Title: "You Set My Soul Alight"

Author: Shaitanah

Rating: R

Timeline: post-HBP

Summary: During the battle between Harry and Voldemort a curse backfires and takes them to some isolated room which they can't get out of. Please R&R!

Disclaimer: There's nothing here but here's mine? (Correct me if I'm wrong, but I believe the quote belongs to Placebo). With that, I disclaim!

A/N: I think Voldemort might be a bit OOC (okay, a lot OOC) in this story. Sorry about that. It's just the way the story goes. I can't control it once I've started writing it! ;) But then again, if you like, there is an explanation: it is the way that odd reality affects both of them. (Harry definitely is OOC here!) Anyway, thank you for your great reviews. Enjoy the next chapter! And once you've finished, don't forget to press that little review button at the bottom of the page. Your review is a portion of happiness for a day for me! Thanks beforehand!

Chapter 4

POISON

Potter held his breath. Loud creaking filled the room. The splinter continued to grow. Soon the whole pink wall was covered in tiny splits. Interweaving with each other, they formed a delicate ornament that resembled a huge snowflake.

Potter hopped on his feet and hastened towards the force-field. A hand wrapped around shin pulled him back, and he tumbled down, swearing furiously.

"Fuck! What did you do that for? There are plenty more noble ways to kill me!"

"We don't know anything for sure yet", Voldemort replied. "Why would it suddenly break? Do you wish to die the most painful death?"

Having said that, Voldemort offered an evil smile. Harry remembered that it was almost exactly what Dumbledore had said in their first year about the infamous corridor in Hogwarts where Fluffy resided. It filled him with anger and confusion.

Meanwhile, the Dark Lord approached the force-field with caution. It still hissed at him, pinkish flames rose to lick his hand as he stretched it out to feel the energy rising from the field. Voldemort skewed his eyes. Huge red sun was floating over the sky. Every second the stars paled and finally disappeared. That big strawberry pancake remained pinned to the sky, and Voldemort realized that it was the sky that moved around the sun, not vice versa.

"Must be some reality of illusion", he muttered and added in a louder voice: "It's alright, Potter, I know how to get us out from here".

Weak places could be found in every parallel dimension. They had to walk that meadow (or whatever there was behind the force-field) until they would have found a crack like that. Voldemort could contact his Death Eaters from there.

The idea of time startled him all of a sudden. How long had they been in that room? How long will they be there yet? His Death Eaters might have been already dead, not necessary killed at war – they might have died of old age. So as the children of their children. Nobody could say for sure how much time passed in the real world since he and Potter had left it.

Voldemort banished the thought. Best to concentrate on present problems, after all.

Potter, Potter, Potter! Imagine there is noone but you and me alive in the world any more! That would be surreal.

"Give me your wand", said Voldemort.

Harry cast him a grim glance, then smirked. "Huh? What else? My life on a plate?"

"I know so much about your life already that I'm not even sure I still want to claim it". Disgusted look appeared on Voldemort's face. Harry giggled vividly. The Dark Lord found this sound the most revolting of all. It had been a long time since he himself laughed full-heartedly. But suddenly he realized that he didn't want Potter to stop. "My wand is broken, isn't it? But I definitely need a wand to enlarge the crack".

"Very logical", Harry grinned. "I'll do it for you".

"Oh yes, I am fortunate indeed, my life at the hands of a twitchy, immature teenager who doesn't know a thing about advanced magic!"

Harry ignored the taunt and came up to the wall. His wand's tip lay steadily on his shoulder. He couldn't help but notice he looked a bit like a showing off cowboy. He giggled again in a nervous fashion.

"Do you always laugh while hanging out with your principal enemies?" Voldemort teased. "Careful, Potter! You'd be considered a laughing stock among the Aurors. Professionalism is everything!"

Voldemort put his hand on Harry's shoulder. The boy tensed. 'A ball of nerves', thought Voldemort. He liked to unnerve people. It made the taste of his power sweeter.

He gave Harry instructions on how to crack the wall. Soon it seemed they had been working on it for years. Green sparks rained down from the wand in abundance. Harry felt exhausted, both physically and mentally. Voldemort being so close to him didn't help to relieve the situation, of course. Harry's mind switched to the comic fight that took place earlier… and to what followed afterwards. 'Did I really kiss V-vol…' Suddenly it was almost impossible for Harry to call him by his alias. He made a pathetic attempt at 'You-Know-Who', then thought: 'Riddle. That's his birthname, isn't it? He's Riddle'.

Voldemort's hand felt heavier on Harry's shoulder. It slid towards the bare skin in a slit of Harry's ragged t-shirt. The boy hauled back and muttered:

"Don't touch me!"

Voldemort's deep red eyes peered at him with amusement. "Or what?"

Harry stiffened. The man was before him in a blink of an eye, pressing him against the hard wall. His lips whispered in Harry's ear: "I told you before, I can touch you all I like", and his breath was hot, and moist, and vaguely arousing. Heat crept on Harry's face. Voldemort shifted the boy's unruly hair, and his agile tongue traced a soft line along the zigzag of Potter's scar.

Ah, yes! His scar. My mark. That which led to my demise.

It hurt. Harry clenched his teeth. Air broke through this improvised barrier with a forceful hiss. It hurt so much. But Harry found some masochistic pleasure in that pain. It scared him. It was so unlike him. Voldemort's hand caressed his hip. Accepting the throbbing pain in his head, Harry thrust forward, pressing his body against Voldemort.

Voldemort's hand moved swiftly between his thighs. Harry wished there was no rough fabric of his jeans between it and his already hard cock. Voldemort continued the stimulation. Completely lost to the overwhelming ecstasy, Potter arched back against the wall and released a slow moan of passion.

Voldemort's kiss blazed on his lips.

The Dark Lord pulled away. Devastated, Harry looked at him with eyes wide open and noticed his wand in the Dark Lord's comely hand. The sight of it filled Harry with anger but he could do nothing about it.

"Sorry, Harry, but I can't allow us to creep like a snail on our way to freedom", Voldemort smiled like a predator.

He flourished the wand. Pale green ray of light broke into the force-field. It burst in flames and melted away. Voldemort peered carefully through the fresh opening. He made the first, timid step into the grass. It moved in a massive wave around him, up to his torso, tall and sweet-scented like a candy from a period buried in oblivion – Voldemort's childhood. Candy was a rare guest in his orphanage. But whenever he could get a lollypop or a toffee he felt happy. He even had a storage of them under his pillow until someone (Voldemort had naturally forgotten the name of that kid a long time ago) found it and robbed Tom of his precious supplies.

The meadow was a large valley engirdled with irrigation structures. Cloying smell of syrup was rising from there. Voldemort broke a piece off herb absent-mindedly and brought it to his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully. Hell, it was identical to those wretched sweets stolen from his storage all those years ago!

Voldemort spat the chunk out and turned to look at Harry.

The boy's appearance alarmed him. Harry was standing on his knees, very pale, and struggled to breathe. Moisture in the air intensified. Voldemort approached him. Potter lay down, convulsing, then exhaled sharply.

"Potter!" Voldemort called. 'Bloody hell! Are you going to die now? Why now?' "Potter! Can you hear me?"

At least the boy's heart was still beating.

Harry's eyes shot open, bright green like that emerald field around them. Voldemort stepped back for no particular reason. Something in those eyes warned him to stay away from Potter.

Potter spoke, and his voice was thin, and pleading, and threatening.

"Tom… Is that you, Tom? Where am I? Tom?"

The Tom in him who should have remained silent as if dead replied through Voldemort's lips:

"Yes, Harry, I'm here. Wake up, Harry. Wake up! I need you to wake up now!"

"We're dead… Are we dead? Tom… why did you kill Ginny? Why kill her? I loved her".

Potter's world was a psychedelic painting, all turned upside down, divided into blocks, and discolored particles, and pixels. Voldemort's reptilian face cracked like an old shell, and he saw Tom's cold, shimmering beauty. Tom looked exactly as he did in the Chamber of Secrets.

The image dissolved, throwing Harry in a horrific gulf vortex of war. He was running, chased by something he could neither see nor hear, but he felt it clearly. His sensations heightened. His skull was splitting because of intolerable pain in his scar.

Harry stopped to catch his breath. He suffocated as if after running up a crumbling dune. He knelt before a body lying in front of him. It was a girl, her red hair was damp and covered in gore at the roots.

"Ginny…" Potter sighed. He was weak. "I wasn't strong enough to save you!"

Another redhead in the distance. Ron… He was trying to shield Hermione when death caught him. Hermione's eyes are wide open and blank. Nothing but darkness within them. Pupils like black lenses over the whites.

"Tom", Harry moaned. "You killed them all".

Voldemort slapped him in the face. The wretched boy just had to wake up! He couldn't die now, no, not now. Voldemort wanted him to suffer. He must kill him personally!

Are you sure? His inner voice broke in his hectic thoughts. Are you so sure you want him to wake up because of that? Or is there something else? Perhaps you suddenly care for the boy…

Voldemort smirked. What a wonderful, what a brilliant, what a stupid idea! Come to think of it, he always cared for Potter in a twisted way: he wanted the boy to stay alive to prolong his torment.

However, when it came to mental disorder, Voldemort realized he was seriously worried about Potter. Delusional, the boy continued ranting. Voldemort pressed his hand to his sweaty forehead. Cold. Ice cold. He sniffed. His breath smelled with wild berries.

"Amazing!" the Dark Lord hissed without bothering to conceal irritation. "When did you find time to eat something?"

Panting, Harry moved down through the bodies. Some faces looked familiar, others were new to him. Harry's emotions froze somewhere between grief and overwhelming hatred.

"Tom!" Harry howled, lifting his head towards the skies. "You pathetic killer, come out! Kill me if you like or at least do try, you're no match for me!"

"Is that so, Harry?" Voldemort's mellow voice broke through.

Meanwhile, the real Dark Lord dragged Potter's senseless body away from the damaged wall and laid him down on the hill. A wide river branch was flowing in the nearby. It spread faint raspberry fumes in the air.

Voldemort marked a few herbs that could be useful if he needed to brew a potion. On the other hand, noone could guarantee they weren't poisonous in this illusive realm.

"Tom!" Harry groaned. Voldemort shivered. He hated that name. The name of his filthy Muggle father who broke his mother's heart. It had been so pleasant to see him die. Harry repeated: "Tom…"

"Stop calling me that!" Voldemort snapped and hit the boy in the face again. That might as well wake him up. If not, at least Voldemort's wrath would be satisfied.

"Why Voldemort?" Lucius once asked him.

"Do you like the name Riddle?" Voldemort gave an odd reply. "L o r d R i d d l e! Isn't it a name for a jester? Am I a jester, Lucius?"

Malfoy gave a stiff bow. It was suddenly very hot the room. He could sense his master's growing discontent. All because of one foolish question! Voldemort hated digging into his own past. Especially when others did it. Tension was thick and menacing. Voldemort's eyes narrowed to slits.

"Are you afraid, Lucius? Good. Fear becomes you in a certain way".

Malfoy gritted his teeth, then bowed again. "I shouldn't have bothered you with my mean curiousity, my lord".

When he left, Voldemort wondered if he actually understood what the real reason of changing the name had been. Thomas Riddle, a nobleman who spoiled a young miserable witch's life. His father, his namesake.

"If you ever call me that, I won't hesitate to leave you here, Harry", Voldemort whispered in the boy's ear. "I won't even kill you. I'll just leave you to rot. Believe them when they say I have no mercy. But you know that about me, don't you?"

Riddle came down the hill and stopped opposite Harry. The Boy Who Lived stared at the young Dark Lord with animosity.

"It is a vision, Harry", the memory uttered. "It is perfectly illogical. You're sleeping. Or dying. Or you might be dead already".

"Then I'm not afraid", Harry replied and attacked.

Riddle leapt in the air and froze above Harry. Gravity didn't seem to work on him. He spread his arms and laughed. Harry frowned. His body was like a tight string. He flew up and rushed towards Riddle. The youth grabbed him by the forearms and held him firmly. Harry twitched, trying to break free.

"You're like a kitten, Harry", Tom smiled. "You're too weak for me".

"Really?" Harry asked and kissed him forcefully, pressing close to him. He could feel Tom's heartbeat as if in his own chest.

Tom's hands explored Harry's body. Tart taste of mint and candy filled Potter's mouth.

Tom pulled away and sank slowly to his knees. His comely hands rested on Harry's belt. Dark smile shone out on Harry's face. Here was the Dark Lord Voldemort – on his knees before his arch-nemesis.

Just as Tom began unzipping Harry's fly, something buzzed in the distance. A shocking blow came directly from upslope leaving Harry dabbling in cold darkness.