In His World

Harry didn’t expect peace. He had long stopped believing in happy endings. The green flash hit him square in the chest—unlike the first time, back when he was just a child.This time, he felt it. Burning. Final. And then… nothing. Until now. He woke up gasping, his body heavy and hot, like he’d run for miles. The ceiling above him wasn’t stone or sky, but polished wood inlaid with golden carvings. He was lying on a plush bed with silk sheets—not the dusty ground of a battlefield. He sat up fast. This wasn’t the afterlife. And it definitely wasn’t home. “You're awake.” A voice—cold, smooth, and uncomfortably familiar—spoke from the shadows. Harry froze. That voice had haunted his dreams and memories alike. Voldemort. The man stepped forward—but he wasn’t the creature Harry remembered. No snake-like face. He had a nose, sharp cheekbones, and smooth, pale skin. The red eyes were still there—unmistakable and chilling—but everything else was… surprisingly human. Not monstrous. Not twisted. Just eerily composed. Striking in a way that made Harry uneasy. “What is this?” Harry asked, instinctively reaching for a wand that wasn’t there. “Where am I? Why am I not dead?” Voldemort tilted his head slightly, studying him. “Hmm. How to explain… I’m not your Voldemort. You didn’t come from here—my world.” He paused, then added with a strange sort of grace, “You may call me Marvolo, if it helps you separate the two. I imagine the name Voldemort carries more horror than clarity for you.” Harry’s breath caught. A different world? What kind of mess had he stumbled into now? “I can feel it,” Marvolo continued, taking a slow step closer. “You’re from another world. A broken one, I imagine. One where you died.” Harry’s heart skipped a beat. “You’re lying. What kind of game is this?” Harry didn't want to believe in this.  “I know you're confused,” he said calmly. “But here, you don’t exist. The Potters are alive. But their child isn’t you. There’s no prophecy. No Boy Who Lived. Just a quiet, unremarkable family.” Harry’s throat tightened. “No… that’s not possible.” He hesitated. “Wait—how do you even know about me and the prophecy in that case?” Voldemort gave a faint smirk. “You didn’t think I wouldn’t look into the identity of the stranger who appeared in my home, did you?” His eyes glinted. “I Legilimized you.” Harry flinched. So he knew everything. About the Horcrux hunt. About the war. About his friends. Even about the end. “You don’t belong here, Harry Potter,” Voldemort continued, his voice low. “And yet… here you are. A paradox.” Harry narrowed his eyes. “So what are you going to do about it? Are you going to kill me, Marvolo?” Voldemort’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “Oh, no, not at all harry. I’ve already decided. You’ll stay, with me. But not as an intruder.” “Then how?” Harry asked warily, still feeling strange because of him using his name. “As my spouse.” The room went still. Harry stared. “Excuse me?” “It’s the only way,” Voldemort - Marvolo, as he offered, said casually. “If you’re mine, no one will question your presence. No alarms. No Ministry alerts. You’ll be accepted. Protected. Legal.” Harry’s hands clenched the sheets beneath him. “And what’s your profit in this? Why would you want that? And why would I ever agree?” Marvolo took a step closer. His voice was calm, quiet—but far from emotionless. “Because,” he said, “you’re alone. You have nowhere else to go. And in this world, existing without an identity means the world itself will try to reject you. You need a place. A name. A reason to belong.” His eyes narrowed slightly—curious. Unsettling. “As for me… you intrigue me.”