Summary: Dumbledore told him to drop the mangled soul of the dark lord back in the train station. Harry didn't listen. He wished he did.
At the back of his mind he knew Dumbledore was right, that nothing good would come out for touching the dark Lord's shriveled soul.
It called to him though. It looked so weak, so pitiful. It felt like some unknown force was making him look at it. He could not stop himself from coming closer. Closer, until he could see all the tired lines, and horribly small it looked resting its head against a pillar. Abandoned. He felt sadness unlike no other. He knew it was wrong but he needed to save it. Maybe in reaching out to it, it would stop suffering.
He was dead anyway or he thought he was. What was the harm?
"You need to let go of him Harry."
And so, he cradled it to his chest, flinching as the sound of chains rattling filled the quiet of the train station. He heard nothing of what Dumbledore was saying… as if cotton had blocked his ears and all he could see, hear and feel was this piece of Voldemort that he detested for the longest time he'd ever knew it. It felt precious. He wanted to protect it.
The festering rot that connected him to the monster of what was once Tom Riddle. He wanted it.
"Let go Harry!"
He sank to his knees and he gasped as the form in his arms morphed into a man. Chiseled face, red eyes, white skin. And then he was looking up in horror. He almost looked like Voldemort. It was like a mix between the man and the monster that haunted his nightmares.
"Harry…"
As he felt his thoughts muddle and start to die, he heard a triumphant laugh and a mocking voice. Hissing. Then darkness was closing around him. It trapped him and he tried to struggle, to scream but no one heard him. It felt worse than being locked in the cupboard.
"You should have listened to him."
The dark Lord watched in fascination as the green took his once nemesis, enveloping him in an unearthly glow. Around him there was silence as they all watched him fall.
The child lay there, dead it would seem, cradled by the leaves and dirt. It was sad and pitiful that the celebrated hero of the wizarding world would be forced to sacrifice himself. He found himself frowning, wondering if that was all.
There was silence. Silence so thick as he approached the boy and he began circling the still body. His bare feet crushed the grass and the dead leaves as he stared, wondering if it was really over.
He felt cheated. The thorn on his side could have chosen to abandon all those he held dear and live but he came to die.
He knelt. He will move on with his plans for the Wizarding world and mourn the child's death later on. Brushing the hair away from the face, he found the scar, his mark, inflamed, and bleeding.
The death eaters seemed to notice something was amiss but the dark lord held his hand up signaling he did not want to be interrupted.
A sweet melody filled the air but only he could hear it. A tune that sang for his soul. He pulled the body close to him and heard the tell-tale sound of the heartbeat. "Alive…" His followers all but gasped as he uttered the word but his focus was on the curious piece of magic that enveloped the body. Just like all his other trinkets, he felt and saw the darkness that shrouded the boy. It was a dark mist that seemed to drain the life of those that surrounded it, hungering for magic. It bled like inky pools before lazily seeping once more into the skin.
"What are you?"
Voldemort felt the connection, the steady hum of magic. A gasp of breath was all it took and the damned eyes opened.
The green eyes that reminded him so much of his favorite curse now bled to red and as if in a perfect mimic of his own, the boy smiled.
"Hello, my Lord."
The boy's voice was the same, and yet very different. He knew what this was. A horcrux. What else could it be.
"How is this possible?"
"Look into my mind."
And then, he did. He filtered past the boy's memories, and saw where it all began. The day he acted on the prophecy, his soul was left clinging to life and splintered once more on the force of the killing curse. Each of it fueled by the death of the boy's parents. By some unknown magic, it had attached itself on the boy and it became a parasite that had lain dormant until the moment the boy was made aware of it.
It was pity that saved it.
And yet, the boy destroyed the others. Impatient, he tore through the memories and saw the diary, the locket, the cup, the diadem. All destroyed. What little that remained of them could be salvaged later on, but it meant he was too vulnerable. Everything must be dealt with, swiftly.
He glossed through the mess of memories and saw the hallows, which made his blood sing. To think the legend was true but as he saw the pretentious old man who until the very end, thought he was a saint, guiding the boy into what he believed was for the good of all, he felt rage. He understood the boy was manipulated by the blasted man until he was led to his death. From what he saw, the boy's entire life was orchestrated to become a sacrifice. And yet, the boy adored his precious headmaster. He loathed that Albus Dumbledore was dead or he would've wanted the man to suffer. Played until the very end, but no more. He did not expect his greatest weapon would be too compassionate and too trusting. He was like a sweet little lamb.
Too gullible but this time it worked to his favor.
The boy was his.
When he was done, the body fell limp in his arms, blood leaking through his ears and nose.
He understood then what must be done.
"Where is he?" Voldemort asked, not finding a trace of the boy alive from his brief exploration of the boy's memories.
"Here. He can see and feel everything but he is quite helpless to do anything about it."
Hogwarts was ashen and bodies littered the floor. Harry tried to scream in his head as the dark lord ordered him to massacre those who would not abide the new law.
One by one, they were forced to declare their loyalty to Lord Voldemort.
And when it came to Hermione, he was screaming.
PLEASE… DON'T KILL HER… DON'T… SHE'S INNOCENT… IT'S ME YOU WANT.
But it fell on deaf ears.
They were all lined up in a mockery of their first day of sorting. Bellatrix Black was beside him, inspecting the battered girl.
"Crucio."
Hermione screamed, and as she screamed, Harry screamed in his head but he could not move a finger to help his friend. He hated himself then. Hated that he could not even fight the horcrux that was controlling his body.
I saved you… I shouldn't have… but you need to let her go. She doesn't deserve this Tom… Please…
"Let's try again little mudblood. Do you swear upon your new master? Will you take his mark? Will you tell us of the Order? Speak you filthy vermin." at this, Bellatrix hissed, and pointed her wand at the girl's chin. The girl could barely stand and was only hanging by the invisible force of magic.
"Diffindo," the woman whispered, and the woman watched with glee as the cut went across the center of the girl's robes, tearing through flesh. A diagonal line spread from the girl's collar down to her stomach, and blood was all over the floor.
"You will suffer… if you don't…" The woman dragged a fingernail against Hermione's collarbone.
"Never." Hermione glared back then spit. Blood landed on Bellatrix's face.
Affronted, Bellatrix wiped the blood and turned to look at the boy beside her.
"Harry dear, your friend does not want to cooperate. You know what this means."
The boy raised his hand, the tip of it green.
"Hermione, I want you to live. He would be very sad. Inside me, he's begging for you to be spared… why must you be so difficult?"
It was a whisper in the girl's ear.
"Harry died… You're an imposter."
And then he saw the face he made reflected on the girl's eyes.
Smiling, delighted as he said the killing curse. "Avada Kedavra."
The first thing he did was wretch on the water. He used his wand to kill them one by one and he could not get rid of their betrayed faces.
The dark Lord decided the best way to show his absolute power was to have him declare his loyalty to the dark. He was branded for all of them to see. That was the last of what he could remember until he woke up in a bed. He was dressed in white, and from above him, there was light… miniscule but it was enough for him to see that his bed was placed in the middle of an island surrounded by a body of water. He crawled out of bed, weak, and cold before staring at the water, staring at his reflection and at his very red eyes. One look at his familiar surroundings had him throwing up, again and again… and again.
He was inside the cave where the locket was once held.
He knew his nightmare was real.
"Don't try anything funny, little one. You shouldn't make him mad." There was a voice in his head and it was in his voice and Harry felt revulsion.
"Get out of my head!"
Harry began to move towards the water wondering if he could drown himself together with the inferi and the memories of Dumbledore and the locket and killing his friends.
But he couldn't control his body.
He felt tears come down as he struggled to breathe unable to make sense of what just happened. Ron. Hermione. Neville. Luna… The order members were all dead. He couldn't control the sobs that wracked his body. He felt so lost. He wasn't sure what to do with himself. He was so angry and tired and horrified.
"Why did you kill them?"
Why did I kill them…
"They didn't listen-"
"It's not fair…"
"Shhh. You don't need them anymore. He'll protect us and you'll be cared for. Isn't that what you've always wanted?"
Harry collapsed on the floor and gasped, "I never wanted this. Give them back! Give them back to me… I don't want to be protected… I want Hermione… and Ron…"
There was laughter in his head.
"But they didn't believe you. I let you talk to Ron, to convince him, but he didn't listen… It's all in the past now. You've slept for a long time."
Harry tried to wipe the tears but they kept coming.
"He's here."
Harry trembled and reached for the white bed, leaning his head against the softness of the sheets wondering if maybe he closed his eyes, he'd wake up once more back to where it all started. That it was all just one big nightmare. He prayed.
The Dark Lord began to materialize and Harry closed his eyes.
"You should greet him."
The air grew colder.
"Harry Potter."
Harry opened his eyes and saw Tom Riddle. Gone was the visage of the monster… and its place was the deceptive angel. Red eyes, framed by long lashes, the perfectly chiseled jaw. White skin, glowing against the light from above making him look ethereal… Then the corrupt malevolent magic that sought to subjugate everything in its wake. He was beauty and destruction. He knew that it was one and the same. All the more a monster for the beguiling looks. A devil.
"Tom," Harry greeted. The devil frowned. Harry winced at the pain that came from his scar.
"Don't call me by that name, child. You must address me differently from now on. You must acknowledge me as your owner, your Master."
He was a prisoner and of course the dark lord would come to gloat for winning the war. He wanted to enjoy his trophy. Harry did not want to be a part of any of that. He just wanted to wake up and deny all that has happened. The man reached out to wipe his tears and Harry froze at the contact.
He felt a part of him submit but he part of him that was reckless, and brash who hated the dark lord for all he was worth came roaring, offended. He slapped the hand away.
"No."
Then the dark lord laughed, "oh but you will, Harry. They all do sooner or later… and for you my dearest, I have an eternity to spend."