Here it is...My Riddle/Potter fiction... Its based on a role-play... I want to thank MagickBeing One-Hundred percent for her hard work with the fiction... She converted it for me...I love Shannon, even though she has to be very tired form all the countless nights I've kept her up with me...Giggles Evily know what I mean Love? Winks
Ok I'm done now...
Part One...Devil's Illusion
It was a crisp autumn night; the windows in the Gryffindor tower were cracked open to let in the fresh firewood scent. Harry lay in his four-post bed, which was curtained off for his privacy. Occasionally a finger would twitch; he was in the deepest and most restless stage of his sleep. Currently, he was not obscured by any dreams, but his scar was searing occasionally, just not enough to wake him up. He curled himself toward one of his pillows, and wrapped his arms around it, whimpering a bit.
Tom Riddle, better known as Voldemort, watched with his deep, fiery, red eyes as his prize tossed and turned in a dreamless sleep. Riddle's victim was unaware of the creature lurking in the darkest parts of his troubled mind as he slept, the only reminder of him being the searing but familiar pain that shot through his head occasionally.
The Golden Boy tossed and turned for several moments, messing up his already tousled hair. There was something watching him, torturing him, in the back of his mind. It unnerved him even in his sleep, and he tried to forcefully wake himself up. The red eyes were burning brightly, and he wanted to scream; to scream and never sleep again.
"Stay away..." he told it.
Riddle chuckled as the boy talked into the darkness. He reached out to touch the boy only to ghost his slender fingers over the mark he had left on him so long ago.
"Harry," he hissed out in the ancient snake language that he himself had blessed his beautiful gift with, marking him with more than a scar.
He hissed in return, the same snake language, unaware he was speaking it, "Go away. I don't want anything to do with you!"
His body continued to toss and turn, and his mouth began to open, making inaudible noises. He couldn't break out of the unconsciousness.
Lowering his voice, whispering in the same language Riddle said, "I've waited so long for you."
He leaned over his Prize's body, gathering him up with a gentleness nobody he left living had ever felt, and muttered a few ancient words that transported them both far away from the castle.
The place they entered was consumed by a soft wind, swings clattering against the sets they hung from. Abandoned bridges arched above what once must have been a beautiful dam of sorts, and writings from unknown teens linger on the walls of such bridges. To a rich person it would be considered a dump, but to a lonely person it was a playground of dreams. A devil's playground, Riddle thought, as he laid his Harry under a tree, flaming leaves blanketing him.
Harry's eyes fluttered open and focused on the leaves, in confusion and fear. He hurriedly stood and jumped back from them, thinking that he still must be dreaming. Slowly, he glanced at his surroundings. This was something completely new.
In the Muggle World, perhaps?
He let his eyes survey the scene, and growled when he focused on the form of Tom Riddle, standing all but on top of him. "What do you want? Why won't you leave me be?"
He stepped backwards, feeling the soft earthy ground beneath his feet and feeling the instincts to run beginning to consume him.
Where was his wand?
He searched frantically through his pockets, his eyes locked on the other. He couldn't find it.
"Now Harry, I'm not here to hurt you." Slowly Riddle edged towards the trembling boy, continuing softly, "You're so different from the rest." He frowned slightly, "You won't find your wand, it's back at Hogwarts. But not to worry, I'm not here to hurt you. Today."
Riddle looked from Harry to the setting sun, making the playground look as if it had caught on fire. It truly is the Devil's playground, thought Riddle, and I am the devil. He looked back at Harry, who was still trembling near the tree. And he is my gift.
Slowly, he licked his lips, his once ruby eyes turning to an azure color as he moved closer yet to Harry's form. His movements were slow and precise, wanting his Harry to know that he was safe, such as the reason he was presented as Harry remembered him-- how he truly remembered him.
Harry flinched from Riddle's touch as he drew nearer, yelling, "Get away from me!"
He continued to tremble, feeling backwards for something to hold onto. He clutched onto the tree, looking toward the playground as well. Perhaps he'd be able to loose himself there.
Suddenly, he made a dash for it, adrenaline surging through his veins. He jumped towards the wooden platform, holding his ground in a place where he could run in two different directions instead of closing himself in. He had to be dreaming, but this blood flowing through his veins was more vivid than in any other dream he had ever had before, even when he had bitten Arthur Weasley.
Riddle chuckled, letting Harry run around looking for an escape.
"Go ahead and run Harry. You won't get far, and if you do, you'll be right back here, looking for me. You need me to get out of here..." His bluish green eyes blazed in a fire of their own as he leaned against the tree, where Harry had just been.
He glared at the smug man, "Even if I did need your help to get out of here, you wouldn't let me have it, you bloody bastard!"
Harry rarely swore, but he had wanted to say that to the man forever.
He sat down, his back against a railing of wood, and brought his knees to his chest. He was weary and afraid. This was much different than any of his other dreams. He had never been one on one with the Dark Lord himself before, the man had always fought his battles in a less direct way. He never removed his eyes from Riddle, whispering to himself without even realizing it, "I'm scared.."
Riddle looked intently at the boy a few yards away and his hard gaze softened a bit when he heard the other's soft plea.
"There's no reason to be afraid," Said Riddle softly, slowly adding, "Not now anyways."
The Gryffindor frowned, unsure that he could trust his own mouth anymore. After a few more moments of doing nothing but sitting, he realized that the brown haired man in front of him was not about to do anything at the moment. He stood shakily, holding onto the platform for support, and jumped down, nearly losing his balance.
On instinct, Riddle, who had been slowly moving towards Harry, reached out to help balance the younger man, trying not to scare him anymore than could be helped. He opened his mouth to say something to soothe the boy, but nothing came out.
Harry balanced on his feet, looking at the other man in confusion and bewilderment. He shrugged the all to alien yet familiar hands off of him, and went to sit beneath the bridge, which, for some reason was somewhat comforting. He walked onto the sloped concrete, looking up into the beams of the bridge, which were littered with graffiti. He jumped and scrambled inside, sitting on the ledge and letting his feet dangle from the side. He looked at Riddle who had followed him again and was looking on disapprovingly. To Harry, he was being Riddle, but to the man, he was angered that Harry had refused his help.
Riddle continued to look on, smiling lazily and continuing to follow as he silently thought, for someone that's so bloody afraid of me-- of what he predicts is danger, he sure puts himself in enough danger by going down into the bridge that way...
Harry could feel his heart pounding rapidly in his chest as his predator came closer, and closer. Still, he did not move. He was still convinced that this had to be some sort of dream. Perhaps Riddle did not mean to hurt him as he had said, and naturally he wouldn't believe him, but he was so tired. Being a Wizard didn't really enhance one's physical strengths, and the shock had taken most of it out of him. Of course, the physical exertion of running, didn't help much either.
Riddle was growing tired of this game, and could sense that his pet was tired.
"Harry," Riddle started, as he moved closer to the boy. His long slender fingers reached out and softly cupped Harry's chin, forcing the boy to look at him. Riddle's azure eyes were steady as he looked deep into the emerald orbs that had come from a woman he had killed so many years ago.
"Harry," He repeated.
Harry trembled once more from Voldemort's touch. He could not remember ever being touched by the Dark Wizard, and his face flushed with the blood that was pumping through him vehemently. His face shimmered with a thin layer of sweat, and he stared on in fear at the blue-green eyes before him. He shuddered violently.
"...What do you want from me?" Harry said, his eyes wide with fear.
A small, sad smile played on the corners of Riddle's lips as he leaned closer to Harry's face.
