I was listening to this song over and over while raking leaves and, having been in a Harrymort mood, the two thoughts blended together and then I said "fuck it" and wrote it myself.
If you aren't familiar with the "Rewrite the Stars" song from "The Greatest Showman" movie, then this fic might be a bit confusing for you. Regardless, you should listen to the song or watch a clip of that scene 'cause it be awesome, so moving.
The circular room Harry found himself in was badly illuminated, the light seemingly drawn to where he stood in the middle of it, the outer edges of the room draped in shadow. It wasn't a clean room. Dirt or some kind of powdery stuff littered the floor. Just as fear began to lick at the heels of his confusion, music started to play.
It was catchy: gentle guitar strumming with a light bass backbeat. Harry could lose himself to it, and in fact, he actually started swaying a little before-
"You know I want you…It's not a secret I try to hide."
Harry pivoted at the voice - no, not just words, but singing - behind him and he nearly fell back on his ass when his brain caught up with him that the person who was singing to him, voice smooth as honey and standing in the near shadows at the edge of the room was Voldemort. How he knew, Harry couldn't say, because hardly anything but the height and dignified bearing was reminiscent of the ophidian monster Harry had met in the graveyard and Ministry of Magic. This man, frankly, was beautiful; dark curls fell artfully over one side of his face with high, sharp cheekbones that only served to heighten the piercing stare he leveled at Harry. If the diary had preserved a 40ish year old Tom Riddle instead of his 16 year old self, this is what Harry would have expected.
Harry was still gaping (ogling) at this strange sight when-
"I know you want me…so don't keep saying our hands are tied."
Voldemort - Voldemort - was….singing. To him?
Harry glanced behind him to see if someone else was here with them, but no, it was just him and Harry in this dust-covered room. So then why …?
Before Harry could find the words to express his utter confusion, Voldemort was singing again.
"You claim it's not in the cards, fate is pulling you miles away and out of reach from me."
Caught up in that beautiful voice, it was a few seconds before Harry realized that Voldemort was moving towards him, his steps slow and measured but definitely towards Harry. Maybe it was the strangeness of this strangely lit place, of Voldemort - beautiful and singing and less murderous than normal - but the thought didn't occur to Harry to run, move, get away! until Voldemort was a mere stride away, the thought vanishing entirely when a hand reached out to gently (so gently) cup his face, the other feathering through Harry's messy hair.
"But you're here in my heart so who can stop me if I decide that you're my destiny?"
When Voldemort's words started to register in Harry's brain, it was like his thoughts were both going a mile a minute and yet were stuck in the mud. 'You know I want you'? 'I know you want me'? What the hell was going on here?
"What if we rewrite the stars?" Voldemort crooned, staring into Harry's eyes with an intensity that felt strange, passionate rather than promising violence. "Say you were made to be mine. Nothing could keep us apart, you'd be the one I was meant to find…"
A thumb caressed Harry's cheek and he snapped out of the spell - it had to be a spell, what else could turn such an evil, loathsome creature into a beautiful man that looked at Harry with love in his eyes, as if Harry were the center of his universe - and broke the contact between them. Harry took one step back, two, heart cantering in his chest when Voldemort took steps to match his. Harry quickly turned and set off across the room at a quick pace.
Had the room always been this big? its shadowy edges seemed so far away.
Voldemort, of course, followed him.
"It's up to you, and it's up to me. No one can say what we get to be-"
A hand grasped Harry by the wrist. With a small tug, Harry was turned back to face Voldemort and his coaxing liquid eyes. They were dark pools of burgundy, the color so entrancing Harry nearly got lost in them. "So why don't we rewrite the stars? Maybe the world could be ours…tonight."
Wherever the hell the music in the room was, it began to swell, the energy picking up and teasing Harry's emotions higher, confusing him. Harry broke out of the grip and backed away. He felt his mouth open, ready to let this man, this horrifying and beautiful man, have a piece of his mind, but the words that flew from Harry were not his own. "You think it's easy? You think I don't want to run to you?"
Wait, what?
"But there are mountains and there are doors that we can't walk through."
What the hell? That was not what Harry meant to say. The words - lyrics, or whatever - just sprung from his mouth, soft and despairing, as if Harry ached for something he could not have. Which was stupid because like hell if he wanted-
But then Harry was singing again.
"I know you're wondering why because we're able to be just you and me within these walls." Harry stepped into Voldemort's personal space, now quite a bit angry that he couldn't even control his damn actions as he (against his own will) slid a hand up around Voldemort's neck and up into those dark, silky curls, pressing against the back of Voldemort's head until their foreheads met, their faces uncomfortably close together. And Merlin, he was even more beautiful up close. "But when we go outside, you're going to wake up and see that it was hopeless after all."
In a lingering caress, Harry drew his hand down the curve of Voldemort's skull, watched with surprise how Voldemort's face relaxed in pleasure at the touch before Harry was moving away backwards across the too-brightly lit room.
"No one can rewrite the stars," Harry's voice rang out, the words clear and mournful across the growing distance between them despite the music rising, vibrant now . "How can you say you'll be mine? Everything keeps us apart and I'm not the one you were meant to find." Voldemort watched him back away, his face drawn with such loss and longing that Harry's heart tightened, knowing that he was the reason for the man's miserable state. Harry shook his head and turned away.
What the hell was wrong with him? Was he feeling sorry for Voldemort now? Was he that caught up in this weird spell? "It's not up to you, it's not up to me -"
Muffled footsteps, coming closer.
"-when everyone tells us what we can be-"
A hand on his wrist again turned Harry gently towards the man responsible for so much pain in his life, the same man that was looking at him with such love and yearning that Harry's heart ached at the sight, knowing that this couldn't be real and yet…and yet a part of him didn't care. It felt real. "How can we rewrite the stars? Say that the world can be ours, tonight?"
With both hands, Voldemort cupped Harry's face, as if Harry were something delicate and precious and dear to him, his eyes bright and pleading.
Harry's own hands reached up to grasp at the man's wrists. His emotions were at war, tangled and complicated in a way Harry had never experienced, this weird bright room making them look and act and feel contrary to everything. It was dizzying. It was exhilarating.
Harry stepped even closer, his body near flush against Voldemort's and, at the same time:
"All I want is to fly with you," they sang, their voices blending together in perfect harmony, "all I want is to fall with you. So just give me all of you-"
"It feels impossible," Harry cried out, turning away out of those gentle hands, only for Voldemort to step forward, pivoting with Harry, wrapping a hand around his waist to pull him close again.
"It's not impossible," Voldemort countered, coaxing Harry even closer.
"Is it impossible?" Harry asked, staring into those burgundy eyes, hopeful and having no idea of what he was even hopeful for.
Together, loud and fierce, as if they could change the universe through sheer will alone- "Say that it's possibllllllle!"
Music rose, the energy of the moment curled around them, and Harry felt himself swept up in some nameless dance with Voldemort, turning and spinning with the him, following his lead, unable to do anything but move and feel and sing-
"How do we rewrite the stars? Say you were made to be mine?" they sang, dust swirling about their feet and catching the light as the two spun together, their bodies pressing tight and retreating only to meet again and again and again as they danced and sang. "Nothing can keep us apart 'cause you are the one I was meant to find. It's up to you, and it's up to me. No one can say what we get to be. And why don't we rewrite the stars? Changing the world to be ours…"
Chests heaving from the passions stirring inside them, they spun away from each other, pausing with their outstretched hands clasped between them. The music fell quiet. They gazed at each other, neither speaking as the silence stretched between them. Devotion and adoration shone in Voldemort's eyes , his face utterly transformed by how happy he was just by being with Harry.
It was everything Harry could want.
And it was nothing he could ever have.
It broke Harry's heart to let go of Voldemort's hand and slowly back away.
"You know I want you," Harry sang, softly so that his voice wouldn't tremble under the strain of the emotions roiling beneath his skin, threatening to tear him apart. "It's not a secret I try to hide…. But I can't have you. We're bound to break and my hands…are tied…"
Voldemort's hand slowly fell to his side, his expression falling as well, his face becoming masklike as all emotion was reigned in. But the lack thereof was telling, and his eyes - Harry swore he could see tears that the man was fighting not to let fall, Harry's rejection stinging him to the core.
None of it stopped Harry from turning and walking away from Voldemort, his own tears falling freely down his face.
Their paths were destined to cross, Harry knew, but not in this way.
Harry woke in the pitch black of night.
Anger and longing and regret boiling in his gut, he did the only thing he could do. He curled around his pillow and sobbed into it until all emotion left him and his mind slid into blackness once more.
Voldemort lay staring at the ceiling above his bed, dreaming though he was wide awake.
Beyond his notice, a single tear coursed down his face.