Warnings: Slight HBP spoilers. Necrophilia. Character-death. Freud references. If any of that bothers you, leave.
Ghostly
Harry lay in bed, staring at the shadows that the yew tree made on the ceiling. He tilted his head, gazing at the slight form lying next to him peacefully, red hair turned black.
It was a reminder of the war. How Ron's blood-soaked bandages turned black under the moon.
Harry had never really bought into subconscious motivations. Never believed in an Id, Ego and Superego. He supposed he should have. It would've made life after the war easier. Would've cleared up some questions, such as why he felt so empty after the war.
Perhaps he just would've known better. Never made some mistakes.
Perhaps, just perhaps, he would've known why he was marrying Ginny.
Of course he loved Ginny. He loved her like a lover and a friend. He fell in love again with every smile, every gesture, every word and sound she made. It was why he married her, had children.
At least, that's what he thought, rationalized, projected through his ego. When in fact it was the ghost of his smile, his gestures, his words and sounds that he fell for, over and over. She even smelled vaguely of him, and once in a while, she would do something that only he would do.
Harry smiled in a forlorn weary way and gently stroked her hair. In a way, he supposed it was ironic in a way that he would fall for him. Sure, they seemed similar in a half-hearted external way. But, Harry and Severus had more in common in the long run.
And yet, Harry was constantly being compared to him, in the way love and hate are compared. Similar features, and seemingly made of the same cloth, yet separated by a thin but definitive line. Juxtaposed, yet opposite.
Harry crept out of the covers and around the bed. Looking down at Ginny's face, he felt like prince charming about to wake the sleeping princess with a kiss.
He gave into that compulsion and kissed her, his tongue sliding into an unresponsive mouth. His hands slid over cloth and then skin and then suddenly he was inside her, her flesh cool and rigid, but pliable. Excrement clung to her lower body and stained the blankets, mixing with her blood.
Effects of rigor mortis. Harry remembered learning about it in Auror training.
His climax hit him out of the blue and he collapsed on top of the body, his legs tangled with hers and covered with urine and shit.
Underneath Harry's body, Ginny's corpse began to change, and Harry hugged the former Horcrux close. He felt the heart begin to beat and the body begin to warm as Ginny became Tom Riddle.
With a soft murmur, Tom cast a cleaning spell, shivering slightly as the magic washed over his skin, and felt a similar shiver running through Harry. His arms curled around the figure in his arms.
"I was always watching you, you know," Tom drawled, "ever since the Chamber of Secrets incident in your second year. I told you that I grew strong enough to replace some of little Ms. Weasley's soul with my own. Then you learned about my other Horcruxes in your sixth year. Surely you must've understood what had happened. And yet, here I am."
Harry's head lifted. Tom's face was curled into a lazy smirk, eyes half-lidded.
Harry's hair stood on end. Every nerve was screaming to move. Harry cuddled further into Tom's arms.
He looked up and closed his eyes.
The last thing he saw was Tom lovingly fingering a new yew wand.
A whispered spell, and the darkness descended.
A/N: Wow, another TMR/HP fic. Or maybe that should be HP/TMR or HP/GW (TMR). O.o; Hmmm. Anyway, it was not supposed to end like that. It was supposed to be a bit more definitively lovey-dovey instead of the "OMG! He killed Harry!" or "OMG! That's so cute, he's using a spell to close the window shades so he won't have to stop huggling Harry!!!" There also wasn't supposed to be any necrophilia. O.O I have no idea how THAT got there. But, then again, it is 1AM, so things can get a bit weird..;
Anyway, the end is up to you, the readers! In other words, you get to decide if Tom killed Harry or not.
Id: Suppressed desires. Usually sexual, although they can be violent. (unconscious Shoulder-demon)
Superego: Intense moralistic aspect that is inherited from a role-model. (unconscious shoulder-angel)
Ego: The more-or-less conscious personality that attempts to reconcile the Id and the Superego.
