Project Title: The Boundaries of Hell and Heaven
Main Paring: Tom Riddle/Harry Potter Side Pairings: ?
Genres: Romance/Friendship/Family/Adventure/Supernatural/Spiritual/Angst
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any other characters within it. All rights belong to J.K Rowling and her fantastic mind. I am merely trailing a thousand miles behind in hope of some day being recognized for some of my works. Yes, that's it; I do not own anything currently.
Warnings: SLASH, Character Deaths, Time Travel (Reborn), Languages, Slowly-built Romance, Alternative Universe (the ending and Harry's memories will not follow the book), poorly written grammars, some original characters (not main), and some others that I will add later on.
Overview Summary: A savior, that what they called him, and indeed he was one. A chance of redemption given by Death and Life, and Harry Potter had grabbed at it. But all chances are made with complications, and he must first survive his newest enemy: himself.
Author's Note: The whole idea had come from me, and I had wrote the chapter plots and the prologue, but I had requested Inferable Hell to write the rest because I was too lazy – so the chapters will be remotely close to her works. I'm not sure if I even want to write this with so many things to do right now, but since she cannot write anymore and well, of course since she is my best friend and I am a slave for her requests, I will have to do it … So yes, I will have to relay publishing F.A.M.I.L.Y and focus on this story. Shining Inheritance will also be publishing some days later, ugh, but I will need a beta for it – because as you can see, my grammars suck.
Anyone, please?
A beta-reader for this story would be good too, but who am I to ask such a request? I doubt that anyone is reading this right now.
Reviews would be cool too. I'm not the type writer that needs reviews to reach to a certain point to update, but reviews would be a good encouragement – since I'm being tamper by Inferable Hell annoying little whines right now.
Yeah, you heard that, bitch.
Oh, and on a side-note, there will be no bashing within my stories. I just can't deal with characters being treated as trashes when J.K Rowling had made them specifically with a reason – with a past and a way to be redeemed.
Life sucks; that all I have to say – unless you are ready to accept it flaws, that is.
T h e L a s t S t e p
P.S: Flames do not make my day. So please, regain yourself and do not waste your time doing such thing because it will only be publish online by me to make fun at by everyone … Yeah. I'm serious.
KEYS:
Thinking
"Parseltongue"
"Human Language"
The Boundaries of Hell and Heaven
-"..."- Silence, sometimes, is the best answer.
Chapter 1
Part 1: Life and Death
When I was alive, I dreamed of flying.
Or maybe I should say: When I was alive, I dreamed.
Sometimes it was flying; more often it was the freedom of magic. Or the burning sensation of life – trying to accomplish, trying to know, but the frozen and silent of life only allow some limitation. I dreamed of being alive, of being free from the cursed prophesy, and of myself enjoying things any wizards should have; to have fear of the Dark Lord like any others – and to not have the burden of trust so many has giving me.
I dreamed of freedom, the fiery sensation of life. Sometimes I dreamed I was someone else, that I was looking at another boy-who-lived accomplish the prophecy – and that so I, in this imaginative world of mine, will be able to give hope to that person. In those dreams, I remembered myself as a mere muggle-born with eyes staring up fearfully at the Dark Lord. I dreamed of my parents, and being born a normal wizard who without the Dark scar. Awake, people ask for freedom – but in dreams it does happen. Life. Feelings. Families. Friends.
Am I selfish?
Perhaps, but I myself believed I deserve it. I had after all sacrificed everything for the livings.
In dreams you can become everything you're not. You can reverse the most fundamental truths of your life. You can taste everything, the opposite of every reality.
I can't. Not anymore. Spirits cannot die, and for that very meaning of the word 'death', the ability to dream have ceased to exist the very moment I entered this world of unknown.
But we have freedom.
Many would say that death is a release, a way to escape realities and pains that one cannot endure. Reality was just far too trusting, and when you realize that you are in one, you couldn't escape how much you longed to. Pain then, took in a part of your life – and just as time grew, you found a sick intrigued in the marking of your own skins.
Greet death then, and release was found.
It was more than that; while life gives you many limitations, death allow you the freedom to everything. We can fly, we can think, and we can see.
We can do anything, and that was just it. Everything and anything; the words that were always unheard of, and yet a wish that every conscious mind found themselves relieved in its possibilities.
I, however, feel different – Am different. Somehow, when death had grasped me with its cold touch and welcoming me to the dark pit of hell, there was no release that I had sought of. Instead of being relieve that no one would burden me with trust – with their life, with anything – there was an instant wariness for their safety.
The knowledge that I will no longer know what the world would become after I was death was thick and heavy. In turn with such a reminder that I still cared for the beings that still walk upon Earth, a reminder of life, feelings unleashed beneath vast blankness.
Regret, loneliness, sadness, happiness, anger, hurt, and excitement; it gushed and gushed – flowing and flowing with so much emotions that it tipped and overflowed. And it was then that I realized something was holding me back.
I cannot go back, and yet I cannot go on.
Doubt filled me, and questions unraveled.
Freedom was supposed to bring happiness, wasn't it? Death was a release of life, wasn't it?
So why does everything feel so wrong?
Limitations were created to secure, was it a way to allow many things?
Those were the questions that I cannot answer, and I seek for it. I tried many times; looking deep into my head, repeating the questions in hope that the answers would appear, and rearranging the memories that I held so dear most. I looked and looked – endless beneath soft veil of darkness.
Resting was no longer the only option, floating cannot go on, and I must find my answers.
Freedom, however, does not stand such acts.
The right path was lost to me, and I can only walk within this forest of darkness, waiting for the right path to come – for it's to cross at within distances.
I am lost between.
I want the ability to dreams of friends and companionship.
I want the limitation to everything.
I want life.
And I have given it.
Everything felt so wrong and different as he opened his eyes for the first time in years. It was a strange thought, being able to control his body again. His eyelids narrowed, and Harry had to take a mental step back at a sudden intense punch to his mind. Feelings slammed at him in all directions, and Harry was able to recognize some of them.
It was fresh – dirt, water, air, stench, sweats – and it made him cling to the feel of such a strong emotion as he closed his eyes again. He marveled at the feelings, because for the first time in his life, he was able to savor the knowledge of what being alive feels like. When he was alive, before he was dead, he had never known – had never acknowledge of what life had to offer.
But now … now that he was alive again, and after the sensations that death had to give him [so beautiful yet so cold], Harry immediately latched to this old feeling of life and pain. He familiarized it, contrasting the fiery sensations of life to the dull emotions Death had offered him. It felt real – felt familiar – and it was all his.
His
For the first time ever since he was born [from the Dursley to Hogwarts], Harry finally recalled something that only belonged to him – because Harry knew for sure, sure, that no one would be able to feel this way.
For this was an offer that only few were lucky enough to receive – for this was the emotions of being alive again.
An illusion, perhaps? A trick played by death, a way to stricken him of anything he had left, a game to make him recognize these feelings before sending him deeper into hell; these were possibilities, but it was too easy to redeem to be Death. Death was trusting – life was a way to correct past mistakes.
A wide difference.
Oh, but Harry knew. Freedom does not allow such thing as illusions. Freedom played people, show them, but never give them such things as illusions that can be break – that can be redeem.
He opened his eyes again, savoring the smell of dark dirt and sweats. Everything looked so much different, and yet it was so alike to what he remembered of his past life at the same time. He could feel things more greatly – more superior – even more so than the touch of magic.
Harry's train of thought stopped.
Now that was different.
There was no magic, Harry could not get in touch with it no matter how hard he tried to. There were no gushes, no lingering touches, and no senses of instincts being pamper by magic. There was nothing within him that could prove he was a wizard.
It was only his mind and a feel of power that Harry had never recognize having before. But it was in tune, he could control it, and so far, it felt more familiar than magic could ever possibly do for him.
And somehow, the idea of losing magic did not even make him flinch as he should have.
He didn't even know what this power was. He just knew that it was there. And he marveled at the thought. The word there surprised him, because in all of his life as Harry James Potter, nothing was ever there for him.
Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
He looked up with his starry eyes – and only to straighten in confusion.
Am I looking up at a giant?
No, Harry knew the answer even before he thought of it. For one thing, he knew Hagrid was a half-giant, and he had never even looked close to this. Soft strands of brown hair, strikingly blue orbs, and a barely suppress grin greeted him as Harry stared in bewilderment.
A human child; a being of flesh and blood with emotions that always rival the impossible, and of what Harry had missed being.
Harry hissed out in confusion, never realizing that he had switched to Parseltongue, and that the child in front of him had grinned even further, if that was possible, and had said something that he had miraculously missed.
Harry didn't know of what was going on. He didn't know why he was so small to that even now he was looking up at a child that should not even reach his shoulder. Couldn't understand why the human was grinning down at him with eyes that shine brilliantly. And he couldn't understand why he was calling the boy a human either. His mind just went rearing and he couldn't even follow, and he had to hissed again at the fast pace it was going.
He could make out the words kill and destroy – could understand the words save and protect, but he couldn't even move, couldn't do any of those things. And to be even more specifically true, he couldn't even find himself the will to even do one of those things.
Why did he desire to kill, to destroy things when he was the savior?
Instincts were being played here, that much Harry could tell, but of what it belonged to he could not make out. His human instincts weren't like this, Harry reminded himself.
He was not a killer.
Yes, you are – did you not remember? A voice nagged, whispering dark things into his ear, and Harry found himself sneered mentally at how much it sound like a certain person that had tried to kill him so many times, people died because you, Harry Potter, and yet they called you their savior.
No, Harry thought to himself, I saved them from you. I sacrificed myself so that the wizarding world finally get rid of it one nuisance. You may say whatever it is that you wish, but you are gone – and although the aftermath may be like this; like me talking to myself and pondering you are alive, I saved them and will never regret my decisions.
There was no reply to his answering.
Mentally cheering at his desirable victory, Harry stared at his new surroundings. There were thick pillars – everywhere he turned – and judging by it looks, Harry was sure he could get pass it without any struggling. Really, there was a wide difference between the pillars, and with the way he can look up at the human child, Harry was sure he was small enough to get out of this cage.
But the question was why he was in one in the first place?
He stared at the boy and was immediately dumfound to see that the boy had never stop grinning and was still staring at him unblinkingly – with a soft intrigue in the marking of the boy's blue eyes. Harry took a step forward, ready to question the boy of what was going on and to –
Stop.
It doesn't feel like he was walking.
It felt like a sensation of water being poor down at him – sliding. Oh god, he was sliding, sliding and it doesn't even feel wrong!
Harry looked down, and only to screech with unbearable rage at what he had found.
Green –
A blasted curse, flying, following dark bundles of hair, and then … then, absolute green.
Tom Riddle paused. Eyes rearing back, staring at those beautiful eyes as it flared with life and unbearable freedom. He wanted to reach out, holding – possess – but shadow consumed him, and Tom stared and stared as darkness, too, also reached out to the emerald beauty.
Tom smiled and –
His eyes snapped open.
Sweats falling, Tom M. Riddle stared into the moving darkness of his cursed room and slowly raised a hand into his damped hair. He was breathing too fast, too hard, too filled with emotions, and – Stop. Tom Riddle took a deep breath; hand stilled within hair, and sat up.
It'd happen again.
The dream, his nightmare, whatever you called it, had continued to happen for days. And no matter what he do and done, it always came back and hunted him with those emerald orbs. He doesn't know what was happening in that dream, only something that was flying, and he was looking – looking for something – and somehow, he had found it in those green eyes.
He had thought of going to Mrs. Cole, the only tolerable woman within this orphanage, but didn't. His self ignorant, in these times, refused to ask for help. And especially to anyone that had knew of what he had done.
Or at least a part of it.
They would never understand of what he could do. He was special, and he could hurt them – and it filled them with fear. And with those fears, they would never be able to understand anything that he had done.
Freak – they called him a freak? Tom scoffed. If he was the freak one, then they can all easily dies.
He breathed deeply, and went back to sleep with eyes peaked with soft brown.
Tomorrow, he reminded himself before darkness slowly consumed, tomorrow I will try to figure out what the dream means.
Harry doesn't know what to think.
Everything felt so real, so familiar, and yet so unlike at what all he had remembered of his past life at the same time. Everything felt wrong when all he saw was scales upon looking down at his body – everything fell down from his world when he discovered of what he was now.
The sensations of being this creature wasn't one that Harry thought he should enjoy, but with the sickly pleasure of flickering warm, Harry couldn't found the strength to even hate this newfound discovery. The temperature was warm – too warm – and the air was just as thick as an air fills with tension. Harry felt like he was floating down a river, ambling and aimless. And although he could taste the air, he felt as if he shouldn't, as if that ability doesn't belong.
Oh God, he was a snake.
…
Repeat that?
Nice, Potter, nice, the nagging voice of Voldemort has returned, you succeed in doing something that even I cannot do. Congratulations – now all you need to do is to jump down a river and kill yourself and life would be good.
Fuck you, Voldemort.
With pleasure, returned the snake-like man.
There was a momentarily pause before Harry caught on to that meaning.
What? Ewe, Voldy, you want to have … sex with yourself?
Well, the voice drawled softly, I'm not so sure about my current form, but with my hotly and handsomely self, I'm all for it.
Urg, Harry was stained for life.
Shaking his small head – snake-like – Harry tried to process of what was happening.
He was no longer in the spirit realm [or whatever you called it], and although freedom and his only escape of duty had been cut clean away from him, Harry was not afraid.
Was he supposed to?
But he felt so happy.
So…secure from freedom.
Harry feltalive.
"Momma, this one already moved!"
Harry shifted, eyes rearing as he stared at the boy with distaste and annoyance. He tried to speak, hoping that at least he was still able to speak the human's language, but there was only hissings that came out. Just as expected.
There were warning bells going inside his head. Warnings that he should hide, should run, should escape. He wanted to tell them that he could understand them, that he known their language, and that he didn't understand what was going on – that he was human. But for every time he tried to speak, natural instincts played him and made him wanted to snap and bite.
Please, Harry thought, staring at the boy with his eyes, hoping the boy would understand his mental message, help me.
"A natural," another voice echoed throughout of the room. A woman stepped out from the corner of Harry's vision, and with a wide smile upon her face; she clapped her hand down upon the human's boy shoulder. She stared deep into Harry's eyes, and as if understanding what he was saying, she nodded in recognition. "You really are an interesting little one."
Harry blinked.
"Momma, momma, do we really have to sell this one?"
Momma; Harry never had the chance to say that word ever before in his life. Jealousy burned through his blood, and Harry hissed at the boy – annoyed. The boy only stared back; eye's wide and filled with blank innocent. Harry gulped, remembering those eyes. Those were the eyes of his childhood, were the eyes he held when he learned of Hogwarts, when he learned that he may have a family over the horizon.
"Why do you want to keep this one, Trent?" the woman whispered. She bended down and kissed the boy's forehead. Harry kept staring, even when the boy annoying little whines echoed out his disgust at being kiss. The mother giggled, "You never show any interest in any of our projects before. Why this one? There are others that far more … beautiful."
The boy's merely continued to stare deep into Harry's eyes, and unlike the woman who nodded, he smiled deeply. "I don't know, momma. It just – " here the boy paused, a hand raised to hold his chin, still staring at Harry as if he was a piece of puzzle he couldn't figure out, "I, I feel a connection to him."
"Him?" the woman questioned in surprise. "Why are you so sure that it is a 'he'?"
The boy smiled at Harry for the last time before staring up into his mother's eyes. "Momma, trust me:
"I just know."
Author's Note: Please leave a note if you are able to do so. Do you like this newer version better? If yes, thank you for your lovely acceptation to an amateur writer like me. If you like Inferable Hell writing better, I won't blame you, just leave a note telling me so and I will leave the message for her. I am sure that she will be very happy that someone appreciates her writing. And if you are someone who doesn't care about such thing, and is only reading this right now is because you are waiting for an update, then welcome to the club!
T h e L a s t S t e p