All was black, and Harry's ribs were being pressed so tightly, surely they would be crushed. His hair was damp, his collar wet, and his ears filled with that anguished cry he'd heard at that ghostly King's Cross.
Harry realized that this blackness wasn't some new oblivion. Rather, it was Lord Voldemort's dress robes.
"Come back to me."
Harry stirred, then, as best he could. He tried to say Tom's name but could only get out a weak "Mnnnnhh."
Tom pulled back to release Harry from his death grip, and Harry was fascinated to see the Dark Lord's face wet with tears. He wanted to reach up to wipe them away, but he couldn't find the strength to move his hands.
"Harry. Harry." Voldemort kept repeating his name, as if it were the incantation of a spell that he had to get just right. "My Harry."
After an eternity of looking directly into those perfect crimson eyes, Harry found the strength to smile. "Hey," he croaked out. "S'okay. I'm okay." If he were being honest, he felt as though he'd been run over by the Hogwarts Express. Twice.
Harry watched in horror as the fleeting relief sketched upon Tom's face shifted to rage. Harry would have flinched back had he been able, but he was too exhausted, and Voldemort was holding him with an iron will. Harry clenched his eyes shut; he couldn't take those livid eyes drilling into his own.
And he felt none of the Dark Lord's anger, except where his powerful fingers dug deep into each of his shoulders. The connection which had linked one soul to the other for seventeen years was cold. Voldemort must have realized that, too. Harry had lost his precious piece of soul.
"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, though too quiet for even the dead to hear.
But when Voldemort shook him and spoke, he didn't mention the Horcrux at all. "Why didn't you come when I called? Why?"
Harry was so startled by the question that his eyes flew wide. He took in the tight lines around Tom's eyes, the grim set of his mouth. There was more than anger here.
"I couldn't bring it back. I tried, Tom. I tried." Was Harry even allowed to call the Dark Lord that anymore? Had he that right? He pulled back, feebly, feeling completely miserable.
In doing so, he remembered that they weren't alone.
They were encircled by all the wedding guests. Ron was kneeling a few feet away, the expression of horror on his face only slowly morphing to that of relief. Hermione was hurriedly rummaging through her beaded bag. Snape already had a draught of some potion or other in his outstretched hand. Narcissa was a tittering worry, murmuring out diagnostic charms.
Draco had his hawthorn wand pressed rigidly to the hollow of Luna's throat. If Ron had looked horrified, Draco looked devastated, even as Harry sat up and took in the two of them. Harry had never seen his pointed features so pale. Next to him, Luna was no better. Her already protuberant eyes boggled out with astonishment and surprise.
"Whoops," she said. "I didn't think it would do that."
Hermione was ready with righteous anger. "What in the blazes did you think it would do? It's a Basilisk, for fuck's sake."
"But Harry's a Parselmouth." Luna was nearly whimpering in her distress.
"Not anymore," Harry said, bitterly. He'd held out hope that it wasn't true, that King's Cross had been some awful nightmare, that maybe he really was still a Horcrux. But Nagini was slithering about him, hissing and trying to console him.
And he couldn't understand a word of it.
"I'm not anything." Harry was sure everyone, Legilimens of not, must feel his heart breaking. Surely this pain couldn't be contained in one feeble body.
Voldemort rubbed along Harry's back. "You're my husband," he declared with words more weighted than any vow.
Harry hunched his shoulders. Why would Tom still want him?
"You're my friend," said Ron. Murmurs of agreement went round those gathered around.
Snape was beside him, now, kneeling and pressing a potion to Harry's lips. He was as pale as any of them; maybe more so, comparatively, considering his normal sallow skin tone. "A calming draught," he explained.
"Bloody hell, I think I need something stronger than that. I feel…" Harry didn't know how he felt. Like half of him was missing, he guessed. He looked at Tom, who hadn't once taken his eyes off Harry, not even to turn to Luna and curse her to oblivion.
Lord Voldemort was a broken soul. Just like him. Maybe they were even more suited now. No matter that Harry's original soul was intact, it was no longer complete.
Hermione was berating Luna again. Her words filtered in and out of Harry's mind; he only caught snatches of what was being said:
"…Don't you dare tell me it was Nargles that made you do it."
"But it was! They said…"
They were hushed by Lucius, who also pushed Draco's wand down, away from Luna's throat. Harry barely noticed.
Voldemort hissed something, and all the hairs on the back of Harry's neck rose in answer.
"I don't understand you," he confessed. Nagini had wound around Voldemort's shoulders and flickered her tongue at him. Could she sense he wasn't her brother anymore? Would she still care for him? Harry's hand faltered on the way to pet her. Would she welcome his touch?
"You can learn," Tom told him.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut against the onslaught of tears. But he nodded obediently. He would learn, even if it took him the rest of his life.
"He said he's proud of you," Harry whispered.
"Who did?" Voldemort asked, wary of any message from beyond the grave.
Harry did his best to project the vision of Albus Dumbledore, clad in pearly white and bereaved by all the dreadful choices he'd made. But when he finally peeked through wet lashes, Voldemort's eyes were set with confusion. He hadn't seen any of Harry's thoughts.
Great. One more thing lost.
"Dumbledore. He met me there," he tried to explain. But he remembered something, then. Mirroring Voldemort, he narrowed his eyes. "After the Battle of Hogwarts, you said that you could read my mind, no matter if I was a Horcrux or not. That my mind was that unguarded."
Was that a blush on Tom Riddle's cheeks? "I might have been gloating," he admitted. More seriously, he added, "You will surely be glad for your privacy, now."
Harry laughed mirthlessly. "Not really." The memory of Dumbledore urged him on to say, "He also said…"
Dumbledore had also said that Tom loved him. But what if it weren't true?
When he realized that Harry wasn't going to keep talking, Tom said, "Thank you for coming back to me." He pressed his lips to Harry's forehead, to the inert scar, with as much reverence as he'd ever bestowed it when it still held his soul. "It wasn't home without you." His words were a benediction and a promise. A memory and a foreshadowing of all the wonders still to come.
Home. Never had so simple a word meant so much.
Harry pulled away, only to lean into Tom's lips and kiss him softly. In a voice so quiet it sounded almost like the forgotten Parseltongue, he whispered, "I love you, too."
….
A/N That's it. I hope you enjoyed the story. I have great optimism for the future of this world, though I will leave what happens next to your all too capable imaginations. In my own mind, everything is going to work out for the best. I would like to thank each and every one of my readers for staying with me for this journey, especially those of you who left comments and kudos. Again, thank you and take care of yourselves.
