An Equal and Opposite Force
A/n: This is.weird. And unexpected. It's not even one of my pairings! But it is what happens when Lótessë takes her notebook with her to the movie theatre. The climactic scenes of CoS were too charged for me to ignore, and most of this fic poured out from my pen. I'm sure I scared the nice suburban family sitting behind me, scribbling for dear life with my papers half and inch away from my face because of the lack of light. And, odd as it is, I sort of like it. Disc & Warnings: Not mine. Implied Tom/Harry, unrequited Harry/Ginny. Mention of sexual relations between two guys. Vaguely, um.dark.
He stands there looking down at the girl, his brilliant green eyes filled with distress and concern. He does not love her, though I know she wishes it. Oh no, he does not love her. Such perfection is not for dumpy little red-haired girls to possess. Only a veritable lord could be worthy of such beauty. Only I. He is pale, but the pallor becomes him. It sets off his dark hair and makes his lovely eyes quite startling. Dark hair is so much more entrancing than fair. It holds multitudes of ambiguities, darker and lighter shades of darkness. The sweat on his forehead gleams in the pale light of the Chamber, sweat of fear and exertion and pain. I cannot help thinking of what other activities I could find for him that would bring that gleam back. Most fascinating of all, though, is the way in which his paper-white skin showcases that scar running the length of his forehead. It marks him, issuing a challenge, a dare. That mark, my mark, is the only thing that mars the perfect, child-like innocence of his features. His wide green eyes offer me unlimited access to his soul, to his idealism, loyalty, and loneliness. He has not yet learned to hide what he feels. Soon, I am certain, he will. Perhaps I shall be the one to teach him. He falls to his knees, the poison of my slain basilisk's fangs taking its revenge even after its death. The strength is being forced from his limbs. How does it feel to die, Harry Potter? Only I know that, only that other wizard who bears my identity has felt that consumption and lived to know. Even facing death, the child's naïve optimism does not desert him. Oh, my sweet little other self, how little you really know. You have no understanding of fear or of anger, of love or of death. You have not yet accepted how easy, how fatally easy it is for someone like you to become someone like me. I could change you, mold you into my true double. It would be so simple, giving you more power and glory and knowledge than you ever thought existed. Innocence, my dear child-but-not-quite, is like all beauty- so easy to destroy. But your beauty I will preserve forever. You are beautiful, my dear, sweet, good boy, your voice whispering across the sibilants of Parseltongue. We will never speak anything else when you are mine, and you will hiss endearments into my ears as I take you innocence from you again and again until there is nothing left. I am your soul, Harry Potter, always with you. You cannot escape me, because you carry me with you everywhere. You cannot hide from me, my beautiful not-lover-but-completing-half. I will always come for you, don't you fret.
A/n: This is.weird. And unexpected. It's not even one of my pairings! But it is what happens when Lótessë takes her notebook with her to the movie theatre. The climactic scenes of CoS were too charged for me to ignore, and most of this fic poured out from my pen. I'm sure I scared the nice suburban family sitting behind me, scribbling for dear life with my papers half and inch away from my face because of the lack of light. And, odd as it is, I sort of like it. Disc & Warnings: Not mine. Implied Tom/Harry, unrequited Harry/Ginny. Mention of sexual relations between two guys. Vaguely, um.dark.
He stands there looking down at the girl, his brilliant green eyes filled with distress and concern. He does not love her, though I know she wishes it. Oh no, he does not love her. Such perfection is not for dumpy little red-haired girls to possess. Only a veritable lord could be worthy of such beauty. Only I. He is pale, but the pallor becomes him. It sets off his dark hair and makes his lovely eyes quite startling. Dark hair is so much more entrancing than fair. It holds multitudes of ambiguities, darker and lighter shades of darkness. The sweat on his forehead gleams in the pale light of the Chamber, sweat of fear and exertion and pain. I cannot help thinking of what other activities I could find for him that would bring that gleam back. Most fascinating of all, though, is the way in which his paper-white skin showcases that scar running the length of his forehead. It marks him, issuing a challenge, a dare. That mark, my mark, is the only thing that mars the perfect, child-like innocence of his features. His wide green eyes offer me unlimited access to his soul, to his idealism, loyalty, and loneliness. He has not yet learned to hide what he feels. Soon, I am certain, he will. Perhaps I shall be the one to teach him. He falls to his knees, the poison of my slain basilisk's fangs taking its revenge even after its death. The strength is being forced from his limbs. How does it feel to die, Harry Potter? Only I know that, only that other wizard who bears my identity has felt that consumption and lived to know. Even facing death, the child's naïve optimism does not desert him. Oh, my sweet little other self, how little you really know. You have no understanding of fear or of anger, of love or of death. You have not yet accepted how easy, how fatally easy it is for someone like you to become someone like me. I could change you, mold you into my true double. It would be so simple, giving you more power and glory and knowledge than you ever thought existed. Innocence, my dear child-but-not-quite, is like all beauty- so easy to destroy. But your beauty I will preserve forever. You are beautiful, my dear, sweet, good boy, your voice whispering across the sibilants of Parseltongue. We will never speak anything else when you are mine, and you will hiss endearments into my ears as I take you innocence from you again and again until there is nothing left. I am your soul, Harry Potter, always with you. You cannot escape me, because you carry me with you everywhere. You cannot hide from me, my beautiful not-lover-but-completing-half. I will always come for you, don't you fret.