~To Kill You With A Kiss~

Chapter 14

...

For M, who loved the rain.

...

Harry slept in Tom's arms until morning. As he slept, he dreamed of Voldemort. But he no longer dreamed of the terrifying Voldemort he knew so well from his nightmares, the familiar figure whose inhuman features had hovered, pale and startling, in his nightly dreams for years. Now his dreams were haunted by a more shadowy Dark Lord he didn't know, a formless Voldemort of the future, faceless and cloaked in utter darkness. Harry felt his mind reach out for this unknown Voldemort. Your face. Show me your face. Are your eyes still gleaming scarlet under your hood, or is your gaze silver, like Tom's? But the immaterial figure of the Dark Lord was beyond his grasp, a hovering shade without form or substance, darker than darkness, more elusive than wind. Who are you, Voldemort? Are you Tom?

But something reached softly into Harry's dreams and dispelled the haunting shadow of Voldemort. Harry, lingering between dreams and wakefulness, sensed something against his forehead, and he knew that it was Tom, kissing his scar over and over again, as if he wanted to kiss Voldemort's mark away.

When Harry finally opened his eyes to the grey-white light of early dawn, he looked into Tom's luminous silver-grey eyes, and a faint tingling sensation that hovered about his lips told him that Tom's mouth had been there a moment before.

"Good morning," whispered Tom.

Harry smiled. "Good morning. Were you watching me sleep?"

Tom flushed a little. "Maybe I was. I couldn't help it; you are so beautiful when you sleep."

"But if you had woken me up instead, we could have made love before breakfast." Tom's skin was still warm from sleep, and Harry couldn't bear the thought of tearing himself away from Tom quite yet.

"It's still early enough for that, my love." Tom pressed a series of deep kisses against Harry's throat, and Harry managed a weak protest, although he could feel his body respond with an aching arousal.

"Tom, you are going to leave a mark. Everyone will know."

"Know what?" breathed Tom against his skin. "That you belong to me? I hope so. Even Abraxas Malfoy should be able to take this hint."

Harry laughed and squirmed away. "Well, in that case, here's an equally visible hint for Walburga. And for Slughorn as well, who's still lusting over you. Not that I can blame him for that, really." He kissed Tom's throat, hard.

"Ouch, you vampire." Tom laughed. "Is this better?" He kissed Harry gently on the lips, again and again. "Mmm. So, you know poor Horace's secret, do you? Don't tell him you know, Harry; he'll die of shame."

"I won't. Tom, did Slughorn ever try to...? Oh." Harry flushed as a memory from Tom's mind penetrated his consciousness: Slughorn's face, filled with a terrible, desperate wanting, as he spoke to Tom: "Why should I tell you more about horcruxes, Tom? What could possibly induce me to share such dangerous forbidden knowledge with a student?" And Tom had smiled and brushed Slughorn's cheek lightly with his hand, and Slughorn had closed his eyes and whispered hoarsely: "What will you do for me in return, Tom-?" The question had lingered, dangerously and suggestively in the air for a moment, but then Tom had answered softly: "Nothing, Horace. I offer you nothing in return. But you will tell me anyway, because I want you to." And Slughorn had opened his eyes and gazed into Tom's silver eyes for a long time. And then he had sighed and nodded. "You are right, Tom, my beautiful angel. Of course I will tell you anyway. How could I deny you anything?"

Harry stroked Tom's curls absently, still haunted by the expression on Slughorn's face. "Poor Slughorn... You have a lot of power over people, Tom."

"Poor Slughorn? He practically propositioned a sixth year student."

"I know. But my heart is breaking for him anyway."

Tom traced the curve of Harry's lips with his finger. "How can you read my mind so well, Harry? You never told me about that part. Does that have something to do with... with Voldemort as well?"

Harry kissed the finger that lingered against his lips. How terribly odd to hear you speak of Voldemort. "Oh. Yes. I... I didn't understand that myself until the day we were walking together on the moor. I had often wondered why there was this curious connection between... between Voldemort's mind and mine. Between you and me. I thought that perhaps it had something to do with my scar, but I wasn't sure."

"And does it?" Tom's lips brushed gently against his scar.

"In a way." Harry swallowed. "I told you about the horcruxes Voldemort created in the future. But it wasn't until I met you - the real you, not him - that I realized that there was one more horcrux, one that Voldemort created accidentally, the night he murdered my parents."

"Another horcrux? What horcrux?" Tom was pale now.

Harry wound his arms around Tom's neck. "Me, Tom. I am your horcrux."

He could sense the sudden shock that ran through Tom's mind, a jolt of fear and distress. But there was something else there was well, a strange aching sweetness.

"You are a horcrux?" whispered Tom. "My horcrux? But you are a person. Can a person be a horcrux? Oh, God, Harry, what have I done to you? You... You are my soul-?"

Harry held Tom close and whispered in Parseltongue: *Yes, Tom. Your soul. I am you and you are me. We are one.*

Tom moaned. "Will you stop that, Harry! I'm trying to comprehend the strange and terrible and... and wonderful... thing you just told me, but you are making me lose my train of thought when you speak like that."

Harry smiled and muttered against Tom's ear, still in Parseltongue. *Why? What does it do to you when I speak to you like this? Tell me, Tom.*

Tom groaned. "Stop, Harry... I'm trying to think..."

*Want to know what I'm thinking, Tom? I'm thinking of you inside me, inside my body and my soul.*

"Oh, Merlin." Tom moaned helplessly and ran his fingers over Harry's skin. His hands brushed down Harry's back and over his backside. "You... Oh, God. You."

He rolled Harry over on his side and wrapped his arms tightly around him from behind. The familiar spell fell from Tom's lips as a sigh. Harry could feel Tom's hot breath, ragged and uneven, against his neck. Trembling hands stroked down Harry's chest and stomach and wrapped around his already rock-hard shaft.

"You are my... horcrux? Mine? You are mine..." For a moment, Harry thought he recognized Voldemort's curiously cold voice in Tom's whisper, and he trembled as he realized that he found the dark longing in Tom's voice almost unbearably arousing. Harry closed his eyes and shivered as he felt Tom's hand caress his length with frenzied strokes, and then Tom's shaft, pushing frantically into him from behind. Tom. Voldemort. Tom. Harry moaned as Tom thrust into him, slow and deep and hard at first, then with a growing frenzy. *My horcrux. My soul.*

*Tom!*

*My horcrux. Mine. You are mine, Harry. All mine.*

...

Harry rolled out of the warm bed with a groan and reached for his crumpled clothes.

Tom leaned up on one elbow and watched him with a smile as he got dressed. "Hey! That is my shirt. This time, you're doing it on purpose!"

"Mm-hmm." Harry grinned as he buttoned the shirt and slid the silver locket horcrux around his neck. "I guess you'll have to take mine."

"Oh, don't worry, I will." Tom tumbled out of bed as well and began putting his clothes - and Harry's shirt - back on. His hair was wild and mussed from sleep and love, and Harry couldn't help staring at him.

"What?" Tom looked at him quizzically, his face flushed and his shirt half-buttoned.

*You are beautiful.*

Tom groaned. "Have mercy on me, Harry. No more Parseltongue until this evening, or we'll never make it to class today... And you'd better not let Abraxas hear you speak like that. Ever."

"I can't see you till this evening?" Harry's stomach gave a strange little lurch.

"We will see each other, of course, but not alone. Unless..." Tom turned and gazed at the window. Light silvered drops of rain were dancing against the windowpane. "It's raining. Your Quidditch practice will probably be canceled. Even Abraxas won't want to practice in weather like this. Perhaps we can go for a walk together in the afternoon."

Harry looked out at the light drizzle that fell steadily from the dark grey sky. "A walk? But it's raining! If it's raining too much for Quidditch practice, why do you want to go for a walk?"

Tom's arms wrapped tightly around his waist. "I've always liked the rain. Have you never gone for a walk when it's raining like this? It's such an odd enchanted feeling, walking in the forest in the rain. Come with me this afternoon, Harry? Please?"

I never knew that Voldemort liked to walk in the rain.

"Of course, Tom. I'll see you this afternoon."

...

A murmur ran through the Great Hall as Harry found his seat at the Slytherin table at breakfast time.

"Elias? Where the hell have you been?" Cygnus glanced up sharply.

"Are you all right?" Orion looked at him with concern in his large black eyes. Harry couldn't help noticing that even Orion's long dark curls could not completely hide a small dark bruise on his throat. Been seeing a lot of Walburga these past few weeks, have you Orion?

Harry felt fairly certain that the beginnings of a similar bruise was blooming on his own throat, and he felt his cheeks grow hot. "I've been... away. Long story. I can't really talk about it. But I'm back now. What's new?" He helped himself to scrambled eggs and a pile of sausages.

"What's new?" Abraxas stared at him. "Merlin! You disappear into thin air for two weeks, while the teachers turn over every stone in the castle looking for you and Tom Riddle combs the Forbidden Forest for any sign of you, and then you suddenly reappear at breakfast and ask us what's new?" Abraxas flung a piece of toast at Harry's head. "You are impossible, you know that?"

Harry laughed and threw the toast back at him. "Sorry, Abraxas. I'm... I'm afraid I don't have anything to tell you."

"That's all right, Elias. We all know that." Alphard broke calmly into the conversation. "Tom Riddle told us that your absence had to do with a dark wizard, and that we are not to ask any further questions. I think we should respect that, Abraxas."

"I'd respect Riddle's opinion a lot more if he didn't beat me up the moment Elias disappeared," muttered Abraxas, rubbing a dark bruise on his cheek ruefully. "As if I am in the habit of threatening people's health and safety!"

Harry grinned. "Well, you must admit that it would not be inconceivable for you to get a fellow student so drunk on moonflower punch that he wouldn't be able to stir for a few weeks."

Abraxas sighed and helped himself to bacon. "True, of course. Those things can happen. But if you had spent two weeks in my tender care, lying unconscious and defenseless in some secret location of my choosing, do you really think I would have been coming to class all that time? Seriously?" He ducked as Harry groaned and tossed more toast at him.

"Cut it out, both of you!" Cygnus looked sternly at them. "Need I remind you that you are a prefect, Abraxas?"

Abraxas raised an eyebrow at him. His grey eyes glittered. "Thank you for the reminder, Cygnus. Well, then, Elias: Being a prefect, I hereby dock you five points for scaring the shit out of all of us. So there."

Cygnus stared at Abraxas, aghast. "You can't do that, you idiot. He's in Slytherin! You can't dock points from your own house."

"Says who?" Abraxas chewed serenely on his bacon. "The headmaster didn't say anything about that during Prefect Orientation. Now, let this be a lesson to you, Elias. If you ever dare pull a disappearing act like that again, I'll deduct five hundred points. From Slytherin."

Harry couldn't help laughing as a storm of indignant protests broke out among the other Slytherin students. "It's all right, Abraxas. I won't. If only for the sake of the House Cup."

"We missed you at rehearsals for the pantomime, Elias," said Eileen Prince softly. "Well, at least some of us did..." She looked coldly at Araminta.

Did Harry just imagine it, or did Araminta turn ever so slightly pink? She shrugged and said, with a rather cold glance at Harry: "Lupin is not such a bad knight after all. He is an excellent kisser, and he is a pureblood wizard after all, even if he is in Gryffindor."

Harry looked quizzically at Orion, who smiled and nodded his head ever so slightly. Really? Araminta and John Lupin? But then... But what about Remus? Merlin, don't tell me that I've somehow messed up the future again... Harry sighed deeply.

"I expect you will take over the part of Sir Luckless again now that you are back." The tone of Araminta's voice made it fairly clear that she was not at all happy about this prospect.

"What-? No. Absolutely not." Harry shook his head with great determination. "I've... missed a lot of classes. I'll have a hard enough time catching up with my schoolwork as it is. I do not have time for the pantomime right now. I'm sorry."

"Oh, well. Schoolwork has to come first, I suppose." Araminta looked slightly mollified now. Her glance drifted, almost imperceptibly, over to the Gryffindor table.

Harry wished vaguely that he had thought to ask Hermione during his brief visit to the future what did happen to Beery's Christmas disastrous pantomime. He knew he had heard something about it, long ago. Sir Luckless and Amata were falling for each other... Yes, that part sounded right. But wasn't there something about them breaking up because... because of what exactly? Because... Sir Luckless has fallen in love with Asha instead-? Harry glanced doubtfully over to the Gryffindor table, where the freckled Augusta Moon was balancing a spoon on the tip of her nose, to the applause of her fellow Gryffindors. No. No, he did not remember that part right.

Harry rather enjoyed the rest of his school day. Curious looks and hushed whispers followed him through the day, but he was used to those from his years as the Chosen One in a distant future, so he didn't mind too much.

Herbology with Professor Beery never seemed to involve any actual magical plants; the curriculum had been put on hold until after the pantomime at Christmas. Beery did occasionally remember to assign them a few random chapters on asphodel and flitterblooms to read, but since they never went over the materials in class, no one actually read them. Beery was terribly dismayed to learn that Harry did not want to resume the role of the tragic Sir Luckless, but Araminta was able to help convince him that Harry needed desperately to catch up on his missed homework instead.

"I know that it must break his heart not to be able to take part in the play," she had said softly, gazing at Beery with her brilliant sapphire eyes, "but as a prefect, I feel that it is my duty to insist that his education must take precedence. "

Beery couldn't very well argue with that, so Harry had spent Herbology writing a long essay for Slughorn about the Draught of Living Death while watching the pantomime rehearsals out of the corner of his eye. He recalled enough of the future Half Blood Prince's improvements on the instructions in the textbook that he was fairly certain his essay would blow Slughorn's mind.

The play was going quite well now. Sir Luckless, in Lupin's passionate rendition, pined so longingly for Amata that Professor Beery inquired, in all seriousness, if he had taken a love potion prior to rehearsal. The infirm Asha was looking so greenish pale that Harry suspected that Augusta had cast a few nausea-inducing charms on herself. At one point, she did indeed throw up rather spectacularly all over the Giant Worm, much to the delight of the bored chorus, who was just supposed to hum softly in the background during that particular scene. Druella Rosier had flatly refused to wear the grimy rags Professor Beery had found for the downtrodden Altheda. She had substituted her own delicate chiffon rags instead, which, although badly torn, had an undeniable Parisian flair. Little groups of giggling green-clad house-elves performed some rather bizarre ring dances, and the enchanted fountain bubbled so merrily to the music that several of the actors got quite wet.

Professor Binns' History of Magic class later in the day was as tranquilizing as always; the little professor's dry and creaky voice soon had the entire class lulled into a comfortable sleep. Harry wondered vaguely when he woke up from his dreamless slumber an hour later whether anyone would ever know whether Professor Binns really talked about the history of magic the entire time. Perhaps he waits till everyone is asleep before switching topics. Perhaps he talks about the deepest mysteries of time and space, reveals that the lost land of Atlantis is located in one of the Liverpool suburbs, or tells us how to transfigure pumpkin juice into the Elixir of Life. I don't suppose anyone will ever know.

Harry hurried up to Dumbledore before Transfiguration class and slipped him the chocolate frog card he had brought with him from the future. Dumbledore stared at it, an expression of absolute delight spreading over his face. He thanked Harry warmly and muttered as he slipped the card into the pockets of his robes: "Twelve uses of dragon's blood? Dear me, that's quite a feat. I can only think of four. I wonder if carpet cleaner...? No, that's not very likely..."

Dumbledore did not comment on Harry's absence or return; he merely smiled and commenced the day's lesson, which involved transforming wilted flowers into live ones. Alphard Black turned out to be remarkably good at this, but Harry noticed with a smile that some of Alphard's most spectacular flowers appeared to come from his pockets rather than from the pile of dried lilacs in front of him. Another journey into springtime, Alphard?

...

Since he didn't have Defense Against the Dark Arts that day, Harry only saw Tom at a distance until the afternoon. The all too brief glimpses of dark curls and silver eyes made his heart flutter, and he smiled as he felt his neck carefully for the slight bruise that he knew must be there. To his relief, the autumn rain continued to fall all day, and Abraxas had no choice but to cancel Quidditch practice after tea. John Lupin did the same for the Gryffindor team, but he grumbled far less than Abraxas as he trailed after Araminta in the direction of the library.

As soon as he left the Great Hall, Harry sensed Tom by his side. They didn't speak until they were out on the grounds; they merely walked silently out into the rain together. The rain fell softly from the dark grey sky, and the light beads of water clung to their hair and skin and moistened their robes. As soon as they reached the Forbidden Forest, Tom reached out for Harry's hand. The walked together, hand in hand, in silence for a while under the ancient trees. A light silvery mist hung over the forest; the crowns of the tall oaks vanished in grey and white far above their heads. The dying leaves of the oak trees had turned scarlet and gold, but their colors seemed to glow more faintly now, lost in a shroud of silver and grey. Harry breathed in the scent of wood and earth and rain. It was quiet here under the tall trees; no birds or animals stirred. There were no sounds but the soothing rhythm of rain against leaves and their own breathing. He reached out and touched the little drops of rain that lingered, like tiny pearls, in Tom's hair.

Tom kissed him softly on the lips. His kiss was warm against Harry's mouth. They wrapped their arms around each other and stood still together under the trees, listening to the lilting cadence of the rain.

"I always liked the rain," whispered Tom. "Ever since I was a child, in the orphanage. Everyone else would always rush inside when the rain fell, but I would sneak outside in secret and go for walks by myself. Sometimes the matron would come and look for me, stomping angrily towards me under her large furiously red umbrella, demanding to know if I was insane. According to her, no sane person would be out in the pouring rain. But I always thought of the rain as a friend. It touches you so gently, it feels like a caress, like a kiss almost. And no one can tell if you are crying in the rain; your tears become raindrops like all the others."

Harry kissed Tom's face. His skin was moist and cold from the rain. "I wonder if he remembers the rain, Tom..."

"Voldemort?" Tom looked at him. His grey eyes were almost the same color as the rain. "I don't know, Harry. I wish I knew."

They walked slowly through the forest together until it was beginning to grow dark. By the time they came back to the school, they were both wet to the skin, but neither one cared. They let go of each other's hands before they walked up the ancient stone steps leading up to the castle.

"Thank you for showing me the rain, Tom."

Professor Dippet appeared in the doorway. "Merlin's beard, what are you doing, boys? You are both soaked! Are you insane, walking outside in rain like that?"

Tom and Harry both laughed as they slipped past him into the warmth of the castle.

But a tall, grave figure was waiting for them right inside the door. "There you are. I have been looking for both of you. I'm afraid I have some bad news."

It was Alphard Black, and he had a distinctly worried expression on his face.