A/N: This little oneshot was written for my best friend Grace. We were discussing Harry Potter, and I randomly mused, "Can you imagine Dumbledore/Voldemort slash?" She freaked out, horrified. It's now become something of a running joke, for whenever I exclaim "DUMBLEDORE/VOLDEMORT!" she'll scream or curl up in a ball or something. So naturally, like a true best friend, I have taken to saying it loudly at random times. I also became curious if anyone else had had similar ideas as me, so I searched fanfiction for said slash. There are some out there. Now, I in no way like or ship Dumbledore/Voldemort, in fact I find it slightly disturbing myself, but I just couldn't help myself. I had to write a little one for my bestie. So with no further rambling on my part, here is the little thing I came up with at 3 am last night.

Voldemort and the Misty Train Station

By DonLambert

Albus Dumbledore peered curiously around at the vast, white, slightly misty hall that Harry Potter had identified as King's Cross station. The former headmaster hadn't expected to find himself back here so soon after his conversation with Harry, especially not sitting next to this man. The fact that Lord Voldemort was beside him, perched in one of the oddly placed chairs, pointed teeth bared and long white hands clenched in fists, was proof that that marvel of a troubled 17 year old boy had succeeded in saving the wizarding world.

"So," Dumbledore began calmly, breaking through the tense yet peaceful silence, clasping his hands on his lap. "It's finally gone and happened, hasn't it, Tom? You've finally died."

Voldemort, who was gazing up at the ceiling and seething, having never felt so powerless or disbelieving or normal before in his life, did not turn his head as the old man spoke. The slits of nostrils that were all he had left for a nose flared venomously, and in his still ice cold and high pitched voice, he said "I simply cannot fathom it. No one could have gotten through my defenses, I was sure of it! Positive. I was immortal! And yet that boy…that one measly little boy…impossible. It was you, of course, Albus, you vile old wizard. You discovered my secrets and passed them on, training Potter to carry out the task. "What he was meant to do." It was something that no one should have been meant to do! I should have ruled forever."

Through the resentment in his voice, Voldemort sounded as unsure of himself as he ever had in his life, trying desperately to figure out what had gone wrong. The Dark Lord hated this, the feeling of desperation, and yet he could not help it pressing down on him.

For a long moment Dumbledore did not speak, but when he did his voice was measured and regretful. "Ah Tom. There always has, and always will be, so much that you do not understand. Not just about love, but about people in general. You turn a blind eye on what you do not want to see, thinking that surely if it means nothing to you, it cannot be important in the grand scheme of things."

Voldemort jumped to his feet with contained rage, finally meeting Dumbledore's eyes. "And so, as I have found, that is the case more often then not! Love." The Dark Lord scoffed, and the former head master rose to his feet as well. "You preach love, Albus Dumbledore, but how would love have kept me alive? The immortal have no need for love! No need, and no desire."

"And that always perplexed me about you, Riddle; your ability to live at all without an inkling or want of love. That part of you seems barely human. I often wonder how you even had a soul to split."

"Well lack of love certainly made it easier. Simple, in fact. I do not need love, whatever that may make me. All I yearn for is power, that is my love, and it is all I need to be…content."

Dumbledore nodded and let out a sigh. "That tells me everything right there, Tom, that you used the term content. For certainly you were never truly happy. I stand by my view that we need love to be happy. And all forms of love, at that. Forgive me, Tom, for this is my curiosity coming out, but how did you ever get by without the physical affection of another person?"

Surely the Dark Lord had not been expecting this. Dumbledore's inquiry caught him off guard, adding to the desperation pressing upon him. "Physical affection? I…I am above such needs…"

"Tom, no one is above physical love."
"…I…"

And suddenly, neither quite knowing what was happening, the two powerful wizards were pressed against each other, Dumbledore's thin lips upon Voldemort's cool grey ones. Perhaps it was Tom Riddle's desperation at his defeat, or perhaps they both just needed this, but their arms were wrapping passionately around each other, Voldemort's hand moved to the collar of Dumbledore's robes…

Harry gasped, eyes flying open, sitting up in bed, blinking rapidly as the dark dormitory came into focus. Breathing as though he had just run a marathon, Harry shook his head rapidly, holding one of his bed posts for support. Ron's steady snores from the bed next to his soon calmed him down to the point where he could rationalize; there was no misty King's Cross station, Albus Dumbledore and Lord Voldemort were both very dead and most definitely not in love – lust – need – well, whatever had taken place in that hellish night terror.

That was the worst dream Harry had ever had, surpassing even the ones where he had shared the Dark Lord's mind and woken up vomiting, covered in sweat with his forehead burning as if he had been branded by a white hot poker. Infact, he felt like he might just vomit right now.

Harry sat awake, his breathing slowing, not daring to go back to sleep. For a long time he debated telling Ron and Hermione what he had visualized over breakfast. Painful though it would be to re-count, he eventually decided that it would be a good enough laugh to watch Ron choke on his kipper. After all, it was surely what Dumbledore would have liked him to do.