Title: "Letters from the Victim"
Rating:
M
Warnings: AU, non-magic, implied abuse, references of sexual content
Summary: Harry Potter was "held captive" by Tom Riddle for nearly two years before finally being rescued. While everyone thinks Harry needs to move passed the experience and see Tom for the villain that he really is, Harry is too entwined in a web of emotions tying him to his former captor. Is it love, hate, need, or plain obsession? Has Tom messed with Harry's mind and played him for a fool, or was what Harry saw during his two years captivity the real Tom Riddle. Harry is finally given permission to write to Tom, but do the letters help him over the event, or tie him even more into the past?

UchiSays: This is my first (posted) Tom/Harry and it was really an experience writing it. I was literally half way through the story before I realized Harry was exhibiting signs of Stockholm Syndrome because all I was trying to focus on was obsession. I realize that in reality a victim probably wouldn't be allowed any contact with their abusor, but for the sake of story... Anyway, I hope you all enjoy it and I want lots of reviews!

~Itami


Letters From a Victim

My Dearest Tom,

A month has passed since we last saw each other and I've finally been given permission to write, not without a lot of effort either. No one thinks it would be wise to allow me contact with you (who they still call my abuser, they don't seem to understand that it is impossible for you to abuse me). They tell me a clean break is essential to helping me recover from (and I quote) "the trauma you suffered at the hands of that monster". I ask them who is this monster that they speak of and what trauma could I have possibly suffered. They told me that with time I would understand that what you did to me was wrong... but I don't believe that what we did together was wrong, and I will never believe that.

Has it really only been a month since that horrendous day they dragged me kicking and screaming from our love bed? To quote our dear friend Shakespeare "sad hours seem long". They do not allow me to read Shakespeare here. They had found our books of his plays and sonnets when they "rescued" me, so when I had asked for a copy of Hamlet my second day here, they denied it to me. They have some kind of way gotten it into their head that you used Shakespeare in your torment of me... I asked what is this torment that they speak of and how can books possibly aid in it. Again they tell me that I shall understand with time.

But a month's time has passed and apparently I still do not understand. I don't think I will ever understand. They claim that you hurt me. You abused me and took advantage of me. They call you vile names and say you are a villain and a monster. They are fools. You never hurt me. You loved me and only took from me what I willingly gave. You are none of those things they claim you to be and the only villains here are those who are keeping you away from me. But they see the scars and bruises on my body and they take it as sign of you torturing me, but I know better. Ever mark you made upon my flesh is a sign of your love for me. It was your way of saying I belong to you. I will always belong to you.

I miss you, Tom. With all my heart, my mind, and my soul I miss you. I yearn to return to your side. I yearn for things to return to the way they were before, with you and me existing in a place separate, a place inaccessible by them. I hate it here. I miss our place. I wish I could tell you who "they" are and where exactly "here" is, but I was told my letter writing privileges would be taken away if I revealed such information...

They tell me that I am out of writing time and must close this letter now. I must listen to them or I will never be allowed to write again. So I bid thee adieu, my dear Tom, and I eagerly await you response.

Goodnight, goodnight, parting is such sweet sorrow...

Yours for Eternity,

Harry

::-::

My Beautiful Tom,

Since I've yet to receive reply from my last letter to you, I can only assume that you are busy. Hopefully you are working out a way to get me back... I really do hate it here. They keep me locked away all hours of the day, because they think I would try to escape if they let me out (they learned this from experience actually). Where they keep me is no more than a glorified prison: it includes all matters of luxuries from a large bed to a bookshelf overflowing with all kinds of books (save for Shakespeare who I am still forbidden from reading). All I need is within this one room, which I guess makes them feel its ok to have the door and windows barred against my exit. And though they say they do not, I swear they have someone watching me at all hours, for I can feel their eyes upon me.

They work hard to kill my faith in you, but they fail. They bring me newspaper articles and police reports about the things you have done in the past. They remind me that you murdered my parents and tortured my friends. They seem to forget that I lived with you for the better part of two years and know everything there is to know about your person. They cannot poison me against you, because I already hate you in the same way that you hate me. They cannot even begin to fathom the web of emotions that tie us together. Our hatred of each other burns as brightly as our love. I cannot explain this to them, as one cannot explain the color red to the blind man who has never seen it.

I hear them speak of me in whispers. They say you have brainwashed me; you have manipulated me; you have broken me, mind and body. They just can't understand why I spend my days calling for you, trying to escape and return to your side when I am well aware of the heinous acts you are guilty of. I tell them that you never hurt me, that you would never do anything that would bring me harm. They do not listen.

I grow weary of this place, Tom. I want to be back where you are. I want lie down in our love bed and wake in your arms. I miss the days we spent at each others necks, arguing and swearing vengeance and death to one another. I miss the evenings we spent discussing the day's affairs over a meal and retiring to the study with a book of Shakespeare for hours of simple companionship. I miss the nights spent in our love bed, completely losing myself in your touch. I miss you, Tom. I miss you so much, nearly as much as I love, hate, and need you.

It seems this letter is going in circles, so I shall close it now.

Write back soon, my love.

Harry

::-::

Dearest Thomas,

I dreamed of you last night. I dreamed of our first time together, do you remember that? I remember I scared I was (terrified really) at the time. Looking back, I cannot find where all the fear came from. I guess everyone is at least a little afraid at the moment they lose their virginity; it is a big moment after all.

I can recall, quite vividly actually, how you came to me that night and drew me into your arms. I all but held my breath as you carried me from my room into yours and laid me down in what would soon be our love bed. You must have sensed my fear, because you were so gentle as you laid down with me and caressed my flesh until I completely relaxed under your touch. But the moment your lips met mine, all the relaxation was lost as I began to tremble under your attention. Still, you were patient with me. Your gentle fingers caressed me once more as your lips molded expertly against my own. I was already naked except for a thin satin robe at the time, because you had told me earlier that day of what the night would entail and I had tried to both prepare and calm myself by soaking in a hot bath before you came for me.

You slipped the robe off my shoulders and I had been ashamed of showing you my thin ugly body, but you called me beautiful and suddenly I was no longer trembling in fear, but in anticipation. There was a thick heady feeling clouding my senses, as if my brain was on sensory overload. You kissed every bit of my flesh, and by the time you were inside of me if there had been any doubts of whether or not I wanted this they were gone. If I had doubted for even one second that I loved you, it was completely forgotten by the time you brought me to completion. That was the only time you were ever so gentle with me.

It was over a year ago now, and though we've made love many times since, nothing will linger within my mind as much as our first time... unless you count our last time...

In other news, they no longer keep me confined to a single room now. I have been given two hours a day to roam around with a guard. It's not the true freedom that I long for, but it's a step closer. I've even had a couple of conversations with Ron and Hermione; do your remember them, Tom? You once told me that you had loved hearing their screams when you tortured them that night when you first came and took me away.

It's funny. I look at the two of them and think of how the three of us had once been such close friends, but I can no longer see myself ever being as foolishly naïve as they are. I look at them and I see a couple of children, and I am far from being a child. But they don't know that and they have faithfully situated themselves at my side and tell me how much they'd missed me and how worried they were about me.

I listen to them bicker and can't help but think of how immature they sound compared to the debates you and I used to have. I watch them trying to flirt with each other and I have to fight to contain my laughter at how foolish they look. These are sixteen year old children and you, my Dear Tom, have made me a man.

I must go now; my guard has arrived for my daily walk and I am eager to escape this room.

Yours,

Harry

::-::

My Lovely Tom,

Why have you not written me back? And why haven't you come for me yet? I tell you I hate this place, and I spend my days waiting for you to come liberate me, but you have not taken the time to even write back to my letters. Come for me soon, Tom. I need you.

Harry

::-::

To My Heart,

It has been nearly three months since I first started writing you, and I have yet to receive a single letter in response. They tell me the reason you have not written is because you do not love me and you never have. They claim you used me and have grown bored with me, so you're not even willing to put forth the effort to come to my aid.

I tell myself that they lie and that you love me as much as I love you, but facts say otherwise. It has been three months since they took me away from you and brought me here, yet you haven't made a single attempt get me back. It has been two months since I started writing you, but you've yet to send a single word to me in response.

They are telling me that you do not want me now that I willingly give myself to you. They said that the fun for you was in breaking me and making me needy for your love and affection. But I am not broken. And you are not so cruel... are you.

God, Tom, do not make me into a fool spouting out about your virtues and that you were good to me and will come for me and that you love me when in actuality they are right and I was nothing more than a game to. I will kill you if that is so, I swear I will. I swear it.

Harry

::-::

My Tom,

Please come for me soon. I hate this place and cannot bear thinking of what I will do if I have to remain here even a second long. Hurry and come for me.

Yours Faithfully,

Harry

::-::

My Tom,

I dreamed of you again last night. I dreamed of the night they found us and took me away from you. I am surprised I haven't dreamt of this sooner, for that was surely a pivotal moment and my life and it shall haunt me forever.

I recall with absolute clarity how that night went. You took me into our love bed as always and I spread my willingly for you. By then, I was used to the pain that came with our lovemaking, in fact I was anticipating it, I had grown to love that pain as much as I love you, and I craved it to remind me that I am supposed to hate you (and have no fears, I do hate you very much).

But you were actually quite gentle that night, not nearly as gentle as our first time but you hadn't used any toys so that was quite gentle for what I had come to expect. It took little time before I was screaming your name as you moved inside of me and dragged your nails across my chest (the scratches from that night stung for a week after they took me away, it was brilliant). My body exploded with the pleasure when you bit down on my shoulder hard enough for me to feel the warm blood spilling across my flesh.

The next few minutes was a blur of post-coital bliss, and the next thing I was aware of was the door opening and people running into our room. I didn't understand what was going on at the time, until I was being ripped out of your arms and you were being pinned against a wall. I remember screaming for you and trying to fight off the arms holding me. I did escape their grasp for a few seconds, but they grabbed me again before I could reach your side. I was screaming and crying and fighting with all my might as they began leading you away.

But then you looked at me, looked me right in the eyes. You shrugged off the hands holding you as if they were nothing and rushed over to me. I was scared for a moment that they were going to kill you, because so many guns were raised when you did this. But then your lips were against mine and you whispered that I would be yours forever. Then they grabbed you again and wrestled you out of the room, but your eyes stayed on me and you mouthed 'forever'. And I watched through tear filled eyes as you were led out, but I found comfort in the fact that you had just promised me forever...

If I am yours forever, Tom, why haven't you come for me? Why haven't you written back? I wait for you, Tom. I will always wait.

Yours Until Forever Ends,

Harry

::-::

Tom,

I hate you, Tom! I always have and I always will. I hate you so much! But I love you, too, and I need you even more. Why don't you come for me? Why?

Harry

::-::

Thomas,

I am ashamed to admit, but I am once more confined to a single room and am on suicide watch. I could not bear to be in this place one more second with no guarantee that you will come for me. I will spare you the details of my attempt to end my suffering, but I will tell you that it was Hermione who came in time to save me. I do not regret my attempt at ending my life, for I had warned you that I did not know what I would do if left in this place for even a second longer, but I do regret having Hermione find me in the position she did. I feel as if I have robbed her of the very naivete that I had mocked her for having in previous letters. I want to apologize to her, but I am not allowed company and even if I was I hear she cannot bear seeing me right now.

I hate you for making me so weak that I even considered suicide to be an option. What have you done to me, Tom? Before you, I never would have done something like this. But I need you so much that I can't bear living without you. I was never this weak.

Harry

::-::

Thomas M. Riddle,

I received the most surprising visitor today. I will not share with you his name, but I have known him as long as I have known Ron and Hermione, but the two of us were never what one would call friends. I'm not sure why they allowed him to visit, since I am still not allowed visitors, but it was a nice (though I guess I didn't think so at the time) surprise.

This boy and I have never actually had a decent conversation together, so I was rather shocked when he came meaning me no harm. At first he didn't say anything, just sat at the end of my bed and stared at me. The stares were starting to work my patience, so I snapped at him to get to the point of the visit. He said the strangest thing then; he said that even though he was looking right at me and knew it was me, he had no idea who I was. He then asked me who I am, so I told him my name (not really willing to play whatever game he was playing). He told me he already knew my name, but that was not who I truly am. He told me to take a look in the mirror and see if I can recognize myself, because surely I have no idea who I really am anymore.

Then he left without another world, and I wrote him off as crazy... until I started thinking about what he had said. I actually did look in the mirror like he had suggested, and was shocked to see that I didn't recognize the person staring back at me. Surely that emaciated, wild-eyed, pale skinned boy with dark circles under his eyes and a week's worth of grease in his hair wasn't me. Surely I hadn't neglected myself so much in my wait for you to come for me, Tom. I did not like what I was seeing at all.

The boy staring at me from the mirror is weak. He is ill. And he is pitiful. He needs help. I need help, and I realize that I will not get that help by waiting for you to swoop in and take me away. I realize that "they" are not the villains here, Tom, you are. They have only tried to help me, but you hurt me. Worst than anything you could have done, you hurt me in a way that left me needing to be hurt again. You hurt me in such a way that I no longer realized I was being hurt and you left me unable to function without the pain only you could bestow upon me.

I don't like the amount of power you had over me. I don't know if I'll ever be completely free of your influence, but here and now I resolve to take the first step and taking that power back.

Forever has ended, Tom, for I shall never be yours again. If Fate be willing, and if my resolve be strong enough, this will be the last letter I ever write to you. This is goodbye, Tom.

I'll Always Love you,

Harry