Sugar Crackers

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any of the characters except my own.

AN: Enjoy and thanks for reading~

Contrary to popular belief, Tom Riddle will admit to having one too many issues that may seem trivial to some others, but not to him. Not when the rain was concerned.

Summoning a powerful demon tended to kick up a storm. It was one of the top three part of the ritual he grimaced, because Voldemort had quirks comparable to a ticking bomb. Plus, daddy issues a plenty and ('Humour as dry as Professor Dumbledore's.' Quips Abraxas. Tom has him grovelling in seconds from a dark natured charm he'd been practicing for a couple days.) many more, much to the misfortune of his followers.

He tries not to dash back in time in his own head, but fails splendidly. His conscious drops, sinking deeper and deeper. It is an abyss of nothing. But through the still calmness of unmoving waters, his memory is a trembling ripple.

Familiar faces scream 'Murderer!' and 'Monster!' at the top of their lungs, they have rivulets of ruby tears that slide down their cheeks as Tom's alter ego burns their homes to the ground.

Their tears fall in an illusion of slowed motion. Tom figuratively turns his head as a man grieves for his dead, charred, wife. Of all the spells Tom knew, the Killing Curse was the most painless. He'd ignored the pangs of sympathy that pulses at his chest like some poorly cast Imperius curse.

Voldemort becomes one of the reasons orphans like him exist, the thought is slightly terrifying.

But Tom Riddle was powerless no longer, and wasn't that all that mattered?

Fires danced a graceful ballet while their tails flickered to the symphony of screams and sadistic laughter that was not his own.

Voldemort had been so angry. So bitter, that he laughed as the corrupt wizard in charge of the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes has blood oozing out of almost every pore. The department head fell on the body of his third wife; then, Voldemort had left because there wasn't a thing to laugh at anymore.

The dark lord hadn't forgotten to loot their books and treasures either, just because he could. Denying till his dying day that it was definitely not a hoarding problem Tom had gained over the years of being helpless and unloved at an orphanage that threatened his right to survive.

Snapping back to reality with a blinding strike of lightning, Voldemort's crimson eyes find themselves falling on a youth that looked no more than 20. He knew the youngster, knew his father and the father before him. They were a Light-attracted bunch that basked under everything that cried justice and good. Like moths to flame, the family's actions to seemingly 'redeem' themselves almost felt desperate.

Tom had disliked them because he believed there is no such thing as running away from the Dark; for when there was light, shadows always lurked.

Nevertheless, The Crouch family had sat with the Slytherins at their table because cunning and ambition was in their blood despite the beliefs they stood by. It garnered a grudge of respect from Tom as a boy, and it is because of the respect Barty Jr.'s grandfather earned, that Tom was willing to listen to this particular summoning.

"Master…" The teen rasps.

At a forgotten corner, one Harry James Potter did not automate his response into a deadpanned look. Nor did he breathe out a sigh in prayer for humanity's future.

"You know who and what I am. Speak, what is it do you have in exchange for the heir of Slytherin to stay long enough for a cup of tea, wizard?"

Barty sputters, his eyes momentarily losing the look of adoration as he nervously shoves his hand into a slim backpack and pulls out a glass container.

"A heart from an Innocent. My Lord, won't you please accept my offering? Your servant is loyal and pure in blood. I only wish to join your cause; my father is a blood-traitor; he is a disgrace second to those mudbloods!"

"The heart of an angel is not easy to obtain," Voldemort hisses. "Not for your kin,"

A flick of the previous dark lord's fingers, and the offering is accepted. "So mote it be," Magic pushes them to say in gentle pulses.

Tom refrains from frowning. His mask is set firmly in place; no sticking charm could do a better job at keeping his icy expression on. "It is easy to see that no effort was spared into obtaining this… offering. But why do you turn your back on your family? You've betrayed a loved one once, what makes you think you won't do so again?"

Barty pales. His lips flapping open and close like the trash can he was. "Please take a seat first, My Lord. I can't believe I've been so inconsiderate. Forgive me, forgive me…"

"Enough." Voldemort waves a slender hand.

"My Lord… please…"

"I have accepted your offering. Magick herself has made the terms to our contract. My time in exchange for the heart of an Innocent. We had half-an-hour and it has been done. The clock has struck, your time is up, wizard-kin.

I will take my leave. Know that your House will never be as it once was. You have gained nothing."

The young wizard falls to his knees. Harry bends his knees and gets ready to sprint towards the screeching crackle of lightning. It is the heat that builds in the bespectacled teen's chest that drives him to such recklessness. This… make-believe Lord must not escape Harry's grasp, because he is yours, Magick whispers.

"WAIT!"

Because they are one, She blesses, and smiles upon the two soulmates that have finally come to meet after the alignment of a million stars.