Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, any of its plots or characters.
Warnings: This will be Tom (Lord Voldemort)/Harry and Tom will be OOC, as will Harry and most of the other characters, so no hating
Summary: Set in the graveyard when Cedric is killed, Tom tells harry some things that he never thought he would hear; the prophecy that Dumbledore used to manipulate everyone was fake and he had kept the real one hidden "The one with the power to change history approaches, born as the seventh month dies, born to those who reside with Godric. Born with a power the world hasn't seen." Harry learns that he had a power that threatens even Tom's and Dumbledore's. Knowing that he and Tom share a bond and that the Dark Lord trusted him with the real prophecy Harry moves in with Tom. Leaving behind Hogwarts and Dumbledore for a new life and The Dark Lord's Mate.
Burning Lies: The Beginning
"Kill the spare."
It was with a sickening thud and a terrible pain to Harry's forehead that Cedric Diggory, aged eighteen years and three months, fell to the floor dead after gallantly sharing victory of the tri-wizard tournament with the younger boy.
"No," the word was weak even to his own eyes as he watched Wormtail advance towards the now prone Hufflepuff, scared and falling apart Harry could only watch. "No."
The second sound to leave his mouth was louder, but still as weak and confused as a child causing the rat-like-man's attention to be drawn to him. The last remaining Potter froze in fear as Pettigrew's eyes met his and he began to advance towards him.
He watched as he got closer and closer, trying ardently to prize the stone grip from his neck as he heard death eaters begin to apperate into the clearing, white masks floating ominously in the darkness as their cloaks blended into the night.
The tug of the blade through his arm caused him to hiss as he watched his blood pool on the sharp knife. "W-what…" he struggled to articulate all of his questions as Pettigrew moved towards a now lit cauldron and added his blood, a bone from the grave he was currently standing upon, a bundle of rags containing something small and white and finally his own arm, willingly given.
He knew what was happening.
He could feel it.
It burnt.
And Harry prayed, with every fibre of his being, to a god that he didn't believe in, to make it stop; to make all the pain and the death, all the torture and the torment, the abuse to just stop.
He couldn't take it anymore.
Tom Marvolo Riddle rose from the dead, in a graveyard surrounded by his long dead father, his arch-nemesis and a mix of men and women, some of who followed him blindly, some loyally and some not at all. Harry couldn't help but feel sorry for him; knowing that there wasn't a single person there out of love.
The man, who now looked like his younger counter part whom Harry had met whilst in the chamber, seemed speechless as he looked the teen in the eyes, noticing the way that the boy was clawing desperately at the stone.
With a slight tilt of his lips that showed that The Dark Lord was displeased he waved his wand and wordlessly released Harry from his bonds, watching as he fell to the ground panting heavily.
"Leave." He commanded voice rich and deep and perfectly smooth, exactly how Harry had heard it every night in his nightmares. All of the Death Eaters hesitated, questions on the tips of their submissively quiet tongues. "Now." They all disapperated like scared children.
Harry sat up in the grass, settling so that he was leaning backwards with his legs slightly bent as he lent on his elbows as he stared at The Dark Lord. He said nothing.
Tom Riddle was undeniably handsome, Harry thought as he gazed at the madman; he supposed that was where all his charisma had come from, his ability to manipulate people; they all hoped that they could get a piece of the desirable boy. He knew he should be thinking more of his imminent demise or what his friends would think but he couldn't help it, he didn't care anymore; his parents, Neville's parents, the countless people who died for their heritage, Cedric. He wanted nothing more to do with it; what right did he have to survive when they died?
Harry smirked resolutely as he lay back on the grass and spread himself eagle; no more fighting, he wanted tom to kill him.
He wanted to die.
He was ready.
"Do your worst Riddle." He called, laughing almost hysterically at the shocked brunet. "You've practically destroyed any chance I had at a life the second you blew my parents to bits, there is nothing left for you to break; I'm already shattered."
Tom frowned at this, he had never meant to hurt the boy; his own childhood had been miserable and he had never wanted to inflict it upon another but the boy had been Dumbledore's collateral damage. The second the headmaster had forged the prophecy, a red target had found its way onto Harry's back.
"Harry we need to talk."
At this the teens half-sobs-half-laughs turned to silence, he didn't know what was stranger, that tom didn't want to curse him or that he was using cliché muggle lines like 'we need to talk'.
He sat up at this, staring wide eyed as tom moved to sit cross legged in front of him, glaring at the grass as if it had personally offended him. Pulling his knees to his chest he rested his chin on them and gazed defensively at the dark lord, waiting for him to talk.
What did you think? Should I continue?