Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. J.K. Rowling does.
Warning: oocness (most likely), homosexual love eventually, angst, mentions of suicide, drugs, some alcohol, swearing, character deaths, spoilers for all 7 books, this also doesn't follow the epilogue (and changes details at the final battle)
Memento Mori, Memento Amor
Prologue
-Excerpts from 'Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows' by J.K. Rowling, page 578 and 579
Harry glanced again at the raw-looking thing that trembled and cloaked in the shadow beneath the distant chair.
'Do not pity the dead, Harry. Pity the living, and, above all, those who live without love. By returning, you may ensure that fewer souls are maimed, fewer families are torn apart. If that seems to you a worthy goal, then we say goodbye for the present.'
Harry nodded in agreement and was about to board one of the trains. Perhaps stepping in the right one would lead him home, perhaps he would end up elsewhere as Dumbledore had hypothesized before. He stepped on, and hesitated, sparing one last glance backwards at his deceased mentor, who was beaming proudly back at him.
For a moment, a selfish ridiculous moment, Harry contemplated staying there at King's Cross to continue chatting with the headmaster. It was very peaceful and calm in this in-between place. He felt truly content for the first time in his life.
But the cries of the mutilated thing by the bench returned Harry's thoughts to the present. The whimpers crept down into Harry's heart and soul, resurfacing bitter memories with the Dursley's where he was locked in a cupboard with only a cold bowl of soup and a few spiders for company.
He was stepping away from the train before he knew it, his feet leading him towards the hideous creature which curled further into a little scrunched ball of flesh, like a worm trying to dig back into the soil after being dried in the scorching sun. Dumbledore was calling him, but his mentor's voice seemed miles away in comparison to the loud and desperation Harry felt in hearing the creature's cries.
Harry crouched down, so that his eyes were level with the creature's back.
It was pale, with the spine protruding outwards in a sickening pale red. The shade reminded Harry of his own lightning scar, except this one extending down the creature's backside, up to the neck. It looked like a centipede trapped within skin.
"Harry?" Dumbledore said cautiously, from a few feet behind him, just as he reached out with his fingertips.
The fingers paused in midair and he turned to give the headmaster a sheepish smile.
"Sorry, Albus..." It felt strange to call him that. But it no longer felt right to call him Professor either. "But I can't abandon him. You're right, I should pity the living... and as long as he's stuck at King's Cross, he's not really dead or living, is he? And somehow... that feels even worse."
"But, Harry—"
"It's my decision," he said. "I just want to... I just want to give him something, something he's never had."
There was a pause before the headmaster asked, "...and what is that, Harry?"
"I'm not sure."
He slowly wrapped his around the trembling thing, surprised at how fragile it seemed, like a new born babe. Despite its disfigured features and mangled body, it felt as if its bones could snap into two with a single rash movement or that its ribs could collapse lest Harry keep himself steady. It wiggled its limbs in his awkward embrace (for he had never learned how to probably hold a baby, if this even qualified as one), jabbing its elbows and joints into his side, prompting a few disgusted shivers.
But Harry didn't let go, didn't drop it. Instead, he held the thing close and watched intently, for something he didn't even know of.
Then the creature turned its head towards him and met green eyes with a deep red.
Harry had expected himself to recoil and abandon the inhuman thing but instead he found himself transfixed by an intense red stare. It was like staring into his own soul, a mirror of himself. He saw, not a helpless and ugly monstrosity no more, but something that had once been human, something that could still be human, given the chance.
And he mourned for it, because it had lost that chance so long ago.
"Albus."
"Yes, Harry?"
He turned towards the headmaster, keeping the piece of the Dark Lord's soul close to his heart.
"I think I know what I want to give it, now."
The blue eyes of the headmaster softened, "...And what is that, Harry?"
"Love... at least some form of love, he has never known."
So Harry knelt down, holding the soul towards him and kissed its forehead.
"Thank you," he hissed, whether in Parseltongue or not, he wasn't sure. Was he still able to speak it? He found himself thinking distantly. Did it even matter?
He was thanking this soul for giving him those dark abilities, things that he had cursed but had helped him out of danger. He was thanking it for accompanying his lonely self through all those years in Private Drive and the bad times at Hogwarts. He was thanking it for merely existing, because no one else would ever thank it again.
Then he placed it gently on the bench and turned his back, asking Albus if this was real at all.
Dumbledore beamed at him, and his voice sounded loud and strong in Harry's ears even though the bright mist was descending, obscuring his figure.
'Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?'
Harry was gone, and Dumbledore's smile turned wistful as he regarded the trembling remains of the Horcrux beside him.
"You are truly the greatest wizard that I have ever met, Harry Potter," he said, "for you have the courage to forgive, even your greatest enemy... even wishing him love."
The elderly man crouched down towards the thing.
"You are very lucky. I hope you realize that, Tom Riddle. Harry has a lot of work to do when he goes to save your soul."