Title: Eyes Unseeing (Revised Version)


Author:
Yellow-Phoenix25


Genre:
Alternative Universe, Crossover (Harry Potter & the Twilight Saga), Mystery, Angst, Drama, Science Fiction/Fantasy, and Action/Adventure


Rating:
MA

Main Pairing: Harry Potter/Edward Cullen


Warnings:
This story contains SLASH which is a sexual relationship between two males; Sexual situations; Sexual intercourse; Character Deaths—not a main characters; Adult language; Violence; Attempted Suicide (Coerced)


Disclaimer:
This story is based on characters and situations owned and created by J.K. Rowling (Harry Potter), Stephanie Meyer (the Twilight Saga), their respective publishing companies, film studios (Warner Brothers; Lionsgate), and subsidiaries (Summit Entertainment, LLC). No money is being made, no malice intended, and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. They own the universes. Any original characters and anything not known in the Harry Potter and Twilight universes are mine. Also, if this is similar to any other fictions, it was not intentional.


Synopsis
:

Adair Belden is a young man with a past. For he used to be Harry Potter, the one who purged Voldemort from the Wizarding World, once and for all. But now he wants nothing more than to stay out of trouble and live a relatively quiet life in a secluded Icelandic town with his lover. That is until the couple ends up in a terrible accident which results in his lover's death. But why is it that no one can remember him after the incident, except Adair? What do these extremely vivid dreams he keeps having since accident mean? And why does he have the feeling of being stalked?

Walking home two weeks after the accident, as a violent storm breaks out; Adair meets an enigmatic old man who introduces himself to him. The man calls himself Ailis, and he seems eerily familiar to Adair, especially since he knows more about Adair and the mysterious circumstances surrounding the accident than possible. He warns that a far bigger storm is coming. And if he wants to survive and find answers, he has to seek out and help another man, Edward Cullen. For something sinister is coming after the brooding Vampire…and its reasons will lead to startling revelations for both men.

And from there, nothing in these two men's lives will ever be the same…


Text Formatting
:

Emphasis, Article Heading, Setting info

Foreign words, spells, letters, media text (newspaper/books)

-Character thoughts

Parseltongue

Telepathy

~*~

Prologue:

Fading Glory

My soul lies cracked; and when, in its despair,
Pealing, it tries to fill the cold night air
With its lament, it often sounds, instead,

Like some poor wounded wretch—long left for dead
Beneath a pile of corpses, lying massed
By bloody pool—rattling, gasping his last.

~Excerpt from Charles Baudelaire, The Cracked Bell

~*~


Diagon Alley, London, UK

Saturday the 2nd of May 1998

8:08 PM

~*~

Night had just fallen as the moonless sky was swathed in deep and dark hues of blue, almost black in it appearance. There were no twinkling stars on the horizon; no soft light gleaming from the snow-capped mountains that towered over the valley; and no cool breeze ruffling the leafless branches of the trees. Only stillness and darkness reigned in a landscape that once pulsed with life and intrigue.

But even in this darkness, Harrison had seen the Three Broomsticks, Zonko's Joke Shop, Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, and Honeydukes Sweetshop, all pass before him. These were places that he was thoroughly familiar with and had seen many times, but had never viewed them with so many bodies lingering in the stench of death and stolen life before.

Harrison watched as the silhouettes of the Death Eaters, Aurors and Hitwizards, and few-would-be heroes tossed their spells, clashed their swords, and smashed their bodies back and forth against each other. It was primitive and unutterable carnage; an oozing layer cake of bodies, the dead, and the frantically alive drowning in the slick of blood and earth.

It was true that the ideals of their world's tomorrow-their continued existence brought them here. But in the moment, in the cold embrace of their 'enemy', ideals were no longer at the forefront their mind.

Survival was-it was all that they had left, the most important thing they had at stake.

They were desperate to survive, to kill in order to live.

Perhaps it the accumulation pain and loneliness he experienced the majority of his life, but the situation brought out a vicious satisfaction in him.

He, 'The Chosen One', 'The Savior', 'The Boy-Who-Lived (or Wouldn't Die)', or whatever reverent name he was branded these days had been striding toward a path not lit by his own fire. His whole life had been forfeit, a terrible lie. He was tool to be used and discarded as deemed necessary by those who claimed to know and love him. The Wizarding World made no secret of their desire of him to 'smite, defeat, purge, destroy, and vanquish' the most powerful Dark Wizard in its history.

All of their words were tied in a nice, tight self-righteous ribbon, which all meant they he would have to become the very thing that went against his nature.

A murderer, a killer.

The act would destroy what little else he had of himself in the process.

And for once in his life, perhaps for the last time, he wondered if there any reason to persevere; to ever laugh again; to ever shed tears again; to sleep or ever wake again; and to keep and make promises ever again. It didn't seem possible that his salvation, his true salvation lie in the hands of his own destruction.

~*~


East Gardens

Riddle Mansion, Little Hangleton, Great Britain

Saturday the 2nd of May 1998

11:00 PM

~*~

Thomas Marvolo Riddle slowly released a ragged breath he was holding as he approached an unblemished gravestone and knelt before it. Various fountains could be heard bubbling and trickling in the distance, but it was the wind that whistled into the air and tended to be louder than any place Tom had been before. The wind was always playful here, and while Tom though he could be imagining it, he could always hear the words it whispered to him just as the sun began to fade into the horizon. He didn't actively question such an occurrence. But he thought perhaps it was due to what he was doing here or who he was here to see.

Tom tried not to come here often, but as he gazed at the carved inscription before him, he could not help but feel more human in his desire to revive not only buried memories but the emotions they carried-emotions that went just as deeply as the 'rage', 'anger', 'ambition', 'possessiveness', 'desire', and 'lust' he felt daily. Here, emotions like 'tenderness', 'compassion', and 'love' emerged from the deepest recesses within his mind, body, and soul. They overcame what little left of his reason since the loss of his innocence as an orphan child, the creation of Horcruxes during his teenage/young adult years, and the time he spent as a wraith during the prime of his adult life. They penetrated his core, as if though they were always meant to be there.

After he reveled in the emotions and memories that burned so bright, his whole being became saturated with an ungodly deal of sadness, loss, and longing-a conglomeration of so much pain as if his life was at an end. Tom understood that this pain would never fade, never leave; it was the pain of love taken-love lost.

A sudden presence entered Tom's mind and moved within it. Rage bubbled within him at such an intrusion, followed by an overwhelming satisfaction that he knew wasn't his own.

"He's dead in all ways that concern you," an ethereal voice breathed into his ear. These were words he did not need, nor want to hear and accept.

"There's still time," he muttered back thoughtlessly, having grown accustomed, at this point, in talking to nothing. Besides, it wasn't like there was anyone around to see him, and he wouldn't care if there was.

"I'm not sure you know what you're getting yourself into, Tom," said the voice nonchalantly to Tom, not bothering to conceal its smugness. "His fate is something you must accept."

Tom narrowed his eyes and furiously hissed out, "Don't presume to know anything about my understanding of the gravity of the situation. He will be at no one's mercy broken and robbed of his life. They will not Play God with our-his existence, just to test some foolish theory based off of myths."

"Yes, you're angry aren't you?" said the voice, eerily infused with eagerness and expectation. "You are furious on his behalf, but rage blossoms inside of you for more selfish motives."

"You know nothing," said Tom crisply, his jaw clenching.

"I know the unmeasured ambition for power and the yearning for more knowledge," said the voice, pointedly. "You're counting on the recompenses that will spring forth if, and only if you're reunited with him."

"To not enjoy and put use to such gifts would be foolish," said Tom, quietly. He felt the sentient voice smile inwardly.

"Be that as it may," interjected Tom fiercely, "the recompenses are secondary if not less than the retrieval of what I have lost. Presuming otherwise may prove to be a rather deadly folly."

"Such hostility you hold towards the mere wind," said the voice, tartly.

Tom scoffed, and said sharply, "I'm starting to believe now that you are more than just the wind."

"It really shouldn't surprise you, nothing should anymore," the voice said pleasantly, chuckling. "But we digress, you really should let go of this 'unhealthy obsession' you have with him. His fate has been decided, so you must leave him to it. Worry for yourself, as you have done before you knew of his existence."

"This is no 'unhealthy obsession' as you put it!"

"You don't understand. There's so much you still don't remember, so much they you'll never know at all. Under these circumstances you can't possibly be able to save him, let alone yourself," said the voice, as if it was speaking to naïve child.

Tom had to restrain himself with all the patience he could master; he forced the words out from between clenched teeth, "I have planned and continuously made sacrifices. I have the determination and the fortitude to continue to do so until the time comes for it all to fall into place."

"As for hidden knowledge, it will be gained in time. There is nothing that will be able to hinder or thwart me for long. And when it all said and done, I will crush those bastards and make their deaths excruciating. Perhaps then, in death, will they learn their place," exhaled out Tom, his expression turning not only determined but dangerous.

"He is unnatural," replied the voice matter-of-factually, "more unnatural than 'you' who has butchered your soul under a misguided understanding on what it means to be powerfully immortal."

Tom's face twisted into a dark scowl and said extremely agitated, "That was not by his choice. You have no right to judge, just like they have not right to manipulate and test him, and expect there to be no fight."

"It's not only his test but yours as well, but unlike you, he doesn't even know he's on a very structured and limited timeline," the voice interjected, flatly. "It's sad really, but 'there's happiness in ignorance', at least that's what the muggles say."

"Says the blind leading the blind off a cliff," spat Tom.

"So says leaders who are no more knowledgeable than the ones they lead, no matter what 'side' they're on," said the voice, gruffly.

Tom stared at the gravestone for a moment, and gently caressed his fingers against it.

"There is no coming back for either of you, if you fail. You'll be obliterated from existence," the voice said quietly."It will be a harsh reality for someone who believes that death is for the weak and powerless."

Tom sighed and said, "Whether I take the risk on our lives or not, it's solely my decision." He rested his head against the headstone, and wrapped around it for a moment.

The wards around Riddle Mansion shivered slightly, and in that instant Tom knew that Harrison Potter had arrived. Harrison was drawn to this place, to him like a moth to a flame. It had been only a matter of time. The young man was the key to his salvation.

~*~


East Gardens

Riddle Mansion, Little Hangleton, Great Britain

Saturday the 2nd of May 1998

11:03 PM

~*~

It was sheer luck, or what Harrison perceived as luck when he caught sight of a gravely injured Amycus Carrow on the battlefield. The Death Eater appeared magically exhausted as he attempted to channel whatever energy he had left to apparate away. There was a high probability that Carrow, one of Voldemort's more faithful among the inner circle, would lead him directly to not only one of their strongholds, but the Dark Lord himself. Voldemort had not been among his forces during the multiple attacks at Diagon Alley, Hogwarts, and the Ministry of Magic.

Harrison casted a disillusionment charm on him, and predatorily approached the battle weary Amycus Carrow. He watched as all the muscles in Carrow tense in preparation for apparition, and then he finally lurched into action locking onto the quickly fading, glowing residue that had been Amycus Carrow.

Five months of theory and practice had prevented Harrison crashing to the ground. Once he stood up from his crouched position, he swept the area, already alert scouting for any possible threats from Carrow, spare Death Eaters, and Voldemort himself. He pulled out one his spare wands; his Phoenix feather wand had become a fickle sentimental possession and less practical considering he and Voldemort shared the same wand cores that couldn't duel against each other. Spare wands along with wandless and wordless magics became more of a necessity over the last two years.

The night was still covered in darkness, but Harrison recognized that he was walking through the grounds of Riddle Mansion. It wasn't one of the places that he could easily forget. He found it eerie that the grounds fell silent and appeared empty of life, save his presence. The hairs on his neck prickled as he trotted down a hidden path through the manor's woods-he was moving towards something, but he felt no fear in walk into darkness.

Harrison halted when he came upon a beautiful large grey garden arch crawled with black and crimson roses. –Definitely Voldemort's touch-, he thought sarcastically.

Natural Rock Garden Wood lined with Primulas, Meconopsis, and other shade loving plants walled the area. "Beautiful," he breathed.

Glancing at the gate doors, behind him, and back again, Harrison pushed the gate door open and walk in. Some force within these walls called for him, beckoning his presence until it was satisfied. -He would just have to see what it wanted-, he mused.

A large enchanting garden was revealed before him. There were mazes of roses and vines, statues and fountains placed all around the cobblestone paths. The stillness of the air did nothing to take away the scents of various flowers and shrubs like Hypericum, Viburnumb, and roses that surrounded him.

The garden gave an impression of relaxation and meditation, none of which he could do at the moment. At his backside, a grey garden arch crawled with black and crimson roses served as the only possible entrance/exit route. He knew he would have move to a better defensive position in the area before he was attacked.

Something rustled behind him. Harrison turned to find a handsome human looking Voldemort unnaturally still, frozen in a kneeling position near a patch of Azaleas and Rhodendron plants.

The sickly green reptile visage was gone, as was the lack of a nose replaced with an aristocratic curved nose. Midnight black hair, reminiscent of Harrison's own raven locks, were threaded with silver and waved slightly. A golden-brown complexion, a shade lighter than Harrison's graced his skin. Even kneeling, Harrison could tell that Voldemort was very tall but also very lithe. Here was the epitome of what an older Tom Riddle from the Chamber of Secrets should have been. Perhaps more disquieting, unbeknownst to Harrison, Voldemort looked an older version of himself.

Voldemort was gazing sadly at something Harrison couldn't see from his position. Harrison studied Voldemort carefully before moving closer to him, never lowering his wand from Voldemort's form. He wasn't a fool to believe that Voldemort didn't know there was another presence in the garden with him. Nor would Harrison be surprised if Voldemort knew it was him. They had both known that this day would come were they would duel for control of Britain, the Wizarding World itself in the grander scheme of things.

In any event, Harrison was oddly curious to find the cause of such a human emotion skewing Voldemort's face.

-A monster, like many (even his followers and allies) believed him to be, wasn't supposed to be capable of emotions such as, pain and sadness, let alone showing them freely, right?- he thought, rather confused.

Harrison eventually caught sight of it.

A lone gravestone.

The gravestone was weathered but for the spray of fresh flowers resting against it. An illuminated sculpture of a fallen angel was rested on a bent arm, eyes cast down mournfully while the other hand hung from the gravestone recessively, and wings were not drawn but slumped piteously. Such impeccable detail and depth made the angel look as though it was genuinely mourning, almost dry sobbing.

-What was so significant about this one, since it hadn't been placed in the graveyard? Is it or the person who's behind there behind Voldemort's looks of longing and grief? Did he love this person? Did they reciprocate that love? Who were they? More importantly, why was he even taking time to be even remotely curious and concerned when should be trying to kill this man? - Harrison idly wondered to himself.

"Dumbledore believes that I created Horcruxes to escape death because it is my greatest fear. Yet, I come here every day to lie on the damp grass and be nothing- to revisit old memories and dread them. To be alone with myself and him", he gestured with his hands at the headstone. "I wish to be like the wind- always here but never really ceasing to be."

Harrison remained silent for a long time, looking at Voldemort intently.

Voldemort continued, with his aura pulsing in an eerie calm that made Harrison shiver, "In my sixty or so years, I've learned man's greatest fear lies not necessarily in death but in what is left behind. They want their careful planning and countless sacrifices to have mattered- to mean something, anything to not only those considered family, but the masses. They want to hold value. They also, want to see and revel in the fruits of their labor, and ensure that it is never hampered with."

"Do you think I would achieve such a treasure if perchance I were to fall to you, Harrison?" he snorted in amusement but his tone suggested the seriousness of the question posed.

"…"

"That wasn't a rhetorical question Harrison. I was actually looking to you to answer."

"…"

Voldemort sighed. He stood up dusted off invisible dirt from his knees and turned towards the figure at his back. Crimson eyes assessed him under the scrutiny of a placid stare; eyes that were the only reminder of Voldemort's former appearance. Harrison held his gaze not once breaking eye contact, as his Occlumency shields were as stronger than ever. But is could take in the gentle crinkles around Voldemort's forehead, the corner of his eyes, and his cherry-colored lips.

Harrison gestured to the gravestone. "You loved him?" He asked rather simply.

It was then that Tom broke eye contact and bowed his head, his lips deepening into a tight frown. "Forever and always," Crimson eyes rose swirling of emotions that he himself often felt. But there was something else there, some feeling that he couldn't quite place, but before he could recognize it, a blank mask fell over Voldemort's face.

Harrison scoffed, briefly looking away before he caught himself. "You're a ruthless, coldhearted bastard, Tom. You wouldn't know what that feels like, yet alone be able to reciprocate it."

Voldemort pierced Harrison with his eyes, and asked with steely determination, "Could you Harrison, given the circumstances of your own childhood and your place in the Wizarding World?

It was there that Harrison believed that those crimson eyes saw too much, that they could easily peer inside his soul.

~*~


Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed the revised prologue of my story. Reviews and constructive criticism are always appreciated.

-Yellow-Phoenix25

Revised (03-27-10)