"You can do it Harry, we know you can!"
"You're our hero Harry!"
"You'll come up with a way to beat he-who-must-not-be-named! We know it!"
"We know you'll destroy him, such a good lad you are!"
All those words had bombarded Harry on a daily basis. Everyone thought that he would destroy the dark lord Voldemort, and save humankind, wizarding and muggle alike. If only they knew the half of it.
A year before, during Harry's sixth year at Hogwarts, Voldemort had come upon an ancient magic. The wizard had settled in being brought back to his old form, a pitiful excuse for little more than a skeleton clothed in skin. Then, suddenly, one of his followers, a witch named Gwenyfar, discovered a way for Voldemort to retain his powers, and bring back his youth as well, which meant his life would be yet again expanded as he would be returned to the form of a youth, yet still have all the power he had gained over the years.
It happened and Harry saw it happen. As always Harry was a guest of honor, but not the only guest, there was another, a small girl named Terri, who was little more than ten years old. Harry watched as they slit her throat, her bright blue eyes dimming as death took them over, making them cloudy. They used her body, mashing certain organs into a paste. They then took a little more of Harry's own blood, and mixed it with the paste. The paste was then added to a potion boiling. The potion hissed green, then blue, purple mist rising from it. Voldemort drank the potion with a certain satisfaction almost pleasure. Then he began to change.
His skin grew younger, fuller, regaining the pallor of youth and health. The distortedness of his figure seemed to melt into pure perfection, muscles and health just overflowing as he continued to change. The last thing to change were his eyes, which morphed from the snake like slits they were to azure eyes that almost fell black against the white, the sea during a storm.
Harry was starting into the eyes of Tom Riddle, Head Boy of Hogwarts.
It still evaded Harry how he ever managed to escape from Tom. He had never wanted to, there was something in those eyes that drew him into them, lured him. The body that possessed them was nothing to cough at either, even through the robes he had been wearing. Those eyes and body started to haunt Harry, even in his dreams. Before his dreams about Voldemort had been somewhat of an evil nature, but now they were more of a pleasurable kind that caused Harry to wake up panting in the middle of the night with a need for release.
Those dreams came true one night the summer before seventh year.
Harry was staying with the Weasley's, and had wondered off to the wilderness nearby them. It happened there. Harry ran into those eyes that had been haunting his dreams and subconscious.
Again, Harry still wasn't sure how they ended up panting together; his memory had displaced those few moments before to make room for every single detail that had happened with them while in the throes of passion. He was sure of one thing, however. Tom was his, no one else's, and in some perverse way, their hatred had turned to love, or lust at the very least.
They were almost playful in their affair, as both held it in secret, as it would destroy them either way. There was always the initial talking, each trying to persuade the other into the light or dark, but it never worked and they admitted that, so each meeting always ended up with them enjoying the more carnal pleasures of their relationship.
Then the war started to get worse. More people were dying, being tortured by Harry's interest. They would come to Harry, almost begging him to find a way to destroy Voldemort, and Harry couldn't. He knew he was selfish in the way he wanted to keep his Tom, to keep what was going on between them. He was almost an addict in a way; he couldn't get enough of it. Their wanton meetings grew evermore frequent, causing Ron and Hermione to inquire weather or not he was all right, as he was gone most of the time outside class. His only thought was how could they know, so happy wrapped up in their own little world, as Harry was certain that the almost hidden marks on his friends were caused by each other. His own marks were there, but they were kept hidden from view.
And then came that fateful day.
Harry had snuck out of Hogwarts, heading towards the now ruined Hogsmeade. It struck Harry slightly, seeing the pitiful remains of the beautiful village. He had been part of the cleanup crew. He had been the one to find Madam Rosmerta's body among the rubble of The Three Broomsticks. It almost caused him to weep, but he had more important things on his mind. He was going to see his Tom, and nothing was going to change that.
Tom was in the cave that had once held Sirius Black. Harry didn't care. Sirius had died and left him, Tom was alive and needed him just as badly as Harry needed Tom.
Harry walked over to Tom quickly; shedding his robes so only his school uniform was on.
"Tom..." that was all Harry got out before those wonderful lips were pressed against his own, forestalling any questions for the time being.
They stood there kissing for what seemed like an age, carefully dancing the lover's dance to get closer to skin. Harry's mind was singing as all their normal talking games were being forgotten in exchange for the feel of the other's skin. His glasses were being crushed against the bridge of his nose, but that didn't bother Harry, all his mind was focused on was Tom.
"Harry!" a sudden voice broke in from the mouth of the cave, pulling Harry away from the tantalizing mouth of his lover.
Neville Longbottom stood in the doorway, his eyes wide with disbelief at what his eyes were telling him to be true. The boy had grown into quite a fine young man, brown hair that would always lay straight in the still boyish haircut of his, and large puppy brown eyes that were somehow ever bigger with walking in on this event. His magic had grown as well, and Neville had turned out to be quite powerful, more so than anyone would have expected.
Neville's wand was raised almost shakily, "Harry, get away from him," even though his movements were slightly unsure, his words carried authority in them.
Tom didn't like this and grabbed his own wand quickly, pushing Harry out of the way. Neville's hand grew more sure as Tom stood there in front of him, wand raised as well.
Tom smirked at Neville, "It is customary to bow before a duel, now bow!"
Neville's lip curled in an almost canine fashion, "The day I bow for you is the day when I am dead."
"Well then, I guess you'll bow today."
And then the duel started.
Harry couldn't believe the spells Neville knew. Tom was looking to have trouble dueling with him, as he had become headstrong since getting back to his more ravishing form, and Neville knew to be careful. Spells where thrown and blocked, sparks and colors flying all around the cave until, much to Harry's dismay, a spurt of green light flew from Neville's wand to Tom's chest, causing his lover to sink to the floor in a heap.
Tears came pouring down Harry's cheeks as he ran over to his dead lover, cradling his head in his lap. His handsome features were fixed in bafflement as his death mask. Neville was breathing heavily as he walked over to Harry, holding out his hand.
Harry looked at him with teary eyes before taking his hand and allowing himself to be taken back to Hogwarts. The story hit the papers, Harry Potter was the Dark Lord's love slave, and Neville Longbottom had saved the day.
"And so you see Dr. Mayberry, that's what happened, that's what really truly happened."
Mary Mayberry looked over her clipboard at her patient, Harry Potter. They had been having sessions for almost five years now, and she had heard this story time and time again. The poor man was almost a lunatic, had been since you-know-who had been defeated.
She sighed, "Alright Mister Potter, same time Friday?"
fin
All those words had bombarded Harry on a daily basis. Everyone thought that he would destroy the dark lord Voldemort, and save humankind, wizarding and muggle alike. If only they knew the half of it.
A year before, during Harry's sixth year at Hogwarts, Voldemort had come upon an ancient magic. The wizard had settled in being brought back to his old form, a pitiful excuse for little more than a skeleton clothed in skin. Then, suddenly, one of his followers, a witch named Gwenyfar, discovered a way for Voldemort to retain his powers, and bring back his youth as well, which meant his life would be yet again expanded as he would be returned to the form of a youth, yet still have all the power he had gained over the years.
It happened and Harry saw it happen. As always Harry was a guest of honor, but not the only guest, there was another, a small girl named Terri, who was little more than ten years old. Harry watched as they slit her throat, her bright blue eyes dimming as death took them over, making them cloudy. They used her body, mashing certain organs into a paste. They then took a little more of Harry's own blood, and mixed it with the paste. The paste was then added to a potion boiling. The potion hissed green, then blue, purple mist rising from it. Voldemort drank the potion with a certain satisfaction almost pleasure. Then he began to change.
His skin grew younger, fuller, regaining the pallor of youth and health. The distortedness of his figure seemed to melt into pure perfection, muscles and health just overflowing as he continued to change. The last thing to change were his eyes, which morphed from the snake like slits they were to azure eyes that almost fell black against the white, the sea during a storm.
Harry was starting into the eyes of Tom Riddle, Head Boy of Hogwarts.
It still evaded Harry how he ever managed to escape from Tom. He had never wanted to, there was something in those eyes that drew him into them, lured him. The body that possessed them was nothing to cough at either, even through the robes he had been wearing. Those eyes and body started to haunt Harry, even in his dreams. Before his dreams about Voldemort had been somewhat of an evil nature, but now they were more of a pleasurable kind that caused Harry to wake up panting in the middle of the night with a need for release.
Those dreams came true one night the summer before seventh year.
Harry was staying with the Weasley's, and had wondered off to the wilderness nearby them. It happened there. Harry ran into those eyes that had been haunting his dreams and subconscious.
Again, Harry still wasn't sure how they ended up panting together; his memory had displaced those few moments before to make room for every single detail that had happened with them while in the throes of passion. He was sure of one thing, however. Tom was his, no one else's, and in some perverse way, their hatred had turned to love, or lust at the very least.
They were almost playful in their affair, as both held it in secret, as it would destroy them either way. There was always the initial talking, each trying to persuade the other into the light or dark, but it never worked and they admitted that, so each meeting always ended up with them enjoying the more carnal pleasures of their relationship.
Then the war started to get worse. More people were dying, being tortured by Harry's interest. They would come to Harry, almost begging him to find a way to destroy Voldemort, and Harry couldn't. He knew he was selfish in the way he wanted to keep his Tom, to keep what was going on between them. He was almost an addict in a way; he couldn't get enough of it. Their wanton meetings grew evermore frequent, causing Ron and Hermione to inquire weather or not he was all right, as he was gone most of the time outside class. His only thought was how could they know, so happy wrapped up in their own little world, as Harry was certain that the almost hidden marks on his friends were caused by each other. His own marks were there, but they were kept hidden from view.
And then came that fateful day.
Harry had snuck out of Hogwarts, heading towards the now ruined Hogsmeade. It struck Harry slightly, seeing the pitiful remains of the beautiful village. He had been part of the cleanup crew. He had been the one to find Madam Rosmerta's body among the rubble of The Three Broomsticks. It almost caused him to weep, but he had more important things on his mind. He was going to see his Tom, and nothing was going to change that.
Tom was in the cave that had once held Sirius Black. Harry didn't care. Sirius had died and left him, Tom was alive and needed him just as badly as Harry needed Tom.
Harry walked over to Tom quickly; shedding his robes so only his school uniform was on.
"Tom..." that was all Harry got out before those wonderful lips were pressed against his own, forestalling any questions for the time being.
They stood there kissing for what seemed like an age, carefully dancing the lover's dance to get closer to skin. Harry's mind was singing as all their normal talking games were being forgotten in exchange for the feel of the other's skin. His glasses were being crushed against the bridge of his nose, but that didn't bother Harry, all his mind was focused on was Tom.
"Harry!" a sudden voice broke in from the mouth of the cave, pulling Harry away from the tantalizing mouth of his lover.
Neville Longbottom stood in the doorway, his eyes wide with disbelief at what his eyes were telling him to be true. The boy had grown into quite a fine young man, brown hair that would always lay straight in the still boyish haircut of his, and large puppy brown eyes that were somehow ever bigger with walking in on this event. His magic had grown as well, and Neville had turned out to be quite powerful, more so than anyone would have expected.
Neville's wand was raised almost shakily, "Harry, get away from him," even though his movements were slightly unsure, his words carried authority in them.
Tom didn't like this and grabbed his own wand quickly, pushing Harry out of the way. Neville's hand grew more sure as Tom stood there in front of him, wand raised as well.
Tom smirked at Neville, "It is customary to bow before a duel, now bow!"
Neville's lip curled in an almost canine fashion, "The day I bow for you is the day when I am dead."
"Well then, I guess you'll bow today."
And then the duel started.
Harry couldn't believe the spells Neville knew. Tom was looking to have trouble dueling with him, as he had become headstrong since getting back to his more ravishing form, and Neville knew to be careful. Spells where thrown and blocked, sparks and colors flying all around the cave until, much to Harry's dismay, a spurt of green light flew from Neville's wand to Tom's chest, causing his lover to sink to the floor in a heap.
Tears came pouring down Harry's cheeks as he ran over to his dead lover, cradling his head in his lap. His handsome features were fixed in bafflement as his death mask. Neville was breathing heavily as he walked over to Harry, holding out his hand.
Harry looked at him with teary eyes before taking his hand and allowing himself to be taken back to Hogwarts. The story hit the papers, Harry Potter was the Dark Lord's love slave, and Neville Longbottom had saved the day.
"And so you see Dr. Mayberry, that's what happened, that's what really truly happened."
Mary Mayberry looked over her clipboard at her patient, Harry Potter. They had been having sessions for almost five years now, and she had heard this story time and time again. The poor man was almost a lunatic, had been since you-know-who had been defeated.
She sighed, "Alright Mister Potter, same time Friday?"
fin