Don't own, don't sue.
"It's him, isn't it?"
"What an old loner."
Harry sighed. Twenty years later and still, the whispering never ceased. He was an old man now, getting along in his early forties with no family or friends to speak of. After his so-called victory over the Dark Lord, he had been hailed as a hero, and suddenly all the doors in the wizarding world were open to him. It wasn't as though he hadn't experienced fame and adoration before, but the sheer intensity of it overwhelmed him and he retreated to the comfort of his ample inner circle. Ron and Hermione got married, making her an official Weasley family member, and a few years later, Harry almost did the same with Ginny, his lovely adoring girlfriend at the time.
Almost, but not quite. Through the years, he had held a secret deep inside about the aching hole he felt in his heart. He knew the cause of it. It was revolting, disgusting, unspeakable, and yet undeniable. He missed Voldemort.
More specifically, the piece of Voldemort's soul that he had lost those many years ago. The longing he hid festered, smoldering until it eventually burst out in a hysterical moment of revelation. Harry needed Voldemort, needed to see his pale venomous face, needed to hear his hoarse screech of a voice, needed to smell his rusted, blood-like scent, needed him more than he had needed anyone in his entire life.
He craved that mineral.
After learning of Harry's strange, yet unrestrained love, rather than acting as the good, supportive family that he needed, the Weasley clan and their minions, except for Arf the family labrador, ostracized the poor chump which just goes to show that only dogs know tru unconditional lurve. The two whisperers mentioned at the beginning of this sad tale turn out to be Dumbledore and Snape reincarnated as two goff teens who machinate a schemed arranged marriage between Harry and Voldy's tortured soul and the two live happily eva afta, THE END.
In conclusion, this took me way too long to write. Until next time, m'dears~