Disclaimer: Rowlin' in the deeeep~ (Erm, that was lame xD) I own nothing.

Warning: M for slash (HP/TMRLV), Post-GoF, slightly insane and definitely dark Harry

"Normal dialogue"

*Parseltongue*

'Thoughts'

A not-so-Harry-Potter Harry entered Riddle Manor's study.

Fire crackled merrily in the fireplace and bathed the room in orange. Shadows flickered across the walls.

Harry's eyes slowly adjusted to the warm light and tried to read the expression of the imposing figure in front of the hearth.

The Dark Lord was behind a large desk and had his back to the flames, making it hard to see anything beside his silhouette at first. Voldemort used it to his advantage and eyed the familiar yet unfamiliar young man in front of him.

This Harry was without glasses and was wearing black formal robes over a plain, dark grey turtleneck. His lower body was clad in black trousers and his feet tucked in in polished combat boots. His green eyes reflected the dancing flames and one could be given the impression that the Killing Curse was just lurking behind those eyes, ready to strike. He looked calm, composed and older. The only hint of the impudent boy that the Dark Lord met days past was the nest of untameable jet-black hair that strangely didn't clash with the boy's formal get-up.

Harry, unable to see the Dark Lord's face at this position, decided to act on it. He bowed at his waist and greeted Voldemort with a clear "My Lord." He remained bowed and waited for the Dark Lord's permission for him to stand straight again.

Lord Voldemort rose from his seat and sauntered towards Harry. He observed the young man and circled around him in a predatory manner. When he completed the circle, he stood close in front of Harry and said in an unaffected, almost bored, voice, "Points for effort, Potter, but I told you to call me Tom when in this form."

Harry, still bowing, tilted his head up to stare at the Dark Lord. True enough, the young face of Tom Riddle greeted him instead of the reptilian monster plaguing the nightmares of many.

"And I told you to call me Stoirm, Tom," he smirked with a gleam in his eyes.

'Ah, there he is,' Tom thought. He caught Harry's eyes and noticed how fast they always seemed to find themselves in a sensual position. Harry was bowing down at the waist but was holding his head up, drawing notice to his slender neck, his adam's apple accentuated by the tilt of his head. Tom, with his head held high, stared down at the boy and couldn't help getting sidetracked by the way Harry's face was too close to his abdomen.

Harry seemed to follow his train of thought because his eyes took on a mischievous glint and he stuck his tongue out and, slowly and provocatively, licked his upper lip.

Tom growled and struck. His left hand was grabbing the boy's hair backwards and his right held his wand to the boy's chin. Both were once again surprised at the intense and overwhelming feeling of raw magic sparked by the skin on skin contact. Harry's eyes glazed over and Tom fought to ignore the pleasant electricity travelling between them. The Dark Lord should always be in control and Harry Potter was proving to be something short of a weakness of his and that annoyed him. He lightly trailed his wand's point down Harry's neck and stopped at the hollow between the boy's collarbones. Tom increased the pressure on his wand and he saw Harry's mouth open slightly, letting out a low moan.

"I warned you before," he rasped out, his voice sounding husky even to his own ears. That just irritated him more. "Crucio."

As soon as he said the incantation, he released his hold on Harry and stepped back.

The-Boy-Who-Lived's legs buckled under him and he was left kneeling on the floor. His back arched, and pain, glorious pain, beyond anything Harry had ever experienced, coursed through his body, ferociously assaulting every inch of him. He screamed with reckless abandon. A small part of him that wasn't intoxicated with pain yet noted everything and was torn between feeling mortified and turned on at half-screaming, half-moaning in pure unadulterated pleasure in front of the Dark Lord. He felt his hands claw wildly at his shoulders, trying to contain his convulsing body.

And then it was gone.

Harry felt his body go limp and he almost collapsed on the floor. But he was anything if not stubborn so remained kneeling. He was shivering and there were still slight tremors rippling across his chest and he almost whimpered at how good the subsiding ripples of pain felt on his currently sore and oversensitive body. He was so focused on remaining on his knees and keeping his mind straight that he barely noticed Tom crouching low around a foot away front of him. Tom was grinning darkly, perfect teeth flashed, and one thin eyebrow was raised in amusement.

"Who could have thought that the Light's Golden Boy would enjoy pain to that extent?" he asked in a slightly teasing voice followed by an elegant snort, because if anyone could make a snort elegant, it would be Tom Riddle.

Harry wondered if his brain was still addled by the cruciatus, because surely the Dark Lord wasn't teasing him and snorting at his expense?

"Who could have thought that the Dark Lord can do something as plebeian as snorting?" he croaked. Just because he was recently under Voldemort's crucio didn't mean he'd become a sniffling mess.

Nevertheless, he knew he had crossed the line with his comment and expected Tom to at least hex him. But the older man simply smirked.

"Believe me, Stoirm, snorting is not the only plebeian thing I do," he drawled, making a point of slowly raking his eyes over Harry's kneeling body from head to toe.

'I am bantering with Voldemort and getting away with it,' he thought disbelievingly.

But even the absurdity of the situation wasn't enough to distract him from the man's fervent gaze.

Harry lowered his lashes. "Oh? What else do you do? Care for a demonstration?"

Voldemort stayed still for a moment before shifting from his crouch. He put both hands down and crawled to close the remaining distance between him and Harry.

It extremely surprised Harry to see the Dark Lord on his knees, even more so on his hands and knees, but with Tom's lithe body gracefully and languidly moving towards him, Harry's mind was more dominated by the fact that the man looked like a cat.

Before he could comment on how amusing that was, Tom put his weight on his arms and lowered himself to be eye-level with Harry. His face was so close Harry could feel their breaths mingling together. Tom's pupils were dilated and Harry was glad to see that he had the same effect on the man as he did on him. The static he always felt at contact with the man was now surrounding him in a mild haze, beckoning him to feel it fully, to touch bare skin.

As he was about to raise his hand to initiate contact, Tom's face crept even closer and Harry could have sworn that his lips were less than a centimetre away. Crimson eyes stared at emerald ones, both pairs unblinking. Harry was getting impatient.

"No," Tom answered in reply to the forgotten question about a demonstration. He shot up and strode across the room towards the desk. His back was to Harry and he saw the man's shoulders rise and fall as he steadied his breaths.

"Let's get down to business, Stoirm. You have a lot of explaining to do."

Harry, irritated at himself for the wasted opportunity and at the Dark Lord for being a fucking tease, turned serious at the mention of explaining.

He closed his eyes and ran his right hand through his hair in an attempt to calm down. "It all began when I was barely two years old."

A/N: Yeaaa, sorry about the ending. I have morning class in a few hours and I haven't slept yet orz

Maybe the story's confusing to some but I promise to write Harry's story next chapter *u*