Author's Note: This is for one Shiro Yukino. Yes, I'll write a Naruto fiction for you. ItaNaru, ne?

Warnings: Slash, non-Slash (Hetero), Abuse, AU, anything else I don't consider worth warning you over…

Disclaimer: (Insert witty phrase meaning that it doesn't belong to me here.)

"Please! Please, just a little food!" Harry said it in his mind a million times. He opened his mouth and imagined saying it aloud. Once, he had even made a noise, but his mouth and throat had been too dry to go through with the plea. It was bad enough to see the other children buying the lunch at school while he sat hungrily at a table. The kids didn't eat it all, and Harry didn't dare ask for their leftovers. His uncle would hurt him if he did. His aunt would hurt him if he did. Dudley would tell them, and then they would hurt him. He would turn eleven in a few weeks and get swept away to a magical place by a giant, just like Neville had in his book.

Neville had lived under the stairs, too.

Then they couldn't hurt him anymore, but for now, he was stuck staring at the feast in front of him as they prepared to celebrate Dudley's birthday. Petunia hadn't wanted him to prepare this meal, lest he messed it up. He couldn't touch it now that it was finished, either. Harry knew he was lucky to be out of his cupboard during a family event. He knew that he was being treated very, very nicely for a murderer. His uncle had explained very bluntly that his parents were dead because of him, and the only reason they took him in was because of the money his parents had left him. They could have put him in jail.

He was lucky.

"Boy! What are you doing at the table? Go get my keys!" Vernon was bellowing, showing his displeasure, and Harry scrambled up the steps to the master bedroom. He nearly tripped as he entered the room, and he was quick to yank on the bottom drawer of the bedside table. Unfortunately, his jerky motion pulled the top drawer open as well. A shiny, metal object glinted in the light. He knew what it was. He had glimpsed them on television when he passed by Dudley's room. He had been shot by Dudley's toy versions. This was the first time seeing a real one person though. Very slowly, Harry ran his finger along the machine. Just touching it was a thrill. He could feel a smile twitching at his lips, something foreign to him.

"Potter!" Harry jumped, and, with one last glance, shut the drawer. He grabbed the keys and slammed the other drawer closed as well. He figured it would probably be the last time he would ever see the gun.

He was wrong.

(***Iridescent***)

Harry had shot a lot of guns in his years on Earth. He even owned one, though it wasn't in his name and he hadn't bought it. Before Dudley, it had been the only thing connecting him to his past life. Taken apart, cleaned, and put back together a million times; it currently resided between his mattresses, where he could easily grip onto it should he feel unsafe. Before Bellatrix, it had been used for his first and only threat on someone's life. Now, she was bleeding on the floor.

Before anyone could make another move or question him, Sirius shot forward to hug Rodolphus. It was practically a tackle, but Rodolphus easily accepted him. They didn't care that Bellatrix's blood was right next to them or that her eyes were staring lifelessly at their gripping hug. Neither cried or sobbed, but their grip on each other was enough to know that they hadn't expected to ever touch each other again.

"Rudy… I—" But Rodolphus shushed him easily.

"Another time, Sirius. When you're ready." That alone made any guilt that Harry may have otherwise felt vanish. Sirius stopped hugging Rodolphus and turned to sit peaceably on the floor beside of him. They continued to grip each other's hands. The attention, however, was moved to Harry. Harry moved his own attention to the gun in his hand. Shiny black metal smiled at him, and he felt the same thrill as when he had touched his first gun. Almost unwillingly, he handed the gun back.

"Thanks." But Riddle's response wasn't the polite usual.

"I didn't think you would do it." His eyes were dragging Harry in. They devoured his every move, demanding a response. Harry took his time.

"I learned a long time ago that the first rule about making threats is not to make them idle." He was revealing so much about himself already. He didn't need to give them more than necessary.

"That was your first kill?" Sirius questioned Harry easily, and Harry responded with just as much ease.

"Yes."

"How does it feel?" Rodolphus questioned his emotional state, and Harry gave him a relaxed grin.

"Same as ever." If his answers were kept short, he wouldn't accidentally give more of himself away. "Sorry about the carpet." Harry made it very clear that he wanted a change in topic. Tom stared him down in a way that Harry was sure meant that the conversation wasn't over before looking to Rodolphus and Sirius.

"Take the rest of the day off." His chocolate rubies immediately swung back to Harry. "Stay." And then he was on the phone, probably cleaning up the mess Harry had just made. Rodolphus and Sirius easily got to their feet, Sirius walking over to give Harry a bone-crushing hug while Rodolphus nodded to him gratefully. Then they were gone. Harry looked uneasily between the body and Tom. Uneasily not because of the situation but because he wasn't sure how much of his past he could keep in the past anymore. Knowing it could take a while for Tom to fix the mess he had just created, Harry laid himself down on the couch and tried to forget the day.

(***Iridescent***)

Harry refused to look at the tall man who had saved him. He didn't know what the man wanted or why he had wasted the energy saving a freak like Harry, and that worried him. He was only thirteen. What could he possibly have to offer in gratitude? So, he didn't offer anything at all. He just stared at the ground.

"Would you like some chocolate?" Well, until he heard that question. Harry's head shot up to look around in an attempt to see who he was talking to. Harry hadn't heard any other footsteps join them on the deserted street, but surely there must have been someone else around. But his ears hadn't deceived him. They were alone. Slowly, he raised his eyes to meet a golden brown.

"Me?" Harry's voice was so hoarse that he wasn't sure if the sandy-blonde man had heard him. Yet, the man smiled gently and laughed a loving laugh.

"Of course you. Do you see anyone else around?" Harry blushed at the response before shaking his head in a negative motion.

"No, Sir." He had been avoiding adults ever since he left Uncle Vernon's house, coming around society only for food's sake. Now that an adult was here, someone who seemed so much more like his daddy had than Uncle Vernon, Harry really only wanted the man to be pleased with him.

"Neither do I. Now, about that chocolate?" The hand moved from Harry's shoulder to right next to Harry's own hand, and they both stopped. Very slowly, he looked between the hand and the golden brown eyes patiently awaiting his response. He didn't know why, but he trusted this man just as much as he had trusted his own father. Harry placed his hand in the much larger one a moment later, and they began to walk again.

The man led Harry to a small, cozy house in the woods, and there Harry was given a large mug of hot chocolate with whipped cream on top and a bar of chocolate. The fireplace had hot embers dancing within.

"We'll get some real food in you as soon as it's finished, but this should hold you ever for now." He smiled charmingly, and Harry downed half the cup before attempting speech again.

"What's your name?" It took a good minute to get the sentence out, but he knew he had to make it perfect. Otherwise, the man might start seeing him as a freak, too, and Harry wanted him to keep smiling.

"Remus. Remus Lupin. And you?" Remus had his own glass of hot chocolate, and Harry quickly broke off a piece of the chocolate and put it in his mouth, just in case Remus decided to change his mind and take it away. It melted in his mouth, sweeter and better than anything he had ever had before. Remus waited patiently for him to finish not just that square but three more, and it wasn't until Harry didn't have any more hot chocolate to wash it down with that Harry realized Remus was still awaiting an answer.

"Harry Potter, Sir." He needed to be respectful. The golden brown eyes that looked at him, however, with even more compassion than before.

"Potter?" Harry nodded quickly, glad that he didn't have to verbally respond. There was a small, nostalgic smile, and Harry tilted his head to the side in question, not sure if he was actually aloud to ask questions. "You know, I had a best friend who's last name was Potter. And he had a son who should be right about your age." Remus leaned over to brush some stray hairs out of Harry's face, eyes widening to alert Harry that he had seen his scar. Harry backed away quickly, and Remus quickly offered another smile. "I had a son who would be about your age now, too, if it wasn't for the Dementors."

He seemed sad and happy at the same time, and Harry found himself breaking two squares off of his chocolate – something of Dudley's that he had coveted for as long as he could remember – and offered it to Remus. The man blinked away his past before a genuinely grateful smile lit his face. He nodded in thanks and took the candy.

"Will you teach me to protect myself?" The question clearly caught Remus off guard, and Harry could honestly say he hadn't expected to gain the courage to ask it. But he had seen Remus take out the Dementors with ease, and he wanted that power, too. He didn't want to be afraid anymore. Remus looked at the chocolate that Harry had handed him contemplatively, and Harry awaited refusal. There was a ten minute interlude in their conversation where all they did was sit in silence. Then, seemingly at random, Remus smiled and ate the chocolate.

"Sure. But first, I need to teach you how to blend in. Let's cover up that scar, shall we?" Remus stood from his chair. "Andromeda used to love changing her looks. I'm sure she has a shade of concealer that will go with your skin tone." He offered his large, calloused, warm hand to Harry once again, and this time Harry didn't hesitate to take it.

(***Iridescent***)

Harry hit the ground with a thump as he was forced into the reality of sleeping on a couch instead of a bed. A scoff was heard from in front of him, and Harry cracked open his eyes to see Riddle sitting across from the couch, long legs gracefully crossed. Harry twisted his lips into a frown before sitting up.

"Oh, shut it." Harry wasn't much of a morning person if he wasn't getting up on his own. Tom only scoffed again and closed whatever book he was reading. Green eyes finally focused on the red stain on the carpet, and Harry took note of the fact that Bellatrix's body was no longer there.

"Don't worry about her." Riddle liked to pretend he knew what Harry was thinking. Harry liked to pretend he was positive that Riddle didn't. "You need to be more worried about yourself." Suddenly, Harry was completely alert. He sat up to get a better view of Riddle, and then he wished he hadn't. Crimson and chocolate mixed perfectly to stare Harry down.

"And here I thought you were heartless." Harry was only partially joking, but Riddle cocked a brow anyhow.

"If you're implying that I care about Bellatrix's death, you're incorrect." Those tantalizingly long legs uncrossed themselves and muscles tensed to bring Riddle to a standing position. The older man walked smoothly over to Harry, muscled arms locking him in place as they placed themselves on either side of his head. "I was becoming bored of her, anyhow. And every time you're pushed to the edge," Riddle leaned closer so that their breaths mingled, "I become more tempted."

What Harry hated was that his temptation wasn't any closer to wavering than Riddle's. Green eyes wandered down to Riddle's lips without Harry's permission and continued down to admire a strong jaw line with the lightest bit of stubble. They snapped back up a moment later, and the sparkle in reddish-brown orbs told Harry that his admiration hadn't been overlooked.

"Well, I really don't see how that's my problem." It was a lie, of course. Every time Riddle got the urge to go after Harry, life got a little more complicated.

"Then feed your hero-complex and fix my problem." At that, Harry lifted his chin in defiance, completely forgetting about their close proximity.

"I don't have a hero-complex." He could nearly feel Riddle smirk against his lips, and Harry hated that he had put himself in such a situation.

"Oh, but you do. Why else would you lie and keep with Draco's story? Why else would you take Alek out without a shred of mercy? Why else would you jump into the battle between Bellatrix and the Blacks? You want to be the hero." Riddle got closer, pressing a gentle kiss to Harry's lips before pulling back again, smirk firmly in place. Harry stared for a moment, slightly dumbfounded at the fact that Riddle could be so gentle and taunting at the same time.

"I don't want to be the hero, Riddle. I just happen to have morals." Even Harry knew that his defense was weak, but just how much did he want to defend himself? How much was he willing to give away to wipe the smug smirk off of Riddle's face? A single second more of that dauntingly handsome face so close to his own gave Harry his answer. "I want others to have the chances that I don't." The smirk didn't go away. In fact, it grew larger, allowing Harry the knowledge that he had played into Riddle's plans like the simplest of pawns. Harry shoved the older man away. He hated the knowledge that he had only been able to do so because Riddle had let him.

A darkly musical laugh entered the air, and Harry frowned as he kept moving towards the door. The bastard was not getting the best of him again.

"I could give you those chances, you know." Those few simple words stopped Harry in his tracks. Riddle had already given him a job and a home. He had unwittingly shown Harry the means to make a family within his most trusted gang members. He was offering to take care of Harry on a romantic level, making sure that he wanted for absolutely nothing. Harry turned to face his boss with a small, genuine smile.

"I know."

(***Iridescent***)

When Tom left the high-end club without a new bitch on his arm, it wasn't for lack of sex drive. He had thought about it quite a few times throughout the night, but he knew that every time he got laid, it decreased his chances of being buried inside of Harry. With that in mind, he got into his Camaro and went home. He walked up the steps and slipped the key into the lock. He almost went straight to his room, but something stopped him: the light in the hallway leading to Harry's room was on. Tom's eyes narrowed, and his fingers curled around the handle of his pistol. He moved slowly towards Harry's room, tensing further when he noticed that Harry's door, which was always shut and locked, was cracked open.

Tom cautiously pushed the door open farther, sighing in relief when he saw Harry sleeping peacefully within. His fingers untangled themselves from his weaponry, and Tom had the thought to turn away and shut the door behind him. Thought, however, was as far as the notion got. Tom slipped into Harry's room with soft steps, noting the light twinkle of metal between the mattresses with interest. He continued to the bed, drinking in the way Harry looked in nothing but boxers and an oversized T-shirt. The T-shirt left his elegant neck exposed, and when Harry moved, the shirt exposed part of his back as well.

Normally, this would be the moment where Tom noted that if he didn't turn back, he never would. In fact, that may have even happened if the shirt hadn't shifted to reveal that not all of Harry's skin was the same. The right part of his upper back was scarred. A flash of fury spiked in Tom's veins as he thought of someone daring to touch what belonged to him. Tom moved closer with even more caution than before, careful not to wake his housemate. His fingers touched the scar lightly, moving the shirt further to be able to view the entirety of it. When he saw it fully, crimson chocolate eyes blinked in disbelief. Before he could pull the shirt down further to really examine the scar, Harry was moving, and Tom quickly straddled Harry's waist, pinning both of the younger man's wrists above his head with his left hand.

"What the—" But Tom didn't feel like being questioned at the moment. He wanted to do the questioning. He shushed Harry, and Harry, surprisingly enough, obeyed. Tom forced the shirt down more and stared at—no, read the scar again.

I must not tell lies.

It was feminine handwriting, and it was at least a few years old. Tom didn't know whether to ask who did it or why, and he wasn't sure how to get a proper response, since he hadn't exactly been invited to ask about the topic. He had promised not to pry. They sat in silence for a long few minutes, and finally, Tom found his hand moving away from the scar so that his eyes, used to the darkness by now, could simply stare.

"Riddle?" Tom heard the confusion in Harry's voice just as well as the light touch of fear, and, unable to help himself, Tom pressed his lips to the marred skin. It felt comforting, somehow, to have soft, scarred skin beneath his lips. Truth be told, he wasn't even holding Harry down any longer. His left hand was limp around the younger man's wrists. His lower body was in an easily maneuverable position. But Harry must have felt just as incredible, just as right as Tom did because the young man wasn't pushing him away.

His lips detached themselves from the chaste kiss to beautiful skin, and Tom relaxed his hands completely, moving them to rest on either side of Harry. He held himself up just enough to comfortably hover over Harry, breath ghosting over the scar. His voice came out in a husky whisper that, for the first time since Tom could remember, couldn't be taken as a demand.

"Tell me."

(***Iridescent***)

Harry sat in the detention room with a determined frown on his lips. Remus had enrolled him in the boarding school just a few months ago, insisting that he needed a proper education, and everything had gone to hell from there.

Remus had been nicknamed the Werewolf because of how such a sweet man could turn so vicious in the rink. The irony that he had been torn apart by a pack of wolves wasn't lost on anyone, least of all the people who put him in that situation in the first place: the Dementors. They had supposedly disbanded after Remus had saved Harry and killed their current leader, but the rumor had obviously been false. Remus had been killed by the very people he had saved Harry from, and nothing could change that. If there was one thing that Remus had been teaching Harry, however, it was not to be afraid to speak out.

So, Harry had told the headmistress of his school: Dolores Umbridge. He explained to her what had happened and that the Dementors had been behind it. He explained that the organization was not only back but alive and well. She had placed him in detention that night, insisting that he write 'I must not tell lies.' For "as long as it takes for the message to sink in." Harry snarkly said that it would take forever because he wasn't lying. Umbridge responded by telling him to remove his shirt. For a good minute, Harry just stared at her, but as she narrowed her eyes, he complied. He ignored how she stared at his scars in contempt and sat down at the desk. Her hand steadied itself on his left shoulder, and he ignored that, too. He dipped his quill in a bottle of red ink –as Umbridge insisted that old ways were better sometimes – and began to write.

Immediately after beginning, he stopped. Something sharp had dug into his back. Umbridge's grip tightened on Harry's shoulder, immediately quieting his yelp.

"Now, now, Mr. Potter. The more you move, the longer this will take." Harry tried to turn to face her, outrage clear in his facial expression, but the object was still in his back.

"You can't do this!" It was illegal, he was sure.

"Oh, but I can. You are a ward of the state, and who is more believable, the headmistress of a prestigious prep school or a rat from the streets? Besides, Mr. Potter, this is for your own good. Spare not the rod and whatnot." And Harry was forced into the realization that she was right. In this situation, at that moment, there was nothing he could do to stop her. So, Harry continued to write, and she continued to write with him. It continued hours into the night, where he began to feel woozy every time she touched him, with or without her sharp object.

Eventually, he just passed out.

(***Iridescent***)

Harry finished his story just as quietly as he had started it, Tom still stationed easily above him. He had never told that story before, and Harry had honestly expected the memory to hurt more. Maybe it did, and he just wasn't getting the full effect of his past pain. Riddle's body over his, larger and stronger and just close enough for Harry to feel their bodies touching, made Harry feel secure. It wasn't as though that was the feel Riddle was going for. He had made it very clear that he would just as soon kill Harry as he would fuck him. But for that moment, Harry knew that Riddle wouldn't hurt him. If his past busted down the door in just a few seconds, Harry would even go so far as to bet that Riddle would protect him.

Just for that moment.

Riddle didn't say anything after the story. In fact, he moved from his place off of Harry and stood beside of the bed. Harry was thankful for the dim light and the fact that he hadn't had to look directly at Riddle the entire ordeal because his most revealing scar had nothing covering it. Instead of just leaving the room like Harry had expected, however, the sound of cloth hitting the floor could be heard. That sound was followed by the sound of a belt unbuckling and more cloth hitting the ground. Then the covers were in the air and Riddle was joining Harry beneath them, even closer than before.

Riddle had given him the courtesy of keeping his boxers on, but that didn't make Harry feel any less intimately exposed. He could still feel the older male pressing closely against him, and it didn't help when Riddle's muscular arms wound themselves around Harry's waist, hands slipping easily under his shirt. There was no doubt that Riddle was feeling some of his other scars. Hell, he was tracing them.

No matter what he was feeling, though, Riddle didn't open his mouth again, and if it crossed Harry's mind to protest, he wasn't able to act on it before sleep overtook him.

(***Iridescent***)

Harry was awakened by the shrill ring of his phone beside of his bed, and he lazily reached over to shut off the alarm. This plan was ruined, however, as he was made aware of the other person in his bed via strong arms holding him against an even stronger chest. It took only a few seconds for Harry to process what had happened the night before and even fewer for him to process the hard muscle pressing firmly against his ass.

"Riddle!" Harry may not have been entirely sure what had come over him the night before, but it certainly wasn't there now. Riddle ignored Harry as he reached over and picked up Harry's phone, flipping it open with ease and shutting off the noise. With that done, he carelessly tossed Harry's phone to the floor and pulled Harry even closer, if possible. Finally, he answered in a voice rough from sleep.

"What?" The deep tenor made Harry shiver, and Riddle's already hard cock twitched in response.

"Let go of me, that's what!" Harry struggled more forcefully, but it appeared to have nearly no effect on his predicament.

"Why?" Riddle didn't even seem like he was putting more effort into holding Harry to his chest. For all the energy he was exerting, Riddle may as well have still been asleep.

"Because I have to get to school." His struggles strengthened, and, as though Riddle had been expecting this, the arms simply let go. Harry, in turn, landed in the floor. Quickly, hoping that Riddle hadn't spotted his scar as he fell, Harry ducked into the bathroom, locking it behind him with a click. He didn't hear anything from the other side, but he wasn't about to chance his luck. Harry turned the shower to scalding and disregarded the burn against his skin. He wanted to scrub away the feel of Tom Marvolo Riddle on his body.

When he could still feel the man against him ten minutes later, he gave up and got out, instead focusing on drying off and looking appeasable. He brushed his teeth and combed through his hair, applying concealer perfectly before deciding it was safe to leave and wrapping the towel around his lower half to go find clothing.

Luckily, Riddle had, in fact, left Harry's room by that point. Harry grabbed clothes from his closet without really looking at them and pulled them on without much care to how they looked. He picked up his cell phone where Riddle had tossed it and shoved it into his pocket, leaving the room a moment later. Riddle wasn't outside the room or in the kitchen or living room. Harry assumed that the man must have retreated to his room, but he wasn't about to stick around to find out. He wasn't sure if they were supposed to talk about what happened last night or just ignore it, but that was something they could figure out at another time.

Harry went straight to class, settling into his seat beside of Cedric with practiced ease. Cedric looked at him with a strange smile.

"I see someone had a nice night last night." His tone was both interested and jokingly suggestive, and Harry cocked a brow.

"Huh?" Harry honestly didn't know what his long-time friend was talking about. The billionaire shook his head before explaining.

"I don't know. You just look… refreshed. Did anything special happen last night?" His tone, unlike most other times, was serious. Harry immediately thought about Riddle spending the night with him, and he couldn't stop the blush from racing up his cheeks. Before Cedric could comment on his reaction, however, Snape entered the room, trench coat billowing behind him. Harry's eyes met his professor's, and they held each other's gazes for longer than necessary. There was something… different in the way that he was looking at Harry, but the student couldn't place it.

"Your instructions are on the board. Get started." Harry turned to write down what was on the board, glad for a distraction, no matter what form it was coming in. Snape seemed to have other plans for him though, as his voice cut through the busy silence. "Mr. Potter, may I see you in the hall?" Cedric's eyes met Harry's own, both questioning what he did and assuring Harry that their earlier conversation wasn't over, before Harry stood and left the room.

"Yes, Professor?" He wasn't sure why he kept getting put in this position, but he didn't hate it. Snape looked him up and down for a long minute.

"Are you alright, Mr. Potter?" The question, like so many others that Snape had asked him in the past, caught Harry off guard.

"Uh, yeah. I'm doing well. Why?" At another point in time, Harry wouldn't have asked why. Now, they were teetering on the line between professionalism and friendship.

"You looked flushed is all." Harry was reminded of the blush that had rushed to his cheeks at the mere thought of a nearly naked Riddle pressed more closely to him than his current clothing, and he fought to keep a second wave of heat down. Snape, clearly taking his silence for something else, continued on. "Also, you haven't responded to my request over the Boy-Who-Lived, and I wasn't sure if I was placing too much pressure on you or—" Harry blinked. He had never heard the professor do anything close to rambling before, and he couldn't help but think that, despite Snape's age, it was kind of cute.

"I promise I'm fine, Professor. And, if you ever find the Boy-Who-Lived, I'll try my best to be there." He would definitely be there, actually, but saying something like that might give away more than he was willing to offer. Harry offered his professor a toothy smile, unsure if there was anything else he was needed for or if he was allowed to reenter the class.

"Mr. Potter, I—" He looked as though there was something important he wanted to say but apparently decided against it as he simply said, "Thank you." Harry offered another, more genuine smile before entering the classroom again. Cedric looked at him as he slid back into his seat, and the curiosity in the air was practically tangible.

"I'll tell you after class." Cedric was the only one (besides Draco) who knew about Snape wanting to meet the Boy-Who-Lived, though Cedric didn't know anything about Harry's own role as said boy. A nod was all Harry got in response, but it was all he needed. They would have plenty of time to chat after class.