Title: This Means War
Summary: Harry thinks it's all over. Voldemort is dead and everything is going to be fine. Fate promptly responds by backhanding him across the face, spitting on him, and then calling his mother a whore. (Harry retaliates.)
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A twenty-one year old Harry Potter opens his door and slams it shut again almost instantly. He lets out a breath and snatches the holly wand from his bathrobe pocket. He clutches his wand tightly and wrenches open the barrier between him and most likely certain death.
"Hello," the young man says politely. "Do you mind if I come in for a bit?"
Harry hesitates, though he shouldn't have.
"Excellent," the familiar stranger says and slides past Harry, entering the house with a confident stride. "My, what a lovely home," he murmurs, just short of patronising as he takes a seat on the couch and lounges like a king on a throne.
Harry bites his lip and closes the door, following the young man in case he tries to curse something. "So…"
"So," the younger male echoes. "You missed one." He smirks.
"Yeah," Harry grits out, coming to a stop in front of the couch, his wand still pointed at the intruder. "Evidently. Where did you come from?"
The other shakes his head in disappointment. "No, no, Harry. That would be boring. You have to guess."
"And you have to die," Harry snaps back. "Why the hell would you come here, to me, when you know what I'm going to do?"
"Are you though?" the younger asks innocently. "Look at me, Harry. Really look."
Harry does, scanning the other male. They're the same height this time after Harry corrected the Dursley's love and care. The intruder is maybe late teens, dark hair and eyes, perfection written into his DNA. So innocent looking it hurts.
The other smiles. "Do you think you could kill someone who appears human?"
"That's the operative word," Harry mutters. "'Appears' human. I know what you are."
Then abruptly the intruder's face crumples, his facade disappearing to show just how scared he really is and his body language shifts, barely at all, but somehow conveys how distraught he feels. "Harry, please, I just need you to listen," he whispers desperately, too close to a sob.
Harry knows this is an act. It has to be – the intruder is proving a point that he can pretend to be human and that Harry can't hurt someone who looks so… lost.
But it sounds like losing Sirius, like hearing about Fred, like watching Dumbledore fall. No one can fake that, can they? No one can just copy that kind of heart wrenching emotion and sound so genuinely terrified.
"I don't know what's happening," the younger says in a small voice. "I just woke up and it hurts - it hurts all the time like someone pulled out my lungs." He lifts shaking hands and clutches at his own shirt. "I can't breathe anything but poison," he whimpers, curling into himself.
Harry steps forward, his wand dropping so it's pointed at the floor. Maybe it's genuine. Maybe the other just can't keep his masks up now that he's lost control. Even someone like him needs a breaking point, a moment where he just can't handle everything pressing down on him.
"You're the only one who won't hurt me," the younger admits, and a humourless laugh leaves him. "Isn't that so pathetic?" He shakes his head and peers up at Harry with wet eyes. "I don't have anywhere else to go. Please just help me, please, I'm begging you."
Harry finds himself kneeling before the other, not even registering moving in the first place, and he's wrapping his arms around the younger male. His wand is entirely forgotten, dropped on the couch, and he's murmuring reassurances, just a litany of 'it's okay, I won't hurt you, it'll be fine' over and over again.
"You're a moron," is the muffled reply into Harry's collarbone.
Harry pulls back, startled at the clear voice without a hint of sadness or despair.
The other raises an eyebrow, holding Harry's wand in a deceptively lose grip, the end glowing green and pointed straight at Harry. "I wasn't actually aware that people could be as stupid as you."
Harry freezes, but he can still hear the half choked out words and see the shaking hands. "You don't have to put up a front-"
"I'm really not," the younger male deadpans.
"We can get through this together," Harry continues. "You don't have to hurt people and I won't let anyone hurt you. You can start over."
The other's expression twists slightly in confusion. "Wait, are you joking? Is this a joke?"
Harry makes a vague motion at the house around them. "You're safe here. That's why you came, isn't it?"
"Um, no." The other shakes his head slowly. "I came here because I needed a wand that would suit me."
Harry frowns. "Oh, well this is awkward." He still thinks that somewhere, buried deep, is genuine fear.
The other purses his lips, irritation plain on his face as if he could hear Harry's thoughts. "Alright, I'm just going to end this. Avada-"
Harry springs to his feet and sprint for the stairs, wandlessly summoning decorations to black the hail of curses that come after him. Harry skids around a corner and takes yet another flight of stairs which should not work for a two storey house. "You know," he calls back. "The definition of insanity is doing something over and over-"
"Accio," the other snaps, summoning Harry's underwear because the bathrobe would come off to easily and not trip up the Chosen One.
Nothing happens.
A scream of wordless rage tears through the house. "You're disgusting!"
"You showed up unexpectedly!" Harry screams back and takes a hard right into another hallway. He quickly wrenches open a door and slams it shut again before ducking into an already open one and hiding behind a closet.
Harry kind of forgets what's in the other room, though to be fair, someone is trying to kill him.
The intruder takes the corner, sees two doors, and obviously picks the closed one. He throws open the door and finds a pitch black room. He lights the stolen wand and blinks at the black fabric that covers everything.
He takes a step and the fabric underneath his shoe ripples and shifts, causing a cascade effect and making the other fabrics shudder. Soon the entire room is alive.
"What is…" he murmurs, then the realisation hits. "Oh Merlin."
The black fabric on the ceiling and walls melt down, seeping onto the heaving floor that sends the intruder stumbling forwards, deeper into the room. He gasps in shock and fires off a shield because he can't cast a Patronus, but the fabric clings and soon he's engulfed, a dome of faint yellow light keeping the things at bay.
They wriggle and squirm, pushing at the magic and eating it like starving animals. He casts more defensive wards and then digs into the fabric with sickly coloured Dark Arts spells which throw back the cloth and sear gaping holes into them.
There's so many of them and they heal so quickly, but the young man is a genius, able to wield magic that most don't even know of. He's winning.
But he doesn't notice the hole being chewed through the shields at his back, so the fabric that throws itself over his head is a very unwelcome surprise. He collapses under the strength of the cloth and it's immediately trying to squeeze him to death like a boa constrictor.
He groans when his ribs creak but the sound is muffled by the smothering fabric. He can feel more of the things pouring over him, adding weight and slowly snuffing him out.
"Tom!" a faint voice screams in panic. "Tom!"
And that just pisses him off more.
Tom Marvolo Riddle, or at least part of him, very calmly summons Fiendfyre.
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A/N: So which item did this Horcrux come from?
I bet you won't guess it~ XD