Summary: Being an Unspeakable was a job where exercise and physical labor could be considered a minimal (non-existent). So, how the hell was he going to be a Hunter, whose job was to supposedly travel around the world, walking endlessly for days on end!? What crappy luck does he fucking have!? Let him stay in his dimly lit research lab, Tom! TMR/HP Slash

Pairings: Tom Riddle/Harry Potter

Warning: AU, Dimensional Traveling, Slash (this means homosexuality), Killings/Torture, Mentions of abuse, Mentions of pedophilia, Necromancer!Harry, Harry's crude language

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or Hunter X Hunter, obviously.

Location: Ministry of Magic, Death Chamber

The scribbling noises of a quill jotting down on a parchment were heard throughout the empty chamber as Harry continued to babble animatedly to himself. Quick quotes quills were useful like that (when not used by bloody Skeeter that is). He always had one with him in case he had a sudden bout of conception on what transpires inside of the Veil – and how to test those theories out.

Harry had always been interested about the Veil after his Godfather had been unceremoniously tossed inside during his fifth year. Serve that mutt right by the way, that fucker. He had celebrated for weeks at regaining his freedom. That manipulative Black bastard kept him on a leash, not even long enough for him to spend even five minutes in the shower alone. Frankly, Harry abhorred how his Godfather's eyes would roam his nude body – as if undressing him with those grey eyes were not enough. Disturbing, but a normal occurrence nonetheless.

Forced with putting up with Purebloods on a daily basis throughout his childhood, he was sorted into Slytherin, and almost disowned by his own father – the bigoted bastard. His mother, Lily Potter, died during childbirth and James had always blamed Harry for it. Yes, blame it all on the innocently cute baby you sickening man.

After a battle of wills (and broken vases), Harry was shipped off to his Godfather, one Sirius Orion Black, and had been practically eye-fucked by that pedophile upon sight. The inherited Black madness was definitely a frightening thing, but since Harry was partially a Black himself, he as well was subjected to this so called family madness.

Harry had always been a disturbing child. He was fascinated by death and usually, odd things would happen around him – much more unusual than your average magical child. The cottage James and he had lived in before he was theoretically disowned at the tender age of eleven, usually smelt of rotten flesh and death.

Their house elf would always apologize – a lot of self-inflicted burning on its part, much to Harry's secret delight – when they found a half-decaying animal running all around their manor on a nightly basis. With years of smelling the same thing, James had gotten used to the scent that he couldn't really differentiate between fresh air and rotten meat.

Sometimes young Harry would even pet dead animals whilst giggling madly to himself. James had almost tossed him into St. Mungos' mentally insane ward when the man had stumbled across that scene. Almost. He was thankful that James didn't want other Purebloods to point fingers at him. Purebloods and their reputations.

During his fourth year, he found out that he was a natural Necromancer and tried his best to hide that fact. The Magical Communities were filled with prejudiced individuals and hated everything Dark, especially Necromancy. It was considered one of the darkest form of Magic, only second to Soul Magic.

At first he was scared – terrified actually, but it was clearly justified. Natural Necromancers were twice as deadly as taught Necromancers. One born every few centuries or so he had heard. Where he could raise the dead without chanting those long arse incantations, the latter could only raise a portion of what he could and with those fucking weird arse chanting.

To put it simple, his kind was burnt to the stake. Not kissed – it was too merciful. The Communities wanted them to suffer and scream in agony whilst being barbequed alive.

After graduation, he applied for the job of Unspeakable – the cloaks were cool and mysterious in his eyes. He practically lived in his office. With his father's tragic accidental death, he was named Lord Potter and Lord Black – by Sirius's will. At least his sick fuck of a Godfather did a good thing in the end.

After only a few years, he was named the Head of Unspeakables (pulled some strings of course) and could do whatever the hell he wanted. It was a dream come true for him, even if it was shattered soon after thanks to the bloody Minister giving him the nightmare of all things; paperwork. His skin had turned deathly pale and he would always have to apply a sunscreen charm when going outdoors – usually a monthly occurrence thanks to a certain someone. He was more prone to sunburn than before and it irked him to no end. He had literally screamed bloody murder and tried to claw his eyes out just a few days ago when the Senior Undersecretary had dragged him out of his barely lit office and into the man's sunlight filled workplace – without his cloak. It was torture. Pure torture.

"Harry." A man's voice purred from behind of him, hot air tickled the shell of his ear.

Speak of the devil and he shall arrive. Fuck his life. The only reason as to why he gave the Undersecretary so much leeway was because the man knew his most guarded secret. Oh how he loathes this arrogant spawn of Satan.

"Tom." He gritted out and turned with a twitchy smile (more like a grimace actually). "We just went for lunch a couple of days ago... Surely you don't miss my company that much."

The man in front of him was tall, with Harry barely reaching up to his shoulders. He has a head full of dark hair, reaching just past his chin and combed to one side. He has one of the most gorgeous faces ever to be seen (according to the Witches' Weekly), with high cheekbones, a strong jawline, straight nose, and thin reddish lips that usually curled into an amused smirk – Harry was always tempted to wipe that bloody smug look off the man's face. But Tom's most attractive features were those crimson eyes of his. They glow with power, so much that even Squibs and Muggles were enticed by those orbs.

"On the contraire, your company is worth much more than those incompetent boot lickers that dare call themselves my subordinates, little one." Tom was smirking at him, and as usual, mocking his inherited height from his mother's side of the genepool.

"Who the fuck are you calling short!? You're just abnormally tall, you half-giant!" He growled out. His height was something of a touchy subject and his subordinates had learnt that the hard way on their first day. Harry was usually in control of his emotions, but his (not) friend has an unnatural way of smashing his restrains away with only a few chosen words.

"Forget it, what the hell do you want?" He snapped rudely with a deadpan as he crossed his arms petulantly.

"Just checking if you're still alive, Harry. You're worse than Severus – and he's called a dungeon bat for a reason."

"As you can perfectly see, I'm still breathing. Now be gone, heathen, and let me work in fucking peace."

With that, he turned around and promptly ignored his not-friend of nearly two decades. He had met Tom when he was barely higher than the man's waist (7), attending one of those stuck up prat's birthday parties. Lucy Malfoy or something was his name, and Harry couldn't care less what that blonde-brat was called. He was spoilt rotten by his family and the only thing that comes out from those sneering lips was usually 'My father will hear about this!'

That blonde-brat was lucky that Tom didn't go Voldemort on his arse, all thanks to daddy dearest of course – Abraxas was Voldemort's right hand. Yes, he also learnt his not-friend was a fearsome Dark Lord in his spare time (he was running away from paperwork and thought it would be a great idea to crash uninvited at Tom's Manor), one that many dare not speak his name. It was ridiculous and Harry was always unable to contain a rude snort when he heard someone whispering about You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Ridiculous hyphenated names. Harry somewhat pitied Neville, the Boy-Who-Lived, a twenty year old man with the title of a BOY. Pfft.

Many were unaware that a prophecy was made, but Voldemort's spy somehow got wind of it. That resulted in Alice and Frank Longbottom's death. Voldemort only found out three sentences before he raged through their wards like hot knife to butter. A Gryffindor move that Harry constantly rubbed into Tom's face every time his not-friend had pissed him off (though he had to run away the minute Tom became trigger happy). Neville was declared the Boy-Who-Lived when he survived and rebounded the killing curse back at its caster, and Voldemort was lucky that he had rolled out of the way (no matter how undignified it sounded) and escaped with his life intact before Albus and his group came.

Albus had thought that Neville was holding onto a portion of Voldemort soul, a human Horcrux if you will, but he was dead wrong – according to Tom himself since The Killing Curse left the caster's Magical residue behind. Tom had explained to him (after he was forced to swore an oath without any type of loopholes) that too many Horcrux could lead to insanity and he only made one to preserve his youthful, un-aging looks and health. He was immortal but could still be killed (and brought back to life).

The only person whom connected Tom Marvolo Riddle, the charming and charismatic Senior Undersecretary of the Ministry of Magic, to Lord Voldemort, currently the most feared Dark Lord in five centuries, was Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter. Even his not-friend's minions had no idea. The bald nose-less scaly version of Tom looked nothing like the man standing behind of him. Tom had explained to him (with a deadly glare when Harry had called him ugly) that he had used a parseltongue glamour on himself. Tom was rather irritated about Harry's non-stop questions as to how it felt without a nose. That encounter still brought a grimace onto his face.

Harry had once attended one of Tom's Death Eater meetings before. It was tedious and filled with tons of Crucios. He had actually yawned the whole time, whilst those minions looked at him with fearful eyes. They had thought that he would get crucioed for his rudeness, but Tom had only turned to him and shook his head with a carefully concealed sigh.

He didn't know why Tom was so lenient with him, but Tom trusted him enough to give him a treasured heirloom – Slytherin's Locket. Due to him being a Necromancer – one of the best actually – he could feel that the locket contained a portion of Tom's soul. He had yelped and attempted to tear it off of him… but alas, Tom made it so only that git was the only one able to. So now, he was stuck with a piece of Tom's soul around his neck. Forever. Tom had then droned on and on about how Harry would be the one to revive him if his body was destroyed. He of course pretended to listen whilst sleeping with his eyes opened. Tom hadn't liked that one bit. Harry could still feel the phantom pain radiating from his noggin. Never would he underestimate Tom's physical strength ever again, despite the wizard's age.

Forever wasn't due to his teenage's body angst by the way. He was literally going to live forever unless someone destroyed his Heart – which Tom has on his person at all times. His heart was hidden at the most dangerous, yet safest place in the whole world. Tom was literally the strongest Wizard of their time, even if he's a ninety something year old man (how old was Tom anyway?), and the only way to destroy Harry was to kill Tom and rip apart his friend's body to locate Harry's Heart.

He was so advanced in the art of Necromancy that he had created a (now illegal) ritual that transferred his Life Force filled (still beating) Heart into a ruby gemstone made from his blood. It was unbreakable and only Basilisk venom would be able to melt the outer layer of the gem, allowing the person to stab his heart – and thus killing him. It was dangerous for Tom to hold onto it since his friend was a parseltongue but he had no choice in that matter. Tom had literally found it when he had foolishly misplaced his bloody gemstone. It was mortifying when Tom teased him endlessly for months due to that incident. Bloody arrogant git.

"Heathen? That's not a nice thing to say to your one and only friend, precious." Tom purred and he flinched at the hot breath near his ear.

"How bloody arrogant of you to assume I have no other friends, you Neanderthal."

"Name them then."

Harry opened his mouth to answer, only to pause. The only people he (reluctantly) talked to were his subordinates (because of work), the Minister (asking permission for new inventions), and Tom (mostly forced into having lunch with him). He was anti-social and hated human interaction – main reason why he was currently working as an Unspeakable. Tom called him a sociopath once, but he denied it of course. He was mentally healthy.

Tom chuckled and he scowled at the taller wizard. He was just about to retort when out of the corner of his eyes, he saw a familiar green light heading their way. Harry was quick to pull his friend behind of him, and gasped when the Killing Curse hit him firmly on his chest. It was lucky he couldn't die – but it hurt like a bitch on steroids!

Tom caught his limp body and he inward grimaced at the feeling of his lungs constricting. He couldn't breathe and his arms felt too weak to claw at his throat. He heard voices, and looked up to find Albus, with his Order of bloody Headless Turkeys pointing their wands at them – they were surrounded as well. They looked at him with fear in their eyes and he hid a snort. They should be fearing Tom instead, not him. Especially after shooting the killing curse at them.

His friend held Harry close to his chest and few moments later, Harry recovered and turned to glare at his former Headmaster.

"Are you well enough to stand, Harry?" Was whispered into his ear and he nodded jerkily. Tom helped steady him, and without a second thought, he pushed his friend behind of him. He knew that Tom disliked using him as a meat shield, but he was literally unable to die – unless destroying his body counts… But hell, he could get a new one! He always wanted to inhabit a taller, more masculine body.

"Headmaster." He greeted with his usual flat tone.

"That was… Harry… What will James think if you sided with that madman?" Albus gave him that disappointed grandfatherly look that many children fall for. Sadly, he would rather toss himself into the Veil then let James' judgement cloud him.

"Madman, Headmaster? Tom holds the second most highest position in the British Wizarding Community and you dare call him a madman? You could lose your job, Headmaster, with only a few words."

"My boy, the man you're defending is none other than Voldemort himself." Many of the Headless Turkeys had flinched (including the beloved Boy-Who-Lived) when the old man spoke of Tom's alter ego's name. Neanderthals the lot of them.

"Accusing the Senior Undersecretary of being a Dark Lord without proof? Shame on you, Headmaster." He chided, though his tone remained eerily monotonous.

"I do have proof, child." Albus raised his wand and spelled out Tom Marvolo Riddle, before he rearranged them into I am Lord Voldemort. Why must Tom base his alter ego's name with his public face? Oh right, his not-friend was still young when Voldemort was created.

"That proves nothing other than the fact that the Dark Lord has a feud with Tom."

The old man shook his head sadly and looked at him with those damnable twinkly eyes.

"He has corrupted you, dear boy. James would be devastated."

"My dear father was already devastated. The look in his eyes when I ripped his chest open was simply amazing." Of course Harry didn't say that out loud, he just shrugged his shoulders and whispered it under his breath, oblivious that Tom had performed illegal permanent rituals on himself to improve all of his senses.

"Enough, Albus." Tom's voice was hard, and everyone's attention was turned to him. "We shall take this to court –"

He was cut off when Albus gave some sort of signal and all the Turkeys shot spells – borderline Dark. He and Tom were back to back, fighting even at the odds. Two against a hundred (around there) was hardly fair. But heck, Tom could bloody take them all without a wand (disregard Albus) if he aimed to kill.

One after another, the bodies fell unconscious. The only reason as to why they didn't outright kill those arseholes was because of Tom's public face. He was someone important, and even in self-defense, no shee–… civilian would want a killer if they're in a position of power.

A long time had passed before the numbers were down to ten. Albus, without them both noticing, had slithered his way behind Tom and sent him flying towards the veil – that sneaky bastard! Harry's eyes were wide with horror and he was quick to latch onto his friend. Harry quickly embraced the body he was latching on whilst his mind was working at an abnormal rate.

He gave Tom a reassuring smile when his friend looked at him with panic in those beautiful crimson eyes – exactly the same shade as his gemstone. Tom had always been a softie when it came down to him, always wanting Harry to be safe and out of danger (one of the reasons as to why he couldn't attend a raid even though he was fucking strong with his beloved undead army). Harry closed his eyes with grim determination and focused on his Death Magic. Just as they were centimeters away from the veil, Harry enveloped them both in a cocoon of darkness, praying to Circe and Death that this would work. It was untested and he gritted his teeth when he felt them entering through the Veil. Crimson met emerald for a brief second before his friend fell into unconsciousness, unable to withstand the brunt force of the Veil's deathly aura.

TBC.

Age (Apparently, Magic slows down aging):
Dumbledore – 200+ [appearing as a man in his seventies]
Tom – 87 [appearing as a man in his mid-twenties]
Hadrian – 40 [appearing as a late teen, or early twenties]
Neville / Hermione / Ron / Draco / others from HP's original batch – 20

The age isn't really that important, but whatever.

I was inspired to write this story by Ramen God, Trapped in Mirrors. Let me know what you think about the starting of this fic, and no, I will not change the pairing of TMR/HP. I don't mind hetero for other characters, but I'm not changing the main pairing.

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