A/N: Well, here's chapter one of that accursed plot bunny. I have a rough idea where this is going but we'll see how this plays out. Unbetaed because I'm a chickenshit. WARNING: body horror (Since we're getting a glimpse of tom riddle/ Voldemorts damaged soul and some horror elements I suppose with how Harrys horcrux is linked to him in this fic)
The only warning was a weak tingling from his scar. Abruptly the pain peaked and he winced, clutching his forehead and squeezing his eyes shut.
His wand was held in front of him by a long-fingered white hand. Light appeared from its tip and a dot scurried across his arm. He moved his wand and an array of greens, blues and yellows glistened back at him.
Its wings spread and shot up into the sky, buzzing incessantly.
He brandished his wand towards the pest and felt himself raise his lips and bare his teeth. Long fingers tightened around his wand and he hissed, "Avada kedava."
Harry gasped as if emerging from deep water and felt the solid weight of a hand. His hand. And there, the agony was there, in his head...his scar. Panting, he pressed against his burning forehead. With a sickening lurch, the world turned sideways and his face slammed into the ground. Groaning, he tasted dirt and leaves.
Yet, the pain of falling was nothing compared to this burning. His forehead was surely splitting, his bones were on fire and he was sure this must be death...wished for it…Time passed. Seconds, or an eternity, until mercifully the burning faded to a sting.
Where was he? Who was he?
Footfalls came from nearby and were coming closer. It was something fast from the sounds of it and his breath quickened.
No time to plan. He had to run, now.
But, he couldn't move.
'Move!' he thought, straining harder. He wouldn't die like this, not without a fight. Gritting his teeth and with great effort he turned his head. Leaves crunched under his cheek.
He opened his eyes and a disembodied head floated a few steps away. A bright light hovered in front of it, casting its features in harsh relief. He thought wildly of Will-o-the-wisps luring lost travelers with lanterns. To their death.
He swallowed hard. If only he could move! Then he could distract it and run. He squeezed his eyes shut and held his breath, hoping he'd be forgotten if he was quiet enough. It was a stupid idea, he knew, but if it worked..if it bought him some time…
The steps stopped and wild hope surged in his chest. Did it actually work?
The back of his eyelids brightened to a bright red and his stomach dropped. His heart thumped so viciously against his chest he thought it would burst. This couldn't possibly be it, could it? Dying completely defenseless and killed by something like this. No! He refused to die. Somehow, he'd find a way to survive.
He swallowed hard and with great effort, he forced himself to play dead. This was his only chance. If he convinced it he was already dead it would get bored and hopefully leave. If he couldn't...he forced himself to stop thinking about it.
'Don't breathe, don't breathe' he thought as his lungs burned and his chest constricted painfully. The thought of taking a single breath teased him mercilessly. Perhaps it wouldn't notice, if he was quiet enough? Just a single...no, he couldn't risk it. With a sharp sense of terror, he realized he only had seconds left. At best.
The bright light disappeared and it shrieked.
He flinched, only catching himself at the last second. But he could swear it sounded alarmed, terrified actually, rather than threatening. Why? Maybe it didn't want to kill him after all? Still, it would be best if he held his breath a little longer. Just to be sure.
With a heavy thud, it dropped in front of him and his eyes snapped to the blurry form in surprise. Its voice was distorted and muted as if they were underwater. But, he wasn't wet so that couldn't be...? He forced his eyes to close again.
A warm hand shook his shoulder repeatedly. Which was almost pleasant, until the form started shrieking again.
He almost covered his ears. But in a flash of insight, he realized there was a better way to end this. With a jerky motion, he swatted at it and was stunned when his hand actually connected with a loud, smack.
It yelped, jerking backwards and grew quiet.
Sweet relief. And then a single, wonderful thought occurred to him: "Breathe". Greedily, he gulped down mouthfuls of air. Relief flooded though him as he listened to own ragged breathing.
'Honestly, did it have to shriek like that?,' he thought with a wince. 'Bloody painful, that, a bludger to the head would be better'.
With a jolt of terror, he looked at the being and was grateful it hadn't moved. He mentally kicked himself for being stupid enough to forget about it even for a moment, no matter how harmless it was currently acting. Especially since he literally just attacked it.
The form made a low, distressed noise but did not attempt to touch him again. The bright light reappeared and harshly illuminated his surroundings.
He could laugh at the situation, here he was terrified out of his bloody mind and this, thing was scared? Of what? Him? Well, maybe it needed help? He was the sort of person to help others wasn't he? Yes, that sounded right.
Slowly, his eyes trailed up the arm and he squinted at the blurred and shadowed face.
It's bushy hair obscured the patch of night sky which was visible though the dark branches high above them. Something with hair like that wouldn't hurt him, surely. He well, trusted that hair and found himself chuckling at the odd thought.
It sounded confused now. Little wonder really, though he couldn't find it in himself to care, as long as it didn't shriek at him again. Or try to kill him, naturally.
He noticed a second voice then, shaky and weak, though it was further away.
Why were they so nervous? The forest was quiet, so why were they terrified? Could they be scared of him, like he had been scared of it? But he was harmless! Wasn't he? He was rather sure that he was. Either way, he was harmless now. But why did that bushy hair look so familiar-!
He felt a sensation much like ears popping and his memories returned in a jarring rush.
'Hermione! And...and Ron! Of course, who else would be with me in this bloody forest?'
He had to – he must – why was it so hard to think?
"You are NOT coming out of that tent Ron Weasley!" her voice shook though he wasn't certain if it was from anger, fear or even both.
There was a pained noise, so yes, Ron was attempting to do just that.
"IF YOU'D TELL ME WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS GOING ON-" Ron said, ending with a groan.
Harry felt himself grinning, face stretching until there was a comfortable burning to it. His face might burst from the sudden affection he felt for these two. His dearest friends.
'Must be delirious, from the pain probably?' he thought, still grinning until he found himself in a coughing fit.
"Harry?" Hermione said, her voice trembling slightly. A hiss of pain came from the tent and she looked back and forth between them while worrying her lip.
Harry licked his lips and opened his mouth, fighting against the tight feeling in his throat.
"I-I'm" he coughed, while pushing himself up into a sitting position. "I'm fine!" he shouted for Ron's benefit. "Not sure about my ears though," he rubbed one of his ears pointedly and tried for a weak grin. It probably came out pained more than anything.
Ron shouted, "You're a bloody git!" Followed by unintelligible muttering.
Harry felt his brow furrow. He didn't understand wasn't Ron his best mate? Shouldn't Ron be relieved he was okay? The answer should be obvious, he somehow knew. But the more he tried to think the more his head felt like cotton. He wasn't sure if he was more irritated at Ron or himself.
"Ron do you nee-" Hermione said, turning towards the tent.
"I'M FINE," Ron said snappishly.
Hermione stiffened, muttering something before shaking her head. She rounded back on Harry.
"You – YOU," she began and he felt anger begin to swell inside himself. What's with that tone, shes blaming him for this?
As he opened his mouth he saw her face collapse, the fierce look she wore before worn down to nothing. Her shoulders and head lowered as if carrying a large burden. He could do little more than stare at her as his conflicting emotions made it impossible to speak.
"I, we were so worried!" she continued, her voice voice trembled with emotion, eyes watering with the threat of tears and face stricken.
He felt himself tense and his eyes widen impossibly so. Honestly, he'd gladly face the dragon again than this. He had no idea how to comfort her, unsure if anything possibly could.
Her face seemed to have difficulty deciding whether to be furious or afraid. She rushed forward and embraced him then, nearly crushing him as her body shook with quiet sobs.
Unsure of what else to do, Harry placed his hands on her back. He felt like he should be saying something to comfort her but he couldn't think of anything. What do you even say in this sort of situation?
A few moments later she slowly let go.
"First Ron and then -then" she choked down a sob, her face tensing with the effort and her arms hugging herself. "I couldn't wake you, you just, just laid there, and I thought..." her voice wavered.
He felt incredibly guilty. Even though he only played dead to save his life and it wasn't as if he looked into Voldemort's thoughts by choice. With that thought, memories of their last argument at Grimmald place began to circle in his head. Vividly, he recalled Hermione accusing him of enjoying his link or rather, "relationship", with Voldemort.
Anger rose like a viper in his belly and he felt his skin warm with growing rage. How dare she. How dare she blame him for this?! As if he could control this, this stupid cursed link he had to Voldemort! He didn't choose this!
But he looked at her tears and purposely swallowed down his anger. It would be terrible of him to be angry at her when she was so upset. But he couldn't tell her the truth, she would snap at him for using the link again and he'd say something terrible in return. His temper never was the best after all and she was the one in the wrong. Later, when they calmed down, he would tell them about his vision. At least Voldemort was still abroad, far away from them, looking for Gregorovitch.
And that rage he felt, Voldemort was angry because..he got bit by a bug? Despite himself, he felt the corner of his lips twitch into a smile and shook his head. Somehow he doubted Hermione would find it amusing right now. Any urge he had to smile disappeared at the thought.
"Must've er, dozed off a bit, sorry Hermione," he muttered while rubbing his forehead unconsciously. His hand came back feeling wet and oddly warm but he paid it little mind.
"Dozed off? That's it? Not looking into Vol-"
"Don't say his name!" came Ron's voice, panicked and angry, from the inside of the tent. At least he had given up on attempting to move, the last thing they needed was for him to bleed out again.
"Fine," snapped Hermione while glowering at the tent. "You-know-whos mind then!" she said, turning back to Harry.
"I didn't mean it to happen! It was a dream! Can you control what you dream about Hermione?"
"If you just learned-" Hermione began but her words might of as well been gibberish, distracted as he was by the oddest tugging sensation.
It...was coming from somewhere deep within himself. From his very soul. If felt like a dementor was here right now, attempting to coax it out of him and he shuddered.
Something inside him popped and shifted, twisting unnaturally. Barely, he resisted the urge to be sick. Watching his bones pop through his skin would have been better than this. It would of been more natural than whatever this was, that he was sure of.
The world became awash in a terror not quite the same but shared with his own. His scar threatened to burst with pain. Then did.
A hand, his hand, flew to his forehead. Hunching over, he pressed one hand firmly to his scar. In seconds, wetness dribbled down his hand to his forearm. There was a sound then, like the rush of water.
The killing curse.
"No!" he shouted. No one else would die for him!
He pushed himself from his sitting position and rammed into Hermione with all his might, determined to get them as far away as possible. Both were sent face first into a bush.
'Harry!' she sputtered and grunted as he landed on her. "Ow! what-"
"Whats going on?!" Ron shouted.
Harry's eyes jumped from shadow to shadow, wand ready and his hand twitching at the slightest hint of movement. He hadn't seen any green light but that sound, that sound was just the same! Each movement of the bushes around them sent his heart racing and ears pounding.
He heard a grunt of pain from the tent, followed by more angry muttering.
"He can't be here! I would have sensed him!" Harry said, more to himself.
There was a loud, distinctive thunk from the inside of the tent followed by pained swearing.
'Did he find a way to track us?! But—how?' Harry thought. The forest Voldemort was in looked nothing like this one, he had to still be abroad. Sure, he could of apparated but that didn't seem likely.
"But, how?" Hermione said in a rush. "He-"
Harry jumped to his feet and shouted, "Expelliarmus," while pointing his wand towards a dark cover of trees. Nothing happened.
A shadow seemed to stir.
There! To the left!
He aimed his wand towards it, arm shaking and a spell on the tip of his tongue. His heart thumped painfully, desperately, in his ears.
But there was nothing. Nothing at all, no light except the dappled moonlight on the forest floor.
"Homenum Revelio" he heard Hermione say, as if from a great distance.
The dark forest blurred and reformed into a mountain road.
Harry's voice was high, clear, and cold. "Impossible, Lord Voldemort will not-"
Thin and raised dark lines zig-zagged across his entire forearm.
"No!" he snarled.
"No, no...," Harry continued, moaning as he held his head.
Again the rushing sound grew louder and he gasped in pain. He felt his hand slacken, his wand slipping. A sense of terror overcame him then. Powerlessness. Hunger. Nights spent in a cupboard, nights in a cold bed...
No! Desperate, he grasped for his wand, eyes and movement wild with need.
Yes! He had it! His fingers clenched around the wand, knuckles white with the force of it. But it did not break. He grinned, eyes brimming with joy. Yes, it was his once more, as it should be...
"Harry! Snap out of it! No ones there, Harry!" Hermione shouted in his ear while shaking his shoulder.
He tore her hand from his shoulder and shoved her away. With a trembling arm he pointed his wand at her, gritting his teeth from the throbbing pain of his scar...
'Imprudent girl!' he thought, 'How dare she touch me'
He looked at this, girl, face pale and horrified and felt his fingers physically twitch with the urge to strangle her. To feel the life leave her, to see those wide eyes leave their very sockets...but ah, there were better ways to end her life. More, creative.
A hissing sound came from below and he looked down. The locket had risen from under his shirt and now hung in midair. Ah, so that's were it was coming from. He paid it little mind, after all it felt right for it to be there. With him.
"N-no," Hermione said, words choked with emotion as she took a step back towards the tent.
The flap of the tent opened and a ginger boy appeared, climbing up the tent flap with a white-knuckled grip. The pale, freckled face was scrunched up in agony, eyes closed and he looked positively green.
"Will someone tell me what the bloody hell is goin-" as the boy opened his eyes and met his gaze, his voice choked and died. The boys eyes widened and his breath went still.
Good, the child should be afraid, he was going to kill them after all. He grinned, amused at the thought as he pointed his wand at the boy.
"Harry?" the boy said halfway incredulous and halfway whispered.
As he looked at the boy, he was overcome with a strange feeling that something was terribly wrong. He frowned at the anxiety curling his gut, now uncertain and wary. No, he did not like this feeling.
"Ron!", the girl shouted and looked behind herself to where the boy clung to the tent flap.
He looked at her now and saw her wand was halfway raised. At him. As if she could be a threat to him! Such foolishness!
"Your," the boy said in a high-pitch voice, sounding half-choked, "E-eyes! Red! B-Bloody hell, they're red!".
He narrowed his eyes at the boy. Red eyes? What was this lunatic spouting about?
"H-harry! F-fight him Harry you're stronger than V-Voldemort!" the girl shouted and he instinctively swung his wand back towards the girl.
Voldemort? Why did that sound so familiar...but no he was Tom...no Harry Riddle..no, no..he was, he was...
His forehead throbbed. With a scream of frustration he clawed at his head, feeling tears come unbidden as the pain continued to tear him apart. He began to wonder why he was so desperate to live, if it meant this pain, he'd rather die, die and be free of this...
The girl did the strangest thing then. She lowered her wand while maintaining eye contact. Her face was determined, ready to die...a gryffindor surely.
"Harry I, we, believe in you. You can fight h-him Harry!"
Something made him look at the boy, who was still pale faced and grasping onto the tent flap.
"Yea-a-h, mate what Hermione said," his voice was shaky at first then rapidly gained strength. "You're stronger than snake-face Harry!"
This was all so irritating and...comforting? No, no, he thought, just managing to force his twitching fingers into a fist and towards his chest. No! He couldn't, wouldn't kill them! Because they were...his friends?
Oh merlin! Did he actually almost?
"Ron, Hermione" he croaked and shakily lowered his wand, completely sickened with himself.
"I-." Several thoughts ran though his head at that moment, 'I'm afraid Voldemorts too strong, scared that i almost hurt you both, sorry, merlin i'm so sorry, what if I'm turning evil'.
Hermione rushed towards him as he felt himself sway...
dangerously so but he righted himself just in time. Paranoia gripped him as he clutched at his chest, which rose and fell in short, too-shallow breaths. It was spreading. He could not stop it in time.
He must keep safe, safe, safe-
He snarled at nothing and everything, hissing in irritation. There was a buzzing around him now. He turned his wand towards the sound.
It was beautiful. The multicolored bodies of a swarm of scarabs glistened in his wand light. It was death.
'No, No! This could not-! No, he must go somewhere...somewhere...' with great effort he finished the thought, 'safe.'
'Where? Where where where?' his thoughts circled and he clenched his teeth.
Smack! A body tackled him from the front, followed by a grunt of pain as a hand pried his own fingers from his wand.
A girl screamed shrilly. "Ron! No! Stop, you can't-you're-" and grabbed his attacker's shoulder.
His wand! Desperately he tried to wrench the wand from his attacker's grip. He must not let it go! He would be defenseless without it, he would die, nothing was more important than that!
He sunk his teeth into the arm and the human screamed. It squirmed desperately and he felt the urge to laugh, as if he would let it go. It tried to take what was his, rightfully his! The taste of blood on his tongue was aggravating, if only he could extend his jaws and eat the squirming human whole. He was so hungry, he was not sure if one human would be enough to satisfy him...
The female shouted something and a burst of light slammed into his chest. His mouth slackened, eyelids drooping and felt the odd sensation of hair and skin slipping through his teeth.
'The boy was escaping! He must-,'Before he could finish that thought, the world tilted and rushed towards him. Instinctively he tried to reach out and break his fall but his body was as stiff and unresponsive as a board. With a thud he slammed sideways into the ground. Moving was impossible.
Merlin, that hurt. Yet, the pain shook something loose form him. A sense that he must...bile rose up his throat and he was sure he was going to be sick...he had to resist...resist.
With great effort, he forced the feelings of panic back and away from himself. Only to then feel his guts squeeze painfully from equal parts guilt and horror.
Ron! Oh merlin, he just bit Ron!
He tried to move his mouth but the spell held fast. He had to speak, to let Ron know he didn't mean it. That he was sorry, merlin was he sorry. Ron had already lost too much blood. Would this- would he die from...he forced himself to stop thinking about it.
'Finite Incantatem, Finite Incantatem' He thought instead, again and again and imagined he was ripping the spell from him. Like casting of a blanket.
His hand moved easily. He blinked rapidly, staring at his palm in blatant disbelief. It actually worked. He began to grin but then shook his head. No, this was no time for celebration.
'Ron,' he croaked, looking at his friends stunned faces. Hermione was holding Ron now, their faces both equally stricken. His face probably looked the same.
Blood oozed from Rons arm, the same blood that now covered his own lips and chin. With a trembling wand, Hermione pointed at the bite wound and in a choked whisper, said a spell.
"Harry, bit me?" Ron said, sounding both bewildered and affronted. "Bit, Me?"
He had to know Ron was going to be okay; needed to see the wound heal with his own eyes. He opened his mouth, intending to tell them how sorry he was, to ask if he'd be okay-
But then a pain, a pain beyond pain, tore at him. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw, as it clawed desperately at something deep within himself. Something which should never be touched.
I must...I must hide...hide again...the forest...
Blindly, he pushed back knowing he couldn't give in. He could never give in, no matter how bad it hurt, no matter how desperate he became- he felt his body splitting, splintering - his very soul - he felt his fingers twitch.
I turned around and became nothingness, a black mist, sucked into a tube...felt leaves under my bare feet..safe...in time...but only just...my body trembled..
And he screamed, and he broke and was no more.
He was standing still, listening to the silence. Yet, he was not alone. As that thought occurred to him, he felt something shift feebly above him. This seemed terribly odd to him, because he hadn't remembered underneath or above existed until now. Wait, no there was more to the 'something' above him. A part of it was dangling behind him, the tips of it tickling the peach fuzz behind his neck as it kicked feebly at air.
It squirmed again and he winced as his forehead began to ache terribly.
He rubbed his forehead and then paused, brow furrowing. That was not a forehead, yes, he was certain now foreheads definitely did not feel like that. Carefully, he felt it again and with a start realized he knew what this was. It was fingers. Impossibly small fingers.
At this discovery, his hand stilled on top of the small fingers. This, was odd wasn't it? Yes, he was sure it was though he wasn't entirely certain why.
What in the world was on top of his head?
The form made a small, pathetic whimper and he knew then, it was a baby. A baby...was on his head. Was this a joke?
Come to think of it, the babies whimper had sounded odd, was it sick?
He wished to see, was overcome with a desperate need to see and it was then, he remembered: he had eyes. He opened them.
He stood in a bright mist, though it was unlike any mist he had seen before. The cloudy vapor was not hiding his surroundings, rather the cloudy vapor had not yet formed into surroundings. The floor appeared to be white, neither warm nor cold, but simply there, a flat, blank something on which to be.
A mirror appeared before him then. As he looked at the mirror, starting from the bottom, he found there was nothing special to this mirror. It was simply a long rectangle with no edging at all. However, what he saw when he reached the top made him recoil violently. It looked like a small naked child but its skin was raw and rough. It looked like someone had attempted to flay it and halfway succeeded.
The fear which rippled through him narrowed his thoughts to one idea: Get it off!
Shuddering violently, he grabbed the tiny hand on his forehead and yanked hard.
It shrieked in agony and he screamed, at the pain, the agony, he would die here. The pain was too great...
Some time later he slowly opened his eyes and looked closer at the baby, shuddering and twitching on top of him. It gasped weakly, lips opening and closing like a half-dead fish. It was pitiful.
Afraid but determined, he forced himself to look at its hand again. The small fingers weren't laying on his forehead, no, the fingers were attached to his forehead. Its flayed skin was a continuous line with his own.
The urge to be sick was overwhelming. It..was connected to him?
He could do nothing more than stare in the mirror, his ashen face looking back at him. The baby whimpered again and he felt terrible, he had hurt it hadn't he? He raised his hand again, wanting to comfort it but paused halfway and felt like a coward. He ought to comfort it, but it repulsed him.
'Its inside me,' the thought repeated again and again, like a horrible echo.
There was movement in the mirror again and he dared not breathe. A naked man stood a short ways behind him.
The man behind him looked like himself at first. Then he noticed his nose was gone, the bone-white slits a stark contrast to the mostly healthy skin around it. Spots of the face looked like the baby on top of him, flayed but worse somehow.
Other objects appeared in his peripherally. One was a snake which was slithering closer to the man.
Yet, he could not look away from him. Despite himself, he felt overwhelmed with curiosity and the need to be closer. Who or what, was this?
He raised a hand towards the man but his hand went through the mirror as if nothing was there. The mirror pulsed brightly and then reformed into white mist again.
He paused, confused momentarily at the white nothingness around him before turning around.
His foot rose of its own accord and began to move towards the man. Then the other. Slowly, cautiously, his steps grew nearer but still ready to jump back at any moment.
The pace was awkward. He felt half drunk as he lunged forward with one step then inched forward on the next.
As he grew closer, he felt the body above him spasm wildly. He felt his forehead burn viciously where they were linked but he found himself curiously numb to it.
Thinking the baby must be afraid, he touched it, trying to calm it, and the baby's unattached hand gripped his. Hard. He winced and then he saw.
How could he possibly still be standing? In places the mans legs were mere bloody threads, with only a few specks of normal skin here and there, as if in afterthought. In some parts, he could see clear out the other side.
The mans chest was in the same condition. Most of it was open, practically see-through, with thin threads of meat connecting each hovering piece to each other. There was a horrible sense that one would snap, any second now, and the man would fall into himself. Nothing more than a pile of meat, bone and blood.
Run, now! His instincts screamed.
Still, the desperate desire to get closer clung and pulled him towards the man. Equally, the tremendous urge to run, run until his body failed him, tugged him in the opposite direction.
In the end, he froze a few steps before the man. His own heavy breathing was the only sound in this world as his chest heaved up and down desperately, like a trapped animal.
He needed to run. Run, before it opened its terrible eyes and spotted him.
The snake slithered up the body and Harry winced, vividly imaging what would happen. The meaty threads snapping, body bursting and blood gushing onto him.
Yet, nothing happened. The snake now rested on the mans shoulders and stared at him. Objects circled around the man as well. A ring, a goblet and...
The mans eyes opened, half-lidded. Red eyes with slits for pupils stared back at him sleepily. His white, skeletal hand slowly rose towards him, reaching, beckoning…
Harry took a step back and stepped not onto ground, but nothingness. With a jolt of terror, he fell backwards into an endless shimmering white.
The man rapidly became a dot in the distance and he relaxed into the familiar sensation of falling. Sure, he'd be panicking at this point on a broom but he sensed he would never reach the ground here until he wanted to.
'I'm Safe- Merlin, I did it! I got away!.' Grinning, he closed his eyes. Wind whistled in his ears and tousled his hair, as he fell faster and faster. Further and further he fell, away from the impossible man.
Pain. He gasped as something large and heavy rammed into his chest. He felt the beginnings of true panic when that 'something' gripped him painfully tight. Ruthlessly, desperately, he tried to claw it off of him. Anything to end this pain, in his head, in his chest...
It hissed and gripped him, impossibly enough –harder. something slithered around his neck, its scales brushing against his oversensitive skin. He jerked backwards, or rather tried to, but could not. His scar burned mercilessly and he screamed.
A few small hard objects slammed into his back. And he knew nothing more.
Just want to take a moment to mention I took a few sentences directly from deathly hollows, so if you're getting deja vu well spotted! That's why. Hope you enjoyed this and feel free to leave criticism. If you're curious i have the general idea for this fic here on my tumblr soulmagicmindtricks /post/150985649359/fic-idea