Disclaimer - I own nothing you recognise.

Written for Romance Awareness, Day 13 ; Everyone wears a mask. You are unable to take off your mask until you meet the person who is wearing an identical mask to you - your soulmate.

Word Count - 1120

The Right Thing

Harry stares in the mirror, a dawning horror overcoming his as he traces the lines and swirls on his mask. He knows this mask. He's seen this mask.

...

"What am I supposed to do?" Harry asked miserably, his head resting in his hands. "It's not like I can just… take it off."

Dumbledore sighed, looking every moment his age as he stared at Harry sadly. "No, no it's not. You can, for want of a better word, mask it. There's a charm that will blur it to anyone looking at you, so nobody else would be able to make the connection."

Harry nodded. "Yes Sir. That solves one problem, I suppose. I just… I don't understand. How am I supposed to… I'm destined to murder my soulmate, Sir. What even is that?"

"I don't pretend to know the ancient magicks anymore than you do my boy. Regardless, I still and will always, have faith in you. You will do what is right when the time comes, whatever that 'right' is."

Harry barely managed to suppress his groan. That was not helpful.

…

"Why are you hiding your mask?"

"Do you know who your soulmate is, Harry?"

"Of course, Potter gets special treatment."

The comments followed Harry around, but he was used to it, so it wasn't overly hard to ignore. He just wanted to get through his last year at Hogwarts with as little drama as possible. Of course, with his year all already having their soul-masks, everyone was intrigued with his.

They didn't have their own to distract them. Sometimes it sucked being the youngest in the year.

Malfoy and his little posse of idiots found the whole thing amusing. They taunted at Harry not actually having a soulmate.

Harry, without thought, said that he'd rather prefer that. The look on Malfoy's face when those words slipped from Harry's lips was not a comforting one.

…

"Why have I not yet been informed of Potter's soul-mask?" Voldemort asked, raising a slender eyebrow at Lucius.

Not that Voldemort overly cared for the Boy's mask, but knowing who his mate was could be invaluable later. For torture purposes of course.

"Nobody has seen his mask, My Lord," Lucius replied, sweat on his upper lip. Voldemort enjoyed his nervousness.

"Dumbledore is masking the mask," Voldemort replied thoughtfully. "Rather ingenious, really. I want the Boy, Lucius. I don't care how you make it happen, but make it happen."

…

Harry woke up slowly. Whoever had hit him, they'd done so viciously. His head was pounding. Oddly, as he took in his surroundings, he realised he wasn't in a cell as he'd have expected, but a beautifully decorated bedroom. Beneath him was the comfiest bed he'd ever laid on.

What the bloody hell was going on?

"You know," a voice from across the room said quietly, startling Harry, "when I ordered for your capture, I intended to kill you. Brutally."

Harry blinked. He wasn't really sure what to make of a statement like that, particularly when he was in such a luxurious room.

Voldemort approached the bed, sitting down on the edge of it. "And then I saw your mask."

Understanding dawned and Harry raised a hand to touch at the edge of the mask on his face. He stared at Voldemort. It was like looking in a mirror, if you ignored the red eyes in place of green.

"You're mine, Harry Potter," Voldemort murmured, the tone even more possessive than the words.

…

"You know they'll be looking for me," Harry said quietly. "You can't keep me locked up here forever."

He'd been a 'guest' of Voldemort's for a week, and slowly, Harry was going insane. He hated being so cooped up, especially sans his wand where there were Death Eaters in the immediate vicinity.

He wasn't particularly worried about Voldemort, if the man had wanted Harry dead, he'd have done it already.

"They won't find you here, Harry. Do not worry."

Harry looked away. Why didn't Voldemort understand that them not finding him was exactly what he was worried about?

…

Voldemort hovered over him, and as Harry blinked his eyes open following a troubled slumber, it was to Voldemort's lips being pressed against his own.

As he pulled back, the mask loosened until Harry held it in his hands. Tom held his own, and then, as tradition dictated, he held it out to Harry. Echoing the movement, Harry allowed the mask swap, fearing what Voldemort would do if he refused.

"Thank you," Voldemort whispered, and Harry was floored by the sincerity.

He wasn't really sure what was going on, but he could tell that Voldemort truly believed in soulmates, the old ways of instant love and happiness. He wondered if he could use that against him, but felt oddly reluctant to do so.

He knew this couldn't be allowed to continue, but to do anything on the day they swapped masks felt sacrilegious.

Even when it was Voldemort. Perhaps because it was Voldemort.

…

It took them a month to storm Voldemort's mansion. Harry could hear the noises of the battle from the room he was being kept in. When he heard the lock on his room click, he moved cautiously out into the hallway and followed the noise of the fighting.

Voldemort was battling Dumbledore in the middle of a grand room, and Harry edged towards them, unsure as to what he could do with no wand but wanting to help regardless. It scared him that he wasn't a hundred percent sure who he wanted to help.

Surprisingly, when Voldemort met his eyes, there was no distrust in the red. Harry found his wand in his hand, not even realised he'd lifted his arm to catch it when Voldemort aimed it at him.

Harry crossed the remained distance to Voldemort's side.

Dumbledore stopped fighting, watching warily as Harry gripped his wand tightly, standing beside his soulmate.

"You've lost, old man," Voldemort taunted.

A tear slipped from Harry's green eye onto his cheek as he raised his wand.

"Diffindo," he whispered.

Blood splattered on his hands and he looked up to see it flowing from the neck he'd just sliced through with a fourth year spell.

"I'm so sorry," Harry whispered, lowering Voldemort to the ground carefully, as blood began coming out of his mouth.

"I… love… you," Voldemort forced out, before his eyes dulled. His grip on Harry's robes loosened and more tears fell from Harry's eyes.

…

"I told you that you'd do the right thing, Harry," Dumbledore murmured, as the two of them stood on a cliff, Tom's ashes still falling down into the ocean below.

Harry watched the ashes fall. Whatever this was, it wasn't right.