry,” he said, extending the parchment to Walburga but keeping his eyes on Alphard. “I hope you can forgive me.” “You didn’t even visit me in the hospital,” Alphard blurted out, finally looking up. His blue eyes brimmed with pain. “I didn’t want to make things harder for you,” Harry replied, his voice steady despite the sting of guilt. “You should have been there to support me!” Alphard’s voice rose with anguish. “My father turned out to be a terrible murderer who wanted to mold me into a version of himself, I nearly killed a friend. Now, thousands of wizards despise me. I know you don’t love me, but I was your friend. I loved you, and you couldn’t even show up.” “I’m no longer your friend, Alphard. I’m nothing to you now,” Harry stated quietly, suppressing the ache in his heart. “My visit would have only confirmed the end of our relationship. Would that have helped?” Walburga, standing beside him, glared furiously but did not intervene. Alphard’s gaze intensified with realization. “You’re not the Harry I loved. He wouldn’t have been so heartless. You’ve been poisoned by Riddle. I know you chose him over helping Joanna and me. You’re revolting! I can’t even stand to look at you!” Harry observed young, broken Alphard, a casualty of the havoc wreaked by Harry Potter. Alphard had no idea how far Harry had drifted from their youthful ideals. Something in Harry had indeed died– perhaps his naivety, or the belief that good invariably prevails. He was no longer the person who sought Dumbledore’s approval, nor the Auror trained to believe that compassion was synonymous with downfall. He truly had become like Tom Riddle himself – a selfish person, not deluding himself otherwise. Life, as it turned out, was full of many shades, and each person had their own truth. Pleasing everyone was impossible. “I warned you that being close to me is dangerous,” he shook his head. “You didn’t listen, and here’s the result. Forgive me, Alphard, if you can, or better yet – hate me and move on.” “You’re such a wretch,” Walburga slapped him painfully, but Harry endured it. He deserved it for ruining Alphard’s childhood. “You and Riddle are made for each other – both disgusting scumbags who don’t care about other people’s feelings. I’m convinced once again that half-bloods and blood traitors are worthless, just as my father said. You have no honor, no dignity. Tell that filthy half-blood never to dare even look at me.” Harry lowered his head, inwardly surprised. Riddle hadn’t mentioned falling out with Walburga, although it was to be expected. After all, he had rejected her. With her temperament, it was hard to imagine she’d continue to be his ally. “Phew, talk about intense drama,” Siemens chuckled awkwardly after the Blacks left, slamming the door. “Seems like darling Tom has become a real homewrecker, eh?” “I’m to blame,” Harry replied tiredly. “Draft the will, I must go.” The meeting with Alphard left an unpleasant residue, but not as heavy as it should have been. Harry couldn’t love him, was that his fault? His only mistake was letting the boy get close to him and allowing himself to be deceived. “Goodbye, Lord Selwyn,” the secretary said, tearing herself away from the newspaper. “Goodbye, madam,” he politely tipped his hat and suddenly noticed a bold headline above a familiar face in the wizarding photo. “Another pureblood commits mass murder of Muggles!” blazed the headline above the face of Morfin Gaunt, baring his rotten teeth at the camera. “May I borrow your newspaper?” He snatched the fresh issue from her manicured fingers faster than he finished asking and fixed his gaze on the black lines. A chill crept up his spine and tightly circled his head. Harry crumpled the newspaper, dashed out of the shop, and Apparated home. “Riddle!” he roared, bursting into the living room. Tom was sitting at the table, writing in his diary. “And what have I done now?” he asked unperturbedly, not at all frightened by enraged Harry. Potter threw the newspaper at him and pulled out his wand. “You killed your family and framed Morfin! Again!” Tom picked up the newspaper, briefly read the article, and shook his head. “I’m guilty, but I didn’t kill them,” he said, painfully tracing his finger over Morfin’s face. “I was there that day.” “You don’t say?” Harry threw up his hands. “And what did you do? Why did you even go there?” “I wanted to see my uncle,” Tom said with disdain, tossing the newspaper aside. “I went to retrieve any artifacts that might be there. I didn’t find the locket, but I did take the ring. I talked with him for a bit, then hit him with a Confundus Charm. The confusion must have made him mistake me for my father and attack their house.” “Fuck,” Harry collapsed onto the sofa, burying his face in his hands. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!” It seemed those destined to die would die regardless of his actions. “It’s too early for despair,” Tom, quickly grasping why Harry was upset, sat beside him and pulled him into an embrace. “The mistake was mine; I should’ve erased his memory, but I rushed to leave that forsaken house to see you. Naturally, he mistook me for my father; we look very alike. But remember, you saved Joanna and those four girls. They’re still alive because of you.” “I’m not sure anymore, Tom. Maybe it was fate, and I shouldn’t have interfered. I don’t know, I just don’t know!” Harry moaned, pressing his forehead against Tom’s shoulder. “I don’t know what to do next!” “We’ll return to school,” Tom suggested, kissing Harry’s head and cradling him. “We’ll delve into the mystery of our bond, wait for news about Grindelwald, and then… we’ll respond to whatever comes our way.” “Oh, Grindelwald too…” Harry groaned. “Why the sudden silence? It’s maddening.” “Relax. Worrying now won’t change a thing. You’ll just get wrinkles, right here,” Tom said, kissing Harry’s forehead. “You’re right. I hate when you’re right,” Harry sighed, managing a small smile. In Tom’s arms, a sense of peace enveloped him, making his problems seem to shatter against an impenetrable shield. The temptation to lean on Tom, to let him offer protection, was strong, yet Harry knew he couldn’t fully surrender to that. “And I love you,” Tom whispered softly. ***   Returning to Hogwarts was unpleasant. People glanced at Harry, pointing fingers and whispering behind his back. “He’s the one who exposed those bastards.” “Do you think he’s innocent? He must have known what his cousin was doing.” “Maybe they had a falling out, and he turned in his own cousin?” “He’s a murderer. I heard he cold-bloodedly smashed Callahan’s skull!” As Harry anticipated, nobody saw him as a victim. The public concluded that if he could escape from a maniac, infiltrate his house, and then kill him, he must have been complicit in Marius’s crimes and was a merciless murderer. The fact that he had only just turned seventeen mattered to no one. Human stupidity remained constant throughout the ages, along with the thirst for gossip, conspiracy theories, and investigations. Harry ignored the students, but Tom was visibly irritated, grinding his teeth and deducting points. “Don’t leave the compartment,” Tom requested. “I need to attend the prefects’ meeting and patrol the next carriage. I really hope you won’t find yourself in any trouble by the end of the journey.” “Sure,” Harry responded listlessly, yawning. Deprived of sleep, he had spent half the night resisting Tom’s attempts to go further than mutual masturbation. The rest of the night, he lay awake, pondering what would become of Tom after his own departure. Thus, he locked himself in and slept through the entire journey, plagued by nightmares. Upon arriving at the station, he was about to board an empty carriage when Lucretia suddenly grabbed and turned him around. “Lucretia?” Harry blinked in confusion, still groggy from sleep. The sky over Hogwarts was a dark, unwelcoming grey, drizzling with rain that threatened to escalate into a storm. Harry yearned to climb into a carriage and continue his nap. “That’s for my brother!” Lucretia slapped him sharply, drawing the attention of nearby students. “You’re a monster, no better than Marius!” “Well, I am sorry,” he shrugged. Apologizing had become a tiresome routine. “I warned that it’s better not to get involved with me. He didn’t listen.” “Because of you, he left school, moved to another country, just to avoid seeing you!” Lucretia hissed furiously. “And here you are, strolling around, arm in arm with Riddle, smiling!” “What’s the problem?” Tom appeared suddenly and wrapped his arm around Harry’s waist. “We’re dating. Are you upset that he couldn’t love Alphard? You can’t dictate whom the heart loves, Lucretia.” The students around them murmured excitedly, and Harry grimaced. Riddle, seizing the moment, publicly claimed him. The first rumble of thunder drowned out his last words. “It’s all because of you, you scoundrel,” Lucretia exclaimed. “You’re brainwashing everyone, pretending to be sweet and charming, but in reality, you’re a wolf in sheep’s clothing!” “Lucretia, declining to be betrothed to your sister doesn’t make me a scoundrel. I fell in love with Gordian, not her.” The students gasped. Harry had no doubt that Riddle had just enhanced his reputation further. “Alright, let’s go,” Harry, weary of the absurdity, pulled Tom by the hand as the rain grew heavier. “Of course, love,” Tom replied with a bright smile, drawing admiring sighs from some of the girls. “Lucretia, I hope we understand each other now.” “What a show-off,” Harry grumbled, climbing into the carriage. “Why did you say we’re dating?” “Why hide it?” Tom pulled him onto his lap and kissed his neck. “We are dating, after all.” “We’re not dating,” Harry tilted his head back, giving Tom better access. “We live together,” Tom said, placing a kiss. “We sleep together,” another kiss, followed by a nip. “We have sex,” another kiss and a love bite. “So, if not dating, what are we doing?” “I don’t know,” Harry tried to remain composed, but Tom’s hand, slipping under his cloak and gripping him, was very persuasive. “Just… experimenting?” He was unsure of what he was doing. The attraction was overwhelming, and he found it impossible to resist Tom’s allure. “You are so stubborn,” Tom chuckled hoarsely. “Too late for experiments, my darling,” he unzipped Harry’s trousers and intensified his actions. “I love you. Just admit we’re dating, and you’ll get your reward.” The hand paused, and Harry whimpered. “Yes, yes, we’re dating!” he hissed, writhing. “Happy now?” “Very,” Riddle purred, resuming his task while nibbling on Harry’s neck. Rain rhythmically drummed on the carriage roof, with distant thunder rolls muffling his moans, isolating them from the world. In that moment, only Tom’s embrace and kisses existed for Harry. He arched in Tom’s hands, surrendering to the unhurried caresses, indifferent to the possibility of being observed through the rain-swept windows. By the time they arrived to Hogwarts, Harry had reached his climax. Emerging from the carriage into the cold rain, Harry silently thanked the heavens for the downpour, which concealed their disheveled appearance and swollen lips. “Come here,” Tom beckoned, and Harry stepped into the rain. Tom’s bold hand immediately wrapped around his waist. Water soaked his hair, eyebrows, and eyelashes, causing the latter to clump into amusing arrows. “Are we going to continue flaunting our relationship like this?” Harry asked, shivering from the icy streams that quickly drenched him. “Many won’t like it.” “Of course,” Tom smiled and unexpectedly turned them away from Hogwarts. Harry gasped at the sight of the majestic landscape. Below lay the Black Lake, encircled by cliffs and surrounded by dense forest. The road to the school wound down in serpentine loops before ascending towards the brightly lit Hogsmeade in the distance. Heavy clouds hung low over the valley, unleashing torrents of water, while the sky intermittently lit up with distant lightning and the rumble of thunder. “Look, Harry,” Tom whispered, holding him tighter, his voice resonating above the rain’s patter. “This castle has stood for a thousand years. For a millennium, students have traveled this road to reach it. Some became great wizards, some Dark Lords, and others led unremarkable lives. Now, no one remembers them. Everyone eventually dies, and their memory fades too. One day, even our memory will vanish. We will be reborn, standing here again, fretting over being judged for our love. But all of that is inconsequential. There’s only us, living in the present. I refuse to hide, I refuse to conceal our relationship. Let them judge, gossip, and envy. It doesn’t matter to me.” Harry leaned his forehead against Tom’s wet shoulder, speechless. A heavy lump formed in his throat, his eyes brimming with tears. His chest felt tight, as if the storm from the valley had migrated to his heart. Tom’s lips pressed against Harry’s damp hair for a lingering moment, and Harry tilted his face upwards to meet them with his own. Thunder roared, echoing their kiss as if splitting the sky. The rain, driven by sharp wind gusts, intensified, but Harry felt an unbearable warmth and comfort in Tom’s embrace, shielded by his magic and his affection. “You know,” Harry spoke hoarsely, breaking away from Tom’s warm lips, “I never finished school. I’d like to complete my seventh year properly, with a graduation, leaving Hogwarts the way I arrived: by boat across the Black Lake. I want us to do it together.” “We will, definitely,” Tom smiled, blinking his wet eyelashes. “I’ll keep kissing you until we rock the boat and fall into the water.” Grateful for the rain concealing his tearful eyes, Harry smiled back, took Tom’s hand, and led him along the path to rejoin the other students, his tears bittersweet from Tom’s words. Back at school, life resumed its usual rhythm: Dippet as headmaster, Slughorn as dean, and a new young witch teaching Runes. However, the student body had changed. Harry noticed entire empty sections at the tables where no one sat. Walburga and Orion sat surrounded by empty seats, a scene mirrored at the Ravenclaw table by Lucretia and several other students from various years. Harry unhesitatingly joined Tom, only then realizing he was amidst his followers – the future Death Eaters. “What’s happening?” he quietly asked Tom. “Why this division?” “The children of those in the Gentlemen’s club have become outcasts,” Lestrange explained, taking the lead. “It’s horrendous! They’ve shamed their Houses!” “Yes, Gordian, you did everyone a disservice,” Dolohov added, frowning. “Couldn’t you have stayed silent?” Harry felt a surge of anger, itching to smack Dolohov’s arrogant face. “So, you think I should have just silently watched while pureblooded old men raped and killed young girls? Including my friend Joanna? Should I have let a deranged Muggle-hater poison his son and let Alphard tear apart the girl in love with him?” Harry hissed. Dolohov shamefully lowered his eyes, followed by Lestrange, Malfoy, and Rosier. “I believe you did the right thing,” Druella declared. “My brother was a monster, as was your brother. They disgraced our Houses and deserved to suffer and die.” Harry pressed his fingers hard against his eyes and rubbed them. Again, it was all about the disgrace of the House. It seemed these children couldn’t grasp that murder and violence were inherently horrific. “Now is not the time for quarrels,” Abraxas Malfoy spoke authoritatively. “On the contrary, we need unity. The entire country is against us; we’re cornered from all sides. You’ve seen how the other students look at us. Please, let’s forget our disputes.” The others nodded in agreement, and Harry sighed heavily. His actions had only served to unite the purebloods and intensify societal conflicts. Well done, indeed. His only hope now lay in Tom. Harry had no doubts about Tom’s ability to manipulate them. After dinner, they returned to the Slytherin common room, where Rut immediately approached Harry. “Are you okay?” Rut asked, concerned. “Joanna didn’t return to school; I heard her parents took her for rehabilitation by the sea. Alphard left too, and there was not a word from you.”  “Oh, I am sorry,” Harry patted the boy’s back. “So much happened all at once, a real nightmare. But I’m okay, really.” “I heard you and Riddle are together now?” Rut’s eyes narrowed, his gaze penetrating. “My advice, mate: don’t trust him. I don’t know why you’ve changed your mind about him so drastically, but we both know what lies behind that goody two-shoes facade.” “I know, I know. Trust me, he can’t fool me,” Harry smiled at him, but something nagged at him inside. Tom claimed he loved him, that Harry could trust him. But for Tom, trust was complicated, full of clauses and half-truths. Rut continued to watch him intently, and Harry suddenly felt completely exposed in front of him. “You know, I’ve been wondering why Alphard was so smitten with you, despite the attention from a stunning, lively, smart, beautiful girl like Joanna,” Gorbovich said, his smile ironic. “Now, I think I understand. Neither you nor he wanted a dependable, understanding, loving partner. You both needed someone whose demons were far more dangerous than your own. Alphard found those demons in you. And you, you  found Riddle – a genuine demon in human guise. You don’t care about Joanna, do you? To you she’s less significant than dust on Riddle’s cloak. Just like I am.” Potter tensed, scrutinizing Gorbovich’s face. He hadn’t realized before how perceptive Rut actually was. “I never saw it that way,” he admitted wearily, rubbing his eyes. “My intention was to shield you all from the problems surrounding me.” He had truly tried to maintain a distance, to spare them from the fate that seemed to follow him. Yet, they suffered regardless – both Joanna and Rut, who loved her. “And you’re not saying anything about the demons,” Gorbovich smirked, “because you know it’s the truth. Don’t delude yourself, mate.” Harry couldn’t respond before Slughorn burst into the room, his usual ruddy, cheerful self even plumper after a year as headmaster. “Mr. Selwyn!” Slughorn exclaimed. “Fortunate to find you here. I’ve heard about your brave actions, young man. A real hero! Saving three of my students, including our country’s brightest star, Tom!” “Anyone in my place would have done the same, sir,” Harry recognized the familiar predatory gleam in Slughorn’s eyes. “Not everyone has the courage to confront a maniac or stand against the most influential wizards! Oh, you have a great future ahead. And now that I’m dean again, the Slug Club meetings are resuming. I’d be delighted to see you there tomorrow, with Tom, of course. Come, I’ll introduce you to someone. We’re all eager to hear your story!” He didn’t even acknowledge Gorbovich, who was still standing there. “Certainly, professor,” Harry nodded, feeling exhausted, and retreated to his bedroom. Life at Hogwarts was reverting to its usual rhythm. Slughorn was back to his flattery and exclusive gatherings. The purebloods were drawn to Tom. Walburga remained betrothed to Orion. Alphard, seemingly destined for a solitary life, appeared unlikely to love again. And the Selwyns were destined to fade into obscurity. Harry felt like a stone thrown into the ocean – creating ripples that were insignificant compared to the vastness of the sea, soon unnoticeable as everything returned to its previous state. He knew he needed to focus on the future, but the thought filled him with dread. Back in his now-familiar room, Harry unpacked his modest, practical belongings. Finished, he opened the wardrobe and confronted his reflection. It was Harry Potter looking back, albeit different. He had grown used to the short, silky light hair, the handsome face, the blue eyes. It was as if he had always been this way. Over the year, he had grown taller, built muscle, shed Gordian’s mannerisms, and reclaimed his own. He had fully acclimated to this new body, to the point where it no longer felt foreign to him. “Admiring yourself? You should. You’re quite a sight,” Tom commented as he returned to the room, embracing Harry from behind and sliding his cold hands under Harry’s shirt. “So beautiful, and all mine…” he purred into Harry’s ear. “Yours, yours,” Harry sighed, his voice heavy with emotion. “So, you admit we belong to each other?” Tom’s whisper was soft and tempting. “I admit it,” Harry nodded, his arousal intensifying with each caress. “That means there’s nothing stopping me from giving you a proper blowjob right now,” Tom murmured sweetly, kissing Harry’s neck and moving his hand towards Harry’s fly. Harry watched him in the mirror, captivated by the eager anticipation on Tom’s handsome face. His body responded with a burning desire at the thought of Tom, submissive and willing, kneeling before him. The intensity of his longing shattered the last of his internal barriers. “Yes,” Harry barely managed to say. And there Tom was, the proud Slytherin Prince, the former-future Dark Lord, kneeling and taking Harry’s fully erect cock into his hot mouth. “Merli-i-i-in, To-o-o-om,” Harry groaned, entwining his fingers in Tom’s hair. Tom’s lips stretched around him, his elegant fingers holding the base firmly. Even in his first attempt, Tom was a natural, intuitively understanding what Harry liked and doing it with serious dedication. His cheeks flushed with color, soft moans escaping him, as he continued his task. The sight of Tom on his knees, so eagerly pleasuring him, pushed Harry to the edge. He tightened his grip on Tom’s hair, thrusting first cautiously, then with increasing force, even as tears formed in Tom’s eyes. Tom’s gag reflex was quickly managed, his moans sending thrilling vibrations. “Yes, yes, yes,” Harry continuously moaned, lost in the moment. He wanted to prolong the ecstasy, to savor the sight of Tom a bit longer, but couldn’t hold back when Tom released him from his mouth with a lengthy moan. Their bond erupted with intense pleasure, and a wet spot spread on Tom’s trousers. He trembled, his lips parted and glistening, drool dripping down his chin. Harry barely managed to touch himself a few times before coming on Tom’s lips with a loud groan. Pale streaks adorned Tom’s face, some entering his mouth. Tom laughed hoarsely, wickedly licking them off his lips. Harry, spent, fell to his knees and joined in the laughter, kissing away his own essence. They both breathed heavily, shaken and utterly spent, and it was magnificent. “If anyone else has seen you like this, I’ll kill them,” Harry chuckled into Tom’s lips, a sudden surge of jealousy and possession overwhelming him. Tom was beautiful, and many would be eager to please him. “Only you. You know I’m not interested in sex for its own sake. It’s only you who matters,” Tom said, rubbing his sore jaw and wiping his face with his shirt sleeve. “You should have seen yourself. I came without even touching myself.” Harry’s jealousy subsided, reassured by Tom’s truth. No one else mattered to him. “I felt it through the bond,” Harry smiled, helping Tom clean his face. “A double orgasm is something else. I was both you and me, and it’s just… incredible. Will we ever last more than two minutes?” “We have all the time in the world to find out. Marry me, Harry,” Tom suddenly proposed. “What?” Potter was stunned, momentarily forgetting Tom’s previous mentions of marriage. “You and me. Together. Forever,” Tom said, his eyes shining with joy. “Marry me, Harry Potter.” Harry felt as if he had plummeted from heaven to earth. He recalled their conversation after the Chamber of Secrets incident, Tom’s aspiration to marry into the Selwyn family for their treasures. Tom had declined Walburga’s advances because he had Harry, the heir to the Selwyn legacy. Despite the diminished fortune, it was enough for Tom to begin cementing his influence, including the manor and the prestigious family name. Tom pulled out a black box from his pocket, uncovering the Resurrection Stone set in a ring, lying on a white cushion - a sight painfully familiar to Harry.  Once again, the Hallows had made their way back to him. Currently, the Cloak was in the possession of his grandfather Fleamont Potter, who had recently married Euphemia and resided in Godric’s Hollow. Meanwhile, the Elder Wand was with Grindelwald. And Harry was now aware of the conditions required to wield the Hallows. He shook his head, trying to clear these overwhelming thoughts. “This ring is the only ancestral artifact I possess. I want it to symbolize our eternal bond,” Tom whispered, his emotions palpable - a mix of happiness, tension, and anticipation. Harry, staring at the ring, was horrified to realize he genuinely yearned to accept it. Even if Tom’s intentions were to secure the inheritance, even if it had all been a pretense, Harry wanted to stay with him. The weight of his deception towards Tom was unbearable, almost physically painful. He had betrayed him. “I don’t… I don’t know,” Harry murmured, lowering his head. “I’m not sure about my future. I’ve been dishonest with you, Tom. The passage between the worlds is sealing. Once it’s fully closed, I’ll either vanish to my original time or, if I don’t exist there, I’ll simply cease to be.” “What?” Tom’s face drained of color. “You kept this from me?” Joy turned to desolation in an instant. “I was confused!” Harry exclaimed, clutching his head. “My initial mission was to change your path, to prevent you from becoming the Dark Lord. I thought friendship might suffice, but then things escalated. I couldn’t bear to tell you that my existence here might be temporary. My soul is tied to another body, in the future. Shesmetet’s aid allows me to remain here, but she’s not all-powerful. You were so happy…I couldn’t break that. No. The truth is, I stayed silent because I cherished having you near. I gave you false hope, all to keep you close.” Harry’s confession drained all the joy from Tom’s face, extinguishing the spark in his eyes. It felt like a descent into a cold abyss, with both his and Tom’s dreams dying, drowning in an ocean of pain. “I didn’t want to sever our bond just to free myself; I wanted you to be free too. To be reborn in a world where you could find happiness without this destructive attachment to me. Can’t you see? Our fixation on each other isn’t normal,” Harry pleaded desperately. “Around you, I’ve become a sick pervert who lies and pretends, just to be with you for one more day.” Harry wasn’t sure whom he was trying to convince more: Tom or himself. In truth, he craved this bond, this sick obsession of the young Dark Lord. He was equally obsessed with Tom. Yet, he knew this wasn’t love. Love shouldn’t feel like this. “I understand,” Tom sighed deeply. “I see what you’re doing. You’re not expressing your true feelings, but I’ll make the decision for both of us. I’m sorry.” Suddenly, Harry was caught off guard. Tom’s eyes darkened, pulling him into a chaotic maelstrom of images and sounds. The vortex whirled faster, plunging him into a cage made of thick bars, surrounded by complete darkness. “Tom! Tom! TOM! Let me out!” Harry screamed, desperately clinging to the bars. He writhed in confusion, calling out for Tom, but to no avail. Tom had forcibly dragged him into his own mind, trapping his consciousness there. “No way!” Harry was resolute.  He had experienced the depths of Tom’s mind before; it felt eerily similar to reality, like the time Voldemort deceived him with a vision of Sirius at the Ministry. Sitting down, Harry closed his eyes, focusing deeply, recalling his training at the academy. “It’s all a dream. Wake up!” he told himself, picturing the bars disintegrating. Upon opening his eyes, the black void had given way to a dim, greenish glow. Harry found himself bound hand and foot, lying on the cold stone floor. Nearby, Tom busied himself, methodically pouring a thick, red potion around an altar in the very same hall where Harry had once toiled over the bones of a fake Basilisk. “What the hell are you doing?” Harry yelled, causing Tom to startle and spill the potion. “I’m taking responsibility,” Tom replied, his lips taut, his face pale. “You won’t return home or disappear. I’ll bind your soul to this body like a Horcrux, intertwining our fates. You’ll be my Horcrux, and I’ll be yours. As long as one of us lives, the other cannot die.” “Merlin, no!” Harry struggled against his restraints. “Stop this, Tom! You don’t understand the danger of such magic!” “It will be fine, my love,” Tom replied with a twisted smile, his eyes alight with a madman’s fervor. “I have calculated everything.” “You say you love me, but love doesn’t mean forcibly binding someone to yourself,” Harry said, bitterness tingeing his words as he realized he hadn’t truly changed Tom. “I would never hurt you, Harry. I feel your desire to stay with me through our bond. It’s like when I believed I had to be the perfect, unfeeling, impeccable pureblood heir, denying my true feelings as abnormal hindrances. You’re doing the same, adhering to distant ideals instead of following your heart. I’m merely helping you discover your true desires, just as you helped me find mine,” Tom argued. “But not like this! If you want to help me, we should talk, not bind me with some ritual like chains!” Harry protested. “This is what my love is,” Riddle declared with a sneer. “I warned you, I’d never let you go. Not for anything in this world. I’d rather die and find you again in another life. You do love me, Harry. Your beliefs only bring you pain, yet you cling to them under the guise of doing ‘the right thing.’ Love is inherently selfish. But if it eases your conscience, I’ll be the villain for us both. I’ll bind us, and you won’t have a choice but to stay. Blame me, I don’t care.” “You truly are ruthless, Lord Voldemort,” Harry’s voice broke with painful tenderness. His heart still yearned for Tom, despite his madness and obsession. This was the essence of Tom Riddle: obsessive, cruel, desperate for love or fear. Tom bent over the altar, briefly kissing Harry’s dry lips. “The Flight of Death? Beautiful…” he whispered, caressing the wand just as he would in the future. Harry was tempted to yield, to let Tom make all the decisions. But the caress brought back memories of Voldemort standing before him in his fourth year, controlling his fate. Harnessing the thread of their bond, Harry drew upon Tom’s magic, just as he had when breaching Callahan’s wards. A surge of power flowed through him, and he focused it into his hand. The shackles on his right wrist cracked and broke. Ignoring the pain in his wrist, Harry snatched the wand from Tom. “Stupefy!” he shouted, and Tom was forcefully thrown from the altar to the floor. Harry quickly broke free from the remaining shackles and stood up from the cold stone floor, surveying the dark hall before turning his attention back to Tom, motionless on the ground. “What am I supposed to do with you, Tom?” Harry asked, his voice laced with bitterness. “You’ve trapped me in a situation with no escape.” Surveying the room again, Harry’s gaze fell upon large rolls of dark fabric suspended from the ceiling, igniting a sense of alarm in him. “What is this, Tom?” he demanded, his voice rising in anger. “What have you done?!” With a surge of magic, Harry caused the hall to ripple, and the flags unfurled one after the other, revealing a symbol that struck a deep chord of recognition in him. Exhausted, Harry slumped onto the altar. “You claimed ignorance about the Red Phoenix. You denied forming any secret society, insisting that you were just…” Harry’s voice faltered, and he only became aware of the tears streaming down his cheeks when they touched his lips. “You told me you had rejected all this pureblood propaganda.” Visions of a future Ministry of Magic, of wizards with armbands and walls adorned with flags bearing the red bird, swirled in his mind. It all became clear – Tom’s ultimate plan. He intended to make Harry a Horcrux, claim the Selwyn inheritance, and eventually crown himself Emperor. To Tom, love was not a barrier but a means to strengthen his ambitions. He had absorbed every word Harry had shared and drawn his own conclusions. Tom’s eyes began to whirl frantically, indicating to Harry that the stupefy spell was on the brink of shattering under the onslaught of Tom’s magic. “I need to see what happens next. I need to know what to do,” Harry sobbed, pressing Tom’s wand to his temple. “No more cowardice, no more delaying the inevitable.” As Tom groaned and struggled towards him, Harry steeled himself, his mind made up. “Avada Kedavra!”