The Abyss

by Aisling-Siobhan

Nietzsche was right! When fighting monsters, Harry should have been more careful not to become one. That didnt matter anymore. It was too late to save himself. He could still save the world from Voldemort but who would save Voldemort from him? Darkfic AU

3. Chapter 3 of 4

I've had 3,000 words of this chapter written since February 2010… But I just never got around to finishing it. I'm sorry! I had hoped that this fiction would only be about 2 chapters long, and it has spiralled out of control! So chapters 01 and 02 were pre-written before I posted them: 03 and 04 have not been. I am doing them as I go along, though I have now planned them out on paper, at least.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed. Strangely, no one has called me "sick", "depraved", or "disgusting" yet, or at least I don't think they have? Hmm, I find I sort of miss it XD

OMG! Do you want to know something sick? I thought I was perverse, writing this and all, but… I was in the cinema a while ago! And the woman who owned the place actually threw two people out because they were having full on sex in the back of the cinema. They were 12 and 14 years old. 0_o

"The Abyss"

Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me. I make no money from this story, so please don't sue me. Harry Potter is the property of JK Rowling and Warner Bros, etc.

Summary: [HP/LV] Nietzsche was right! When fighting monsters, Harry should have been more careful not to become one himself. That didn't matter anymore. It was too late to save himself, yet he could still save the world from Voldemort. But who would save Voldemort from him?

Warnings: Slash. LV/HP. HP/LV(TMR). AU. Violence. Language. Underage. Chan. Child Abuse. Rape/Implied Rape. Post DH, EWE? Child grooming.

Rating: R/NC-17 SLASH!

A/N: Once again, we have LJ user EVILDIME to thank for this wonderfully depraved story. Thank you for requesting it!

XXX

"When you stare long enough into the abyss, the abyss stares back into you." – Nietzsche.

Words: 14,434

The Abyss 3/4

December 18th 1937. 10 years old. 1

( warning: sex & underage )

A hand caressed the length of his thigh and Tom smiled softly to himself. The hand moved, up and down, teasing the skin of Tom's leg, and Harry's other hand was gripped tight around the child's cock. Tom hummed lightly, tilting his head back so that it rested on Harry's chest. The elder Wizard was spooned behind him, holding him closely against his front, and his own penis nudging against Tom's arse.

"Harry," the boy moaned. His hips rocked backwards, pressing himself wantonly against Harry's erection. "Please, please," he begged in a breathy whisper.

The hand that had been on Tom's thigh moved lower, slipping down between their sweaty bodies, and a finger pressed firmly against the puckered ring of muscle that guarded Tom's entrance. The child gave a soft cry, biting down hard on his bottom lip, as Harry unfalteringly pushed one finger into the boy. A second finger followed, wet with only saliva. Tom groaned, his chin tucked against his chest, and he curled over slightly as if trying to protect himself from the pain, but he didn't ask Harry to stop and his hips kept undulating in time with Harry stroking his cock. Tom gave a hoarse cry as Harry's fingers rubbed firmly against his prostate, and he flung his head back, his mouth remaining open as he panted.

He didn't ejaculate, but he did release a whimpered, gargled moan, as his hips jerked sporadically. The middle finger of Harry's other hand was pushing against the slit of Tom's penis, his nail scrapping at the sensitive head, and the child nearly blacked out from the sensations that raged through his young body.

When Tom had stopped trembling, Harry removed his hands, curling his fingers so that they scrapped against Tom's insides and the flesh of his softening penis.2

"Sit up, Tom," Harry instructed in his bedroom voice. It was husky and low, his words almost rolled off of his tongue in a purr as Harry leant forward to drip them sensually into Tom's attentive ear.

The child scrambled to his knees, turning himself to face Harry who was still hard and spread across the bed. A soft smile curved up Tom's lips, and he crawled onto Harry, sitting himself directly in the man's lap. Though he had yet to be penetrated during sex, Tom knew that this was his favourite position, though it was likely not Harry's. Harry indulged him, on special occasions: like this one, as his Hogwarts letter was due soon. Tom was very careful to sit so that Harry's cock was wedged between the cheeks of his arse, and he rocked back slowly, forward and back, and smirked smugly to himself as Harry gave a harsh groan of pleasure as Tom bounced on his lap.

When Harry came across his bum, it was with a shout of Tom's name, and his nails digging painfully into Tom's side as he ground himself up one more time, shuddering as his orgasm washed over him. Harry petted the pale, nail-bitten skin softly, pushing Tom to the side and watching blank faced as Tom swirled his pale fingers through Harry's sperm and sucked them into his mouth. Navy eyes locked onto Harry's green ones, and Tom licked and sucked the come off of his own backside as Harry watched him transfixed.

"You should stop now, Tom," Harry warned in a soft voice, "unless you plan on taking something else into that greedy mouth of yours."

( warning ends )

Tom's face flushed crimson, and he turned his head away in embarrassment. He seemed to have no problem performing acts of a sexual nature, nor talking about them, but when Harry teased him about performing such acts Tom would suddenly become shy and unsure, as if afraid that his performance hadn't been up to par.

Tom slid from the bed, wiping his fingers against his bare thigh. Harry watched him, still sprawled out across the bed, as Tom crossed to the kitchen and opened the window. An owl swept into the room, dropping a letter onto the bed, and then perching itself on top of the dresser. The photos of Jason and Anna and those other children were still there, turned upside down, under Harry's copy of The Catcher in the Rye, and the owl scratched at the book in agitation, as if knowing exactly what was hidden beneath it. It turned its head, cocked to one side, eyeing the couple of Wizards with a scary kind of intellect, and Harry was very tempted to kill it.

Tom's shout of excitement distracted Harry from his murderous thoughts.

"I got in! The School you went to accepted me, Harry! I got in!" He whirled around, unashamedly naked and launched himself onto the elder man.

Harry clung to him, caressing his back with rough hands and wide-splayed fingers, under the watchful eyes of the owl. "Congratulations. I told you that you would, didn't I? Would I lie to you, Tom?"

"Of course not!" Tom said, sounding scandalised by the very thought. "Do you want to hear what it says?" Tom asked, sitting back on Harry's thighs with his legs spread on either side of the man. Harry watched the boy, excited and innocent still, and he nodded. "To Mr. Harry's Tom," he started off and then frowned. "What is your surname anyway, Harry?"

"It's Potter," Harry informed him after a moment's silence. What harm could it do to tell Tom? The boy didn't know any other Potters, and there weren't any at Hogwarts during Tom's time anyway (just before and afterwards).

"How come that name wasn't on the letter?" He asked curiously.

Harry sighed. "You aren't a Potter. So they can't use that name. Now, what does it say?"

"To Mr. Harry's Tom, the Only Bedroom, Harry's Flat, Vauxhall Road, London." Tom smiled, turning the parchment over so that he could read its actual contents.

"Dear Mr. Tom,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1st 1938. We await your owl no later than July 31st 1938.

Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall."

Tom finished reading, and folded the parchment back up into a neat, tidy square. He handed Harry the equipment list and smiled widely. "Can we go to Diagon Alley soon?"

"You may be getting a little ahead of yourself there. Your first year at Hogwarts doesn't start until September of next year." Harry said, laughing softly.

"I know that! But I want to get a head start on the course work. Do you know how many books I could read between now and September, Harry? A lot! That's how many!"

Harry nodded his head in silence, too stunned by Tom's sudden resemblance to Hermione to remember how to speak. That would have been like something she would have said. He agreed to take Tom shopping for his school supplies early, but not quite that early. Instead, he promised to take Tom on holiday for his birthday. It was in a fortnight. "Where would you like to go?"

"The seaside," Tom said firmly.

The Orphanage had taken them a few years ago, but Harry hadn't gone with them. Instead, he had remained behind to look after Eric Whalley, and while Tom had never asked either male what had happened during that weekend, there was no doubt in the younger Wizard's mind that Eric had experienced something that Tom had yet to know for himself.

Harry.

XXX

December 31st 1937. 11 years old.

There was a cold wind blowing, and Tom hunched himself over, burrowing his face into his scarf to protect himself from its chill. Harry walked along side him, a smile on his face. Both Wizards were dressed in the full works: hats, scarves, gloves and furry coats. Tom even had Wellington boots on! Harry had taken care to tuck the child's trousers into his boots carefully, which had been a good idea actually, since Tom's first course of action upon arriving at the seaside was not to check into their inn, but instead to rush straight into the ocean. Harry had left him playing, and busied himself renting out one of the small cabins that lined the coast.

There were hotels and inns further in the town, but Harry preferred the privacy that residing on the actual beach would give them. It would be a little more expensive, but the extra money would be worth it in the long run.

It was their second day of their holiday, and Tom still seemed to be enthralled by the ocean. He looked once at Harry, and after receiving a nod, made his way to the waters edge, his back straight and his shoulders back. It was only once his feet made contact that Tom forgot about acting like a proper Wizard, and indulged in being a kid. He kicked water at the nearest other child, ignoring the girl's screech of anger, and then laughed as she ran away from him. He turned back to look at Harry, and the man merely raised an eyebrow, not bothered by his unkind behaviour. It hadn't been anything life threatening, merely average childishness, and so Harry let it pass, as he generally did.

Their cabin was only a ten-minute walk away from them, on the end of a short line of cabins and mostly isolated. Harry planned to use it to its full advantage later that night, the last night of their short holiday. But for now, Harry sat back on one of the sparse deck chairs sprinkled across the sand, and chuckled lowly as Tom terrorized a few of the other children. Parents glared in his direction, but Harry ignored them, and when one boy who reminded Harry a little too much of Dudley Dursley got splashed in the face because of Tom, Harry laughed out loud. It was loud enough to catch Tom's attention, and the child turned to grin at Harry widely, proudly.

It was only with his back to the other children that one of them was brave enough to shove Tom over, knocking the boy on his arse in the water. While Harry thought Tom probably deserved it, he still stood and made his way to intervene before Tom could even think about revenge of any sort.

"I don't want to be here anymore." Tom groused, kicking sand up with his shoe petulantly as Harry led his further down the line of water. "Let's go somewhere else."

"You wanted the seaside, Tom, so we came to the seaside. There isn't much more than sea and side, I promise you." Harry said with a sigh, looking down at the grumpy and wet boy in annoyance.

"There is something else!" Tom exclaimed, remembering the cave that had so fascinated him the first time he visited the ocean. Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop had gone exploring together and Tom had trailed curiously after them, but neither child had been willing to go into the cave with Tom, though all three stood together and looked inside. They hadn't let Tom go in on his own either, which honestly Tom wasn't too bothered about. He'd much rather explore the cavern with Harry there. "I bet you'll like it. Come on, it's this way!" He took Harry by the hand and tugged.

With a shake of his head, Harry acquiesced and allowed Tom to drag him away from the cabins and the sand and the other tourists. They were almost out of walking space, the ground completely washed away by sea, and Harry scowled as a wave broke over his toes. Tom pointed out into the distance, and Harry could see a cave a few miles over, seemingly floating in water.

"How did you discover that?" Harry asked, frowning.

"Our hotel was closer to that side, than this side. There's more sand here though, so it's nicer, but it was only a five minutes walk from where Mrs. Cole let us play to that cave." Tom paused, nibbling on his bottom lip. "I was wondering what you were getting me for my birthday?"

Tom rarely asked about gifts though he had at last begun to expect them. Harry shook his head, indicating that he had yet to purchase anything. This didn't surprise nor upset Tom. He was rather used to being taken shopping for gifts. While Harry loved him, Harry was also terrible at shopping for others.

"I want to visit the cave with you for my birthday." Tom said, squaring his shoulders, as he stood up straighter, hoping to be taken seriously.

"Ok." Harry said. Tom blinked, expecting more of a fight, since usually Harry only gave him expensive things, and then he grinned widely and wrapped his arms around Harry's waist. "Hold on tight, and don't move." Harry took a quick look around, and upon determining the coast was clear (literally), he apparated them both to the mouth of a cave he and Dumbledore had once explored together.

"Wow!" Tom grinned, "It's creepy in here."

"Trust you to like it." Harry gave Tom's shoulder a tap, a mockery of a playful punch. "Let's go then?" He asked, and Tom happily took the lead, rushing into the cave without waiting for Harry.

When the child was finished exploring, he found Harry lying down on the floor. There was dust everywhere, except near Harry and Tom grinned as he realized Harry must have magicked the dirt away. Tom lowered himself down, sitting beside Harry's knees, and he smiled over at the elder Wizard trustingly. "Thank you. For coming here with me."

"You'll be at Hogwarts this time next year," Harry said softly.

"No I won't." Tom said, laughing. "I'll be home for Christmas, this time next year, remember?"

Harry turned his head, a small smile flitting across his mouth. "Only if you aren't having fun at school. I used to spend Christmas at Hogwarts, you know."

"Well." Tom's eyebrows furrowed. "I'll be spending it with you! Unless you don't want me?" His eyes lowered, lashes feathered against his pale cheeks, and Harry reached over to tilt Tom's chin back up.

"I will always want you." Harry said, "If you're good." Tom offered him a shy smile, and scooted closer. "In fact, I had planned to give you a birthday present tonight at the cabin, but if you'd rather explore an abandoned cave-" Harry trailed off, shrugging his shoulders.

"What was it?" Tom asked sounding horrified. What if it had been something amazing? What if Harry sent it back to the store?

"You're eleven now. I was at Hogwarts when I was your age, taking care of myself, practically an adult. The same can be said for you, can't it Tom? You aren't a child any longer."

"Of course not," Tom exclaimed. He rather preferred to be thought of as an adult, a very short adult, but mature and capable nonetheless. Mrs. Cole didn't really bother to take care of the older kids, and Tom much preferred to be left to his own devises and under Harry's care than subject to the rules and regulations that had plagued his early childhood.

"I think it's time I started treating you like an adult too, hmm?"

Tom narrowed his eyes, avidly watching Harry's face for reassurance. The elder Wizard watched him calmly; eyes smiling and mouth smirking and Tom couldn't tell if Harry really meant what Tom thought he did. He would just have to risk it. With shaking hands, he peeled off his gloves and scarf and dropped them to the ground in the dirt. The buttons of his shirt were opened slowly, and Tom's fingers trembled and slipped and missed under Harry's predatory gaze. And still, Harry didn't confirm or deny Tom's suspicions. But Tom continued to undress.

Eventually, he was kneeling naked, shivering from the cold of the air and the cave's floor. Harry reached over, grabbed hold of Tom's arm and pulled the boy into his lap. "Are we really going to, you know?" Tom asked shyly.

"If you can't say the word, then you can't be considered mature enough to-"

Tom's mouth dropped open and Harry moved to shove him away, but his mouth sealed harshly over Harry's words, swallowing them with furious kisses. "I want you to fuck me!" His hands were still shaking, but Tom's jaw was set with stubbornness and his chest was heaving in lust, and Harry felt his groin stirring again. "I need you to fuck me."

"I bet you do," Harry murmured.

( warning: sex & underage )

His mouth was against Tom's neck, nibbling lightly on the pale skin available, and his long fingers were making quick work of his belt and fly. He had been waiting so long. Harry couldn't remember quite how long he had been waiting to taste Tom, to enjoy and claim and own him, but it had been such a long time he knew. But the wait was over. Tom would be his. Tonight, Tom would be all his.

When Harry was undressed as well, after what seemed like an age had passed, he leant forward to press his mouth lightly to Tom's throat. The child tilted his head back, offering himself willingly up to the elder Wizard. Without any prompting whatsoever, Tom crawled into Harry's lap. This was the position he favoured as Harry rubbed against him, this was the way he'd prefer to have Harry, but Tom knew it wouldn't be this way. Harry wouldn't let him have that much control, especially not for his first time, but he could enjoy it while Harry was distracted, head thrown back and groaning as Tom ground down slowly. Harry looked up at the boy, eyes half-lidded and his mouth open. His hands moved to Tom's waist, gripping tight enough to bruise as he twisted, flipping the boy onto his back and moving to hover over him.

"Uh huh," Harry muttered against Tom's pale neck. Light kisses were pressed across soft skin, one after another until Harry reached Tom's lips, and he stole him in a furious kiss. "I am in charge here, my little Tom."

"Yes!" Tom hissed out, agreeing immediately as Harry's hand slipped from his waist to his groin, fondling him.

"You are mine, Tom," Harry said, his voice soft and raspy; a consequence of spending more than a year screaming under Voldemort's torture and never having been healed properly even after nine more years as the Dark Lord's whore.

"All yours," Tom whimpered, Harry's hand stroking him with long, sure movements. "Please, please, please Harry," he begged, writhing on the dirty cavern floor.

Harry moved so that he was kneeling over Tom, and Tom pulled his legs up and pushed them apart, bearing himself to Harry's view. This wouldn't be the first time that Harry had put his fingers inside of Tom, but it would be the first time Tom was fully penetrated, the first time that Harry would love him completely, wholly, the way adults and lovers were meant to.

"Do it now, Harry." Tom commanded, arching his back, pushing his arse forward as if to encourage Harry to take him then and there, unprepared.

Harry considered it. He looked down on Tom, kneeling between the boy's spread legs, and considered spitting on his hand and rubbing it on his cock, then pushing forward, forcing his way into the boy, the way Voldemort had forced his way into him.

But no, that would be detrimental to his plans. Tom needed to love this, so much so that even when he realised that he had been abused and manipulated for the majority of his childhood he would still crave Harry's touch. Tom needed to always belong to Harry, regardless of whether Tom wanted to or not. That would be his vengeance on the Voldemort that would never exist. Harry would own him, completely, always.

So he pressed one finger to Tom's closed mouth, waiting until the boy opened his mouth and sucked the finger inside, tongue swirling around the digit wantonly, before he continued to stroke Tom's cock. Tom ended up sucking on four of Harry's fingers, before the adult deemed them wet enough, his cheeks bulging and his lips puffy and red from being stretched. Harry pulled his fingers out, dipping his head down to press a slow kiss to the wet lips that parted instinctively for his tongue.

"Lift up your hips, Tom," Harry whispered. His fingers probed at Tom's entrance, the puckered muscle protested at first, before relenting, allowing Harry to push one finger inside first and then another, twisting and stretching and scissoring, until eventually all four were inside opening Tom up for him.

The child was flushed and panting, and while Harry knew Tom was enjoying it, the boy couldn't hide the winces as pain lanced up his spine with every writhe and wriggle. Harry couldn't wait to see the boy crying out beneath him, from pain or from pleasure; it didn't matter to him at this point. He was painfully hard, ready and waiting, and all that was missing was the lube on his cock.

He didn't have to say anything. Harry merely curled his fingers into the hair at the back of Tom's head, and the boy sat up. He crawled forward, lying on his belly so that his mouth could reach Harry's cock and without hesitation Tom wrapped his lips around the swollen flesh and began to suck.

Tom found himself still lying face-first on the ground when Harry pulled away from him. A hand on Tom's shoulder stopped the boy's attempt to sit up, and Harry shuffled on his knees around the boy so he was once more behind Tom.

"Lift your hips again."

Harry's fingers were prodding him again, nails scrapping at the sensitive skin around his entrance and behind his scrotum and then down the underside of his hard cock. And then he was lining himself up, one hand gripping the base of his erection and the other squeezing Tom's left hip tightly, and then he was pushing forward, slow for the first attempt and then harder the second time when Tom tensed up.

"Relax, Tom, or it will hurt more. I don't want to hurt you."

"I-I know," the boy whimpered, his cheek against the floor and his hips raised, gripped tight by long tanned fingers, and Harry was leaning over him, pressing kisses to his pale shoulders. Harry tried again, this time managing to get the head of his cock inside before Tom tensed up too much for him to move.

"Relax," Harry said again.

He reached to the side, scrabbling for the wand that was tucked into the pocket of his discarded trousers. One hand grabbed hold of it and without Tom noticing Harry managed to cast a preparation spell on him: it was something he had learnt at Voldemort's hands, spells to stretch and lube him, spells to make him feel so full already that by the time there was a cock inside of him he felt empty in comparison. To know there were such spells, ones that would have taken a second to cast compared to the time that would have been wasted manually preparing him, spells that Voldemort had chosen not to cast, had angered him. But he used one now on Tom, and the channel that was clenched tightly around the tip of his cock relaxed suddenly. Harry pressed inside, in one smooth thrust, burying himself (or as much of himself as he could, considering the size of Tom's body) into the willing child beneath him.

Tom gave a gasp, panting heavily with his eyes squeezed closed, and feeling charitable Harry waited a moment for him to adjust to the strange feeling of being filled. The child was the first to move, pushing his hips back, fingers scrabbling against stone as he tried to push himself up, to give himself more leverage, to make more of Harry fit inside of him. He only had to look back over his shoulder to see that some of Harry hadn't gone inside of him, and realistically he knew he was small, he was eleven for Merlin's sake, but he still wanted to have all of Harry, every inch of him. At Tom's thrust, Harry drew back, watching as his cock slipped from Tom's body, revealing itself an inch at a time, red and ready, and he looked at Tom's hole, puckered and bleeding just a little but clenching around his length as if trying to keep him inside.

He pushed back in, hard. And Tom cried out.

"More!" He gasped, as Harry struck his prostate dead on. "More!" He shouted again, as Harry reached down to squeeze his balls softly, before rolling them in the palm of his hand. That hand was back on his cock again; Harry's free hand on Tom's hip still.

They moved that way together; until Tom began to buck wildly beneath him, body tensing like a bow, and Harry reached down to clamp his fingers around the base of Tom's cock, stopping his approaching ejaculation. Harry pulled back, pulling Tom with him so that the boy was lying flat on the ground, with his legs spread at an uncomfortable angle. Harry continued to thrust above him, within him, their position meant he could only manage quick, shallow jabs of his cock, but it also meant that with every one of Harry's thrusts Tom's cock drug against the stone ground. It was a torturous sort of pleasure; the boy was so close to his orgasm, and yet the pleasure that had been Harry's hand was now the rough friction of the floor, of stone against his flesh and it was probably going to scratch or cut him, but Tom didn't care right then. He pressed down, against the ground, beginning to enjoy the pain as it was coupled with the pleasure of Harry's rubbing his prostate with his cock at every movement.

And when Harry came, he gave one last harsh jab, making Tom scream out and something tear within him. But as Tom screamed, star exploded behind his eyes, and his body jerked as he released himself against the dirty floor and his stomach.2 He lay, panting, in Harry's arms, Harry having collapsed on top of him and wrapped his arms around Tom's neck loosely.

( end warnings )

"I love you," Tom whispered, his mouth moving against stone.

Harry pressed a kiss to Tom's shoulder blade, mouth moving so lightly that Tom couldn't hear the words, but he could feel Harry's lips writing them onto his skin: "I love you."

His heart beat fast in his chest. His back and bum hurt, very much in fact, and Tom considered asking for a pain-relief spell of some kind, but then decided against it. For the rest of his birthday he would welcome the pain, he would cherish it, keeping it for the night as a reminder of what he now was.

Harry's.

XXX

July 12th 1938. 11 years old.

"Tom," Mrs Cole said as she pushed open the door to his little bedroom in Stockwell Orphanage. "There's someone here to see you. He says he's a teacher."

"He can come in," Tom offered in a soft voice. He sat at the edge of his bed, with his hands folded in his lap, and he tried to calm his nerves because there was no way someone could revoke his invitation to Hogwarts. They couldn't do that, not after having already extended the invitation. Which meant that Harry had been right and a Professor was coming to speak to him, because they thought he was Muggleborn.

Tom chuckled then, shaking his head at his foolishness. Of course Harry was right. Harry was always right, and he never lied: Tom should have known better than to doubt Harry, but he had been so nervous as the year passed and no one came to tell him about Hogwarts. But they were here now, and Harry would laugh at his silliness and whisper 'I told you so, love' against the shell of his ear as they curled around each other in Harry's wonderful bed.

"Hello Tom, my name is Professor Albus Dumbledore."

"Hello, sir." Tom didn't know this man, but he knew better than to be disrespectful to an adult. Because that was rude, and Harry hated it when people were rude.

In his hand was his Hogwarts letter, half scrunched up and half hidden behind his back, but Dumbledore caught sight of it. "Ah. So you got a letter! I must say, your name wasn't on the Register and so I had assumed, wrongly it appears, that you'd have no idea what I was speaking of." The redheaded man smiled jovially, but Tom only stared calmly back.

"Harry explained it to me." He whispered his voice low and carefully pitched to the way Harry preferred to hear him speak: soft and seductive, drawling out the words while hands skimmed over exposed flesh. "I've accepted my place at Hogwarts already."

"Harry?" Dumbledore asked. "Would this be the Mr Harry Mrs Cole was referring to?" Tom just kept staring. "She said I was lucky to catch you, that you usually stayed with your foster father, a Doctor Harry someone though no one seems to know his surname off the top of their heads."

"Potter," Tom offered, knowing that Harry wasn't making a secret out of it, so he didn't bother either. "And yes, sir, that's him. It was his home to which my letter arrived."

Dumbledore held out his hand, "may I see it?" A moment passed, before Tom gave a soft sigh and held his hand out too. The parchment transferred persons easily, though Tom looked a little reluctant to give it away even for a moment. "To Mr Harry's Tom," Dumbledore read from the back of the parchment, the part that would have served as the front when it was folded up correctly. "The only bedroom, Harry's flat, Vauxhall Road, London…. Well…" He trailed off, not knowing what to say, but many thoughts were floating through his mind, all of them rather worrying. "Only bedroom, you say?" He asked, shaking the letter lightly before handing it back to Tom.

Tom snatched it from him, hurrying to tuck it away safe within his pocket in case Dumbledore tried to steal it.

"He only has a small flat. He wasn't expecting to take me in, you see, and well it wouldn't be fair of me to make him move homes. He's saving up though. While I'm in Hogwarts he'll have time to work more so he's going to earn more and look for somewhere else for us to live." Not to say that Tom wouldn't insist on sleeping in the same bed anyway, but at least then it wouldn't look so suspicious to people like Albus nosy Dumbledore, Tom thought petulantly. What did it matter where he slept anyway? Anywhere was better than the orphanage!

"Tom," Dumbledore began to say, before pausing to bite his bottom lip nervously. Mrs Cole had rambled on and on about Harry but Dumbledore hadn't paid the Muggle much attention because after all he had journeyed there to speak to a Tom Riddle, not a Harry. Though thinking back on it, the number of times both Harry and Tom had been mentioned in the same sentence was rather worrying in light of the 'only bedroom' issue.

"How come my surname wasn't on the letter?" Tom asked suddenly.

"What?" Dumbledore asked. "Oh, I see. Well, my boy, as you weren't registered by your parents you shouldn't have been sent a letter. Those are written by a magical artefact, not looked over by humans, so the lack of surname would have gone unnoticed. With the assumption that he is also a Wizard, since he already spoke with you about your acceptance letter, I can only surmise that because Mr Potter is fostering you, you were partially accepted into his family and so couldn't use your name, but because you were not adopted you couldn't use his name either. And so, you were left nameless. Though I am here to formally invite Tom Marvolo Riddle to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this coming September first."

Tom nodded his head lightly, understanding what the Professor meant. "So, am I going as Riddle or as Harry's?" Tom wondered. He looked rather put out once Dumbledore responded with 'Riddle' instead of the answer he had been hoping for.

"I mean no offence but as your future teacher and thus guardian for the year I must ask, has Mr Potter ever touched you in an inappropriate manner?"

"Define inappropriate." Tom crossed his arms over his chest and scowled, while Dumbledore raised one ginger eyebrow in surprise.

"In a manner that you don't like, or that shouldn't happen between a child and an adult, or in a way that makes you feel pain or discomfort or embarrassment or confusion." Tom didn't answer, and unknowing in which way to interpret the child's silence, Dumbledore released another sigh. "Mr Riddle, I propose that you spend the remainder of the summer at this orphanage, and I'll have local authorities investigate Mr Potter, for his own good of course. What do you think?"

Tom's lips curled back, almost snarling at the elder Wizard. "HOW DARE YOU?" He screamed, launching himself forward with his hands out, pushing at Dumbledore's chest, trying to shove the intruder out of his room. "NO! NO!" Tom screamed hysterically, terrified of being separated from Harry. This was what Harry had warned him about, Tom thought, when the children had murdered his pet snake and Harry had admitted that they both had magic. This was what Harry said would happen if anyone found out that Tom and Harry knew each other. They were trying to take Harry away, to keep Tom away from him; they couldn't, Tom screamed, they wouldn't!

"GET OUT!" Tom shrieked. His magic fluctuated around him, sensing his fear and confusion, his anger, and it surged out, lashing at anything and everything it could reach in an attempt to protect its host. Like the time Tom had shoved Helen Doyle out of a window accidentally, and the time he made cracks appear in the canteen walls, and the time Billy Stubb's rabbit had just floated up in the air and dropped down dead, Tom's magic was reacting to his emotions.

Dumbledore raised his hands up, trying to placate the boy. Mrs Cole and Martha came running into the room, screaming about the wardrobe, bed and table that were shaking as if caught in an earthquake, and the child that was trembling with so much rage they could taste it in the air.

"Get him," Mrs Cole hissed. Martha ran from the room, knowing where Harry worked and knowing he must be at work if Tom was willingly spending time at the orphanage; she ran to find him.

Albus watched, as the staff tried to calm Tom down unsuccessfully, and he watched as Martha came back, panting but happy as Harry ran into the room after her and pulled Tom into his arms. Albus watched as the boy relaxed completely, with Mr Potter's arms around his shoulders and his face buried into the crook of Harry's neck as he sobbed lightly and his magic calmed down and Harry whispered soft words of reassurance into Tom's ears that Albus only wished he could hear.

There was something very… odd about this situation, he decided.

XXX

September 1st 1938. 11 years old.

"Oi," a loud voice called from over his shoulder. "Mudblood!" It called again.

Tom sat stiffly at the Slytherin table. He had only been sorted moments ago, and the feast had barely started, but that was obviously enough time for the elder boy to have passed judgement on Tom.

Or, rather, his surname.

"Mudblood," the boy said again, shoving Tom's shoulder so hard that Tom who had been trying to eat ended up stabbing himself in the cheek with his fork. "Riddle isn't a Pureblood name. You don't belong here, scum." And then the boy walked away.

Tom watched him go through narrowed eyes, laying the fork slowly down on his plate. Children were cruel, Harry had told him, they'd grow out of it, Harry had promised him, don't react to them or they'll target you more, Harry had suggested to him. He glanced over at the staff table and found Dumbledore staring at him. Adults were stupid too, Tom thought, thinking about the Professor telling him that he would be enrolled as 'Tom Riddle'.

He'd much rather be known as Harry's.

XXX

November 13th 1939. 12 years old.

"Hey, Mudblood, I'm talking at you." That same voice called again, and Tom gritted his teeth at the sound of it. "Oi, learn some respect, filth, and answer when once of us address you." He gave Tom a shove, and the boy toppled forward down the last three steps of the staircase they were all standing on.

Tom had hoped the staircase would move before Prewitt and his friends caught up with him, but he hadn't been so lucky, and instead he had jogged down the stairs, trying to escape the fourteen year old boys chasing him, and was almost off the stairs when they grabbed him and pushed. He wasn't hurt, just humiliated, and his ink vial had smashed against the ground, breaking all over and destroyed his Transfiguration essay: as if Dumbledore didn't already dislike him enough.

"What do you want?"

"You could drop dead?" Prewitt suggested, while his friends chuckled and Tom hauled himself to his feet. "Or you could go back to your filthy Muggle parents and never come back. Oh wait!" They laughed harder, "You don't have parents, do you! Not even Muggles wanted to keep you, Mudblood!"

They left him there, shaking with anger and humiliation, late for Transfigurations with no homework to turn in, and a taste for revenge heavy in his mouth. But he held himself back, because Harry wouldn't like him if he misbehaved.

XXX

November 28th 1939. 12 years old.

Tom was at Hogwarts.

Tom was probably still being bullied at Hogwarts, as his weekly letters often consisted of complaints about his fellow Slytherins picking on him and the rest of his year mates shunning him. Harry had always replied with the same crap about being the only person Tom needed, that Tom would ever need. But, he thought with a frown, if that also worked the other way around?

Since Tom had been gone, Harry had been having dreams; more like reoccurring nightmares, where he would live through the memories of his past as he slept, unable to escape until something Voldemort did or said shocked him awake. He found he missed waking to the feel of Tom curled against him.

Harry lay in his bed, without Tom beside him, too afraid to drift back to sleep. It had been eight years since he had escaped from Voldemort, fleeing into the past and conditioning Tom to behave as Voldemort had forced Harry to behave. But the memories still haunted him, and Harry still woke hard and panting despite dreaming about the Dark Lord of everything vile and evil.

This was what he wanted Tom to suffer through, Harry thought, eyes slipping closed. To hate and to hurt, and yet to want, need, desire, desperate for more despite how depraved it was, how wrong and sick and painful; forever haunted, marked by someone else, unresponsive to anyone else. There would only be Harry in Tom's life now, and one day Tom might hate that. But he would still love Harry.

He slipped back into sleep. And then he was there, back at Malfoy Manor, on his knees before the Dark Lord Voldemort, surrounded by Death Eaters and the Minister for Magic and his entourage. He was naked, and Voldemort was sitting behind him, hands massaging Harry's shoulders gently as his fingers trembled.

"I've changed my mind," the Wizard whispered, voice deadly and low.

Harry bit back a gasp of relief, thighs trembling as Voldemort hauled him to his feet. He prayed for one stupid second that he would be spared, that someone would take pity on him. The gathered Wizards looked outraged and disappointed, because Voldemort had offered them all a turn with Harry Potter, to punish the boy for something that he couldn't even recall and to reward the Minister for his recent electoral win. They had all looked forward to taking their turn behind Harry Potter, with the boy on his hands and knees, spread and screaming for them, and yet here was Voldemort, revoking his promise.

He was a jealous and possessive man, and it had been his anger at Harry attempting to attack him that had motivated such a reaction, such a promise from him. Normally, he would never have considered loaning his pet to anyone else. Harry was his concubine, his whore, and only his. But Harry feared having others use him, touch him and abuse him. Voldemort knew that Harry could barely tolerate him touching his body, and he knew that Harry would never repeat that same mistake if he used this punishment on him. But now, watching those Wizards tent their trousers and salivate over his Harry was making rage bubble within his chest.

"I've changed my mind." He said again, and no one dared to complain this time. "Harry is mine. And only mine."

Harry tried not to cry, the relief so strong within him that at first he didn't notice Voldemort lead him towards the back of the sofa instead of the door. Then Voldemort was pushing him forward and down, bending him over the back of the sofa, and pushing forward, forcing him into Harry's unprepared body, stealing one of those other men's pleasure for his own and making Harry scream, right there, in front of everyone. Those men sat and watched him, some stroking themselves through their robes and others pulling their cocks free, watching Harry write and struggle beneath Voldemort's brutal grip.

"Mine," he snarled, "all mine," and Harry shot up like a light, gasping and panting in his bed with his pyjama pants sticky with his seed.

XXX

January 19th 1941. 14 years old. 3

He had been putting up with it for three and a half years. Three and a half years of bullying and abuse and turning the other fucking cheek because it was what Harry would want even though Hogwarts was supposed to be different, and yet it was so much like living at the orphanage that some days Tom wondered why he even bothered. Three and a half years, and now Tom had had enough.

Prewitt curled around himself on the floor by Tom's feet, and the younger Slytherin looked down at him with an angry scowl.

"Enough," Tom whispered, thinking back on what he had discovered earlier that day in the library. Harry had known. Harry must have known. It was hereditary, Harry had told him years ago, back when Tom was still a child. Parseltongue was hereditary.

He cast a curse on the elder Slytherin, watching with glee as the boy screamed and writhed before him, at his mercy when Tom had no mercy to spare. "I am the Heir of Slytherin," he whispered and Anthony Prewitt barely heard him over his screams. By this time tomorrow, everyone would know who Tom was. He wasn't a Mudblood. He wasn't even a regular half-blood, because he was the Heir to Salazar Slytherin and in his mind that made him as Pureblooded as the filth who was crying and begging at his feet. More so, in fact, Tom thought, looking down on the pathetic mess and casting another Dark curse.

"You will bow before me now, Prewitt." Tom told him, "All of you will."

When he left the boy alone, Prewitt was only capable of crying and shaking. He would later be taken to St Mungos for treatment, but no one would be able to prove that Tom had done anything to him, though Harry could guess once news of the boy's attack hit the newspapers.

He had written to Harry that same night. His quill denting the parchment as in his anger Tom pressed down to hard, ripping the sheet in places. He scrawled angrily, questions about Salazar Slytherin and why Harry had lied to him.

Harry had only replied with one sentence, and as he read it Tom felt his fury reach boiling point. How dare that hypocrite! Tom thought angrily, how dare Harry! He promised himself that he wouldn't go back, wouldn't crawl for someone who would lie to him, told himself he'd stay at Hogwarts this summer, that he'd finally take up the offer Dumbledore had been trying to force on him since his first year. Dumbledore wanted Tom away from Harry, and Tom wanted as much space between them as possible right now. He told himself, as he re-read the one line letter, that he wouldn't miss Harry at all, even as his body still ached from the times Harry had taken him over the Yule break.

"I never lied to you, as you never asked."

Tom set the note on fire with a flick of his wand and a whispered spell, and he watched as it burned, fighting back the urge to reach out and rescue Harry's note, to horde it with the rest of the things Harry had ever given him or written to him. He was pathetic, he thought, as the letter turned to ash.

XXX

December 22nd 1941. 14 years old.

Tom had managed to avoid Harry for the summer between his fourth and fifth year, but he hadn't spent a birthday alone since he was four-years-old, and he didn't want to start now. So when Yule came around again, Tom refrained from signing the register that meant he would be staying at Hogwarts, instead he packed his things and followed his school-mates to Hogsmeade to board the Express home.

Home. He had thought about the meaning of the word for the entire train ride, and he was still no closer to understanding what it meant. Did it mean that as long as Harry was with him, he was home? Or was Hogwarts his home, where he was taught things and could experience things, and now had a group of followers who succumbed to his every whim? Or perhaps the orphanage was his real home, the place where he had been born, where he had started life? Though he was fourteen now, the summer that he had skipped out on would have been his last year at Stockwell. He would never have to go back, Tom realized. He could spend all of his time with Harry now, or at Hogwarts, and when he graduated, surely Harry would still desire and love him.

But he was angry with Harry still, for keeping things from him, for keeping secrets even if Tom could admit the man hadn't actually lied. Did he really want to go back to Harry?

He couldn't go to the orphanage. The train was almost at King's Cross Station now, so he couldn't go back to Hogwarts. Merlin, he thought, had he even told Harry that he was coming back? Would Harry even be there to collect him?

Harry was there, waiting with his arms crossed while he leant back against the wall. He looked patient, and he stayed silent until Tom approached him. "Dumbledore wrote and said you were returning for the break."

"Yeah," Tom said softly, scuffing his shoe against the ground. "I'm still angry with you." He told the elder Wizard, following dutifully as Harry led the way out off of the platform and down into the underground, to catch a train to Vauxhall Road.

Harry didn't speak for the rest of the journey, and Tom half regretted his brash words. He wasn't angry enough to compensate for Harry ignoring him, or hating him, but he couldn't bring himself to apologize. He didn't have it in him, not now, not yet, not after having been away from Harry for so long, not after escaping physical abuse for so many years. The fear just wasn't in him anymore, and Harry knew it too. But that would change soon, Harry promised himself, glancing at Tom's sullen expression from the corner of his eyes.

( warning: sex & underage )

The moment they closed the door to Harry's little flat behind them, Tom turned and pushed himself hard against Harry's chest. He wouldn't apologize, but he could do this. He would offer himself up, he would enjoy every moment with his lover, and he would revel in the feelings that only Harry could stir up within him. He would pant and moan and scream and Harry would know that he was forgiven without Tom ever having to say a word.

"You owe me," Tom hissed against the shell of Harry's ear. Harry pushed the teenager backwards, until Tom lay sprawled across the small sofa. Without hesitation, Tom rolled onto his stomach, his legs still hanging over the arm rest, and said, "You didn't tell me. The least you could do is fuck me."

And so Harry did. Tom loved every second of it, even though Harry's grip was harsher than normal, and his thrusts were furious and painful, and the adult kept biting down on his neck and shoulder hard enough to draw blood. When Harry came, he snarled against the back of Tom's neck and pulled away, leaving the boy still hard and writhing, but unattended to. Tom rolled over, his legs still spread, still offering himself to Harry, as he stroked himself hurriedly, desperate to orgasm. Harry's come was smeared across Tom's arse and thighs, dribbling out of the clenching hole, wet and sticky, and mixed with a hint of blood.

Tom slept after his orgasm, eyes closed in bliss, never knowing that Harry had raised his wand to him and cast him into sleep. And as Tom slept, Harry cleaned him up, and gathered him into his arms, holding him tightly against his chest.

( end warnings )

It was time for Tom to be reminded of what he truly was. No more of this Heir of Slytherin greater-than-thou nonsense. No more backchat or backbone. It was time for Harry to remind Tom of who, exactly, was in charge in this relationship.

When Tom woke, it was hours later and there were horribly loud noises echoing all around him. Air raid sirens, Tom realized, because they were in the middle of a war. He was no longer at Hogwarts, where they were safe and protected, and he was obviously not inside of Harry's flat, where magic would keep them safe. He was back at the orphanage, even though he was too old, and he was lying on the floor in a room with everyone else, all crushed together as the noises wailed around them, warning and terrifying them in equal turns.

"Why am I here?" Tom asked, trying to sit up. He could barely move without pain lancing up his spine and down his thighs. Harry had been brutal with him, but Tom didn't regret it, didn't resent it. But it was making it hard to move, and Tom needed to move, needed to go and get back to Harry, but Mrs Cole was there with a hand on his shoulder, pushing him back to the floor.

"Mr Harry said you didn't have anywhere else to go until you graduated. He's agreed to pay for your board and keep, and we've agreed to continue housing you until you turn eighteen and leave that boarding school of yours." She told him, her voice nasally and cold. She looked down on him, the lines of her face standing out against the paleness of her skin, and her mouth turned down as she eyed the bruises along the side of his throat.

Tom's hand came up to cover Harry's marks. His heart was pounding in his chest, with fear, with the shame that accompanied crying in front of an audience, and with hopelessness. Had last night been Harry saying goodbye to him? Harry had left him, truly, he thought to himself, trying to make the words sound right in his mind. How could this be? Harry had loved him…

Tom gasped, his eyes flying to meet Mrs Cole's. "Did he say he was coming back?" She shrugged at him, before walking away to comfort some of the younger children who had also begun to cry. Maybe Harry thought Tom didn't love him anymore, and that was why he had left. Had Tom driven him away?

He pulled his knees to his chest, burying his face into his arms, continuing to sob quietly as the sirens blocked out all other sounds but the frantic, terrified beating of his heart.

Harry was gone.

XXX

December 29th 1941. 14 years old.

It had been seven days. The sirens had been wailing almost constantly, and as secluded by magic as Tom had been for the last year and a half he hadn't realised how much the war had been affecting London. It was terrifying, to be locked inside of the orphanage for fear of a bomb dropping on his head if he ventured outside. He was too afraid to make his way to Harry's flat, to see if Harry was still living there, waiting for Tom. He couldn't find any owls or pigeons flying about, and so he couldn't send Harry a letter. And Harry still hadn't come back.

It had been seven days, but Tom had finally realised how stupid he had been.

He should have come home last summer. He should have thrown himself into Harry's arms on platform nine and three-quarters and never have gotten angry about the Slytherin thing. Who cares about Slytherin, Tom mentally shouted. Harry was gone, and that was all that mattered now. Harry was gone and so nothing else could matter.

"Hello Tom," a voice softly said.

He had been lying on his bed in his old bedroom because the staff hadn't gotten around to housing anyone in it yet. Harry had made sure it was still free for him, Tom was sure. Usually he spent his days crowded in the shelter with the others, but today was the first day in a week that there had been no signs of the German planes, and it had been deemed safe for the children to sleep in their appointed rooms.

But at the sound of the voice, he sat up straight in his bed, eyes wide and disbelieving.

"You've come back!" He breathed, heart racing. He couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. After seven days without Harry, he was there now, standing stiffly in front of Tom as the boy ran forward, pressing his face to Harry's neck and sobbing desperately. "Don't ever leave again! Never leave me! I'm so sorry, I am, I'm so sorry. I'll never, ever, ever behave like that again. I was stupid and foolish and angry, and I shouldn't have been because I should have known that you'd never lie to me, or do anything to hurt me. I'm such an idiot! No wonder you hate me," Tom finished with a distressed sob. "Don't hate me," he added in a whisper.

"I don't hate you, Tom." Harry told him, hands lightly running up and down Tom's back. "I'm just very disappointed in you."

"I'm sorry!" Tom breathed, tilting his head back and raising his chin. He waited, hoped that Harry would do what he wanted, because surely Harry couldn't have forgotten what the chin movement meant after only seven days.

Harry gave a soft sigh. "Last chance, Tom. I don't like people who don't behave themselves." Harry leant down slightly, because Tom was nearly as tall as him now when he stood up straight, and he brushed his lips lightly over Tom's pursed ones, comforting and assuring him the way they used to do when Tom was a child in need of reassurance.

"Never leave me," Tom begged, hands shaking as he reached up to cup Harry's cheeks. He pulled the man's head down for a real kiss, and Harry melted into the touch, having missed the touch of the younger boy.

"Only if you behave." Came the standard reply, and Tom nodded feverently, clinging tightly to his saviour and abuser, and Harry smirked smugly into Tom's black hair, pleased that his plan had worked and a little surprised by how much Tom had fallen apart without him. It made him tingle inside, just thinking how completely Tom actually did belong to him, how desperately Tom needed him now.

He pressed a kiss to the top of Tom's head, before pushing him back towards the little orphanage bed. With a wave of his wand the door was closed and Tom was naked. Without needed to be touched, Tom was hard and willing and ready, legs spreading on either side of Harry's hips and back arched, offering himself up like he had been trained to do.

And Harry grinned again.

Then he took him, uncaring who would hear Tom scream, because Muggles could be Obliviated easily. And when the sirens started to wail again, Tom ignored them. He didn't push Harry away and run towards the shelter to cower and hide. Instead, he spread his legs wider, wrapped them tighter around the elder Wizard, and bared his throat, because this was all that matter. As long as he had Harry, he was happy. And Harry would keep him safe.

XXX

April 12th 1943. 16 years old. 3

Harry thrashed from side to side, bucking his hips and rolling his head. This wasn't happening, he told himself, as Tom hovered above him, pushing within him. It wasn't real. This hadn't happened in twelve years, he told himself sternly; Voldemort didn't exist anymore.

But he was there, above him, within him. With each thrust of Voldemort's hips, Harry gave a soft cry. A part of him remembered this; a part of him revelled in it. After nine years as Voldemort semi-willing whore, how could his body ever forget the feel of the man above him, buried to the hilt inside of him, how could his body ever link these sensations to the fear and loathing and shame that had swallowed him whole for that one year, just one, where he had fought back against every rape, against every humiliation. His body remembered. His body craved, and though his mind screamed out in protest, his cock swelled and exploded, seed coating his stomach and Voldemort's hand and the man grinned down at him, red eyes flashing and lips curled back mockingly.

"Come home to me, pet," the Dark Lord whispered. "You can't stay gone forever. Eventually the spell will run out, and you'll have to come home. To me."

Harry's eyes snapped open. His sheets were twisted around his legs, and his pants were sodden and sticky, but his arse wasn't hurting and that alone was enough to calm him. It had been a dream. Nothing more than a dream. But as he sank back into his pillow he thought about the words from his dream. Was it possible, he thought? Had the Vorago spell had an expiry date or a counter spell? Could it suddenly wear off and Harry would find himself drawn unexpectedly back into 2008, or would the Voldemort of his past come back to Malfoy Manor and find Anthony Moore tied up on the floor, wandless, and Harry gone and conjure him back into the future?

Harry threw himself out of his bed, the one between the kitchen and the living room in his small London flat, that he had never bothered to move out from. The pornographic images he had shown to Tom were still lying face down beneath "The Catcher in the Rye" and in the top drawer of the dresser they rested on was the Dark Arts book Voldemort had gifted him with before he escaped. This book contained the Vorago, and Harry flipped it open onto that page, the spine creased in just that one spot as it was all Harry had ever bothered to read from this book. But now, now it was time to research further.

XXX

Same time.

( warning: sex )

At Hogwarts, while Harry researched at home the spell that had started this new life, Tom was doing research of his own. Abraxas Malfoy lay spread out beneath him, flaxen hair spread like a halo around his flushed face. They were both naked, and Tom's hands were pulling lightly on the other Slytherin's swollen cock.

Tom loved Harry, he did, but sometimes he wondered what it would be like to be on top. The last time he had ever implied such he had been nine-years-old and visiting Diagon Alley for the first time. And for the first time, Harry had hit him. He hadn't done it since, well unless you counted light spanking during sex, but Tom didn't, because Harry had really hit him, just because he mentioned fucking Harry instead of the other way around. Tom knew Harry had bottomed for that other man, the one who had tied Harry up and taken photos; one of those photos was kept at the back of Tom's photo album, and sometimes Tom ran a finger over the straps of black leather on Harry's body and wondered if Harry would ever submit to him like that.

He wanted to know what it was like.

He wanted to know what it was Harry felt as he breeched Tom's body, as he rode him and used him and came within him. Tom wanted to know what it would be like to be the one in charge, and he had wrote to Harry asking for permission to go through with his experiment. Harry, being the amazing, wonderful man that he was, had given Tom full permission to experience someone else, as long as Tom topped. No one but Harry would ever be allowed within Tom's body.

"Why can't I-?" Abraxas trailed off as Tom pressed two fingers into him. "I don't want to bottom!" He said petulantly, before gasping in surprise as Tom found his prostate.

"Only Harry is allowed inside of me," Tom told him. With a whispered spell, one that Tom didn't really like because he much preferred the feel of Harry's fingers preparing him, Abraxas was stretched and ready for him, and Tom pressed forward, sinking into the body beneath him that tensed and twisted as Tom stole its virginity, as Tom split him open.

Abraxas cried out, and Tom knew it was from pain. He could remember how much his own first time had hurt, but Harry had been there, rubbing him and comforting him, and so Tom rubbed his fingers lightly across Abraxas' hipbone and whispered, "it is ok. It'll be ok."

And when they were done, Abraxas winced with every movement.

( end warnings )

Tom lay back on the floor of the Astronomy Tower, looking up at the stars and feeling rather disappointed. There had been no flashing lights behind his eyes, his heart had pounded but it hadn't been the same, there was no gasping, breathless feeling like he was about to die from the pleasure, and there had been no Harry there to comfort him. All in all, Tom decided, his experiment was a failure. Perhaps he would enjoy dominating Harry if the chance ever arose, but until then, he would be content to be Harry's, and only Harry's.

"It's wrong, you know." Abraxas told him calmly as he redressed.

Tom continued to lie there naked, thinking about Harry and how long there was left until he could see him again. His arsed clenched at the thought, butterflies came to life within his stomach, and he was suddenly so excited by the prospect of being taken again, unable to wait until May when his mock exams would be over and he could go home and throw himself into Harry's waiting arms.

"Hmm?" He asked, only half listening.

"He shouldn't touch you at all, whether he tops or bottoms. That's abuse. Tom, he's abusing you." Abraxas reached forward to touch Tom's shoulder lightly, but the boy smacked his hand away.

"Don't be ridiculous." Tom chuckled lightly, ignoring the way Abraxas' face had pinched with worry and the way the boy limped as he made his way out of the Astronomy Tower. He closed his eyes, comparing Abraxas to Harry, and knew that Harry would always be the winner. It wasn't abuse, Tom knew, because abuse was wrong. And Harry was never wrong.

XXX

May 16th 1943. 16 years old.

Albus watched the boy.

Tom was the same as he ever was, brilliant, attentive, but underneath it all there was a taste of darkness, a lust for power that admittedly was only kept in check by Mr Harry. Though, that didn't make what Harry was doing right, not in the least. And Dumbledore worried for the boy, because surely, eventually, he would see that it wasn't right, and Harry would no longer be there to keep him under control.

"Tom, my boy, can we speak?" Dumbledore asked, striding towards the handsome teenager.

Tom, who had just finished the last of his mock exams, had been standing with a group of fellow Slytherins. They were all fair-weather friends, he knew, those who had shunned him for his earlier years at Hogwarts and now pasted themselves to his side because he was the Heir of Slytherin and called him their Lord and desired to know how to please him. But only Abraxas had ever been granted the privilege to lie beneath him, pleasuring him with his body and mouth. But only Harry would ever truly be able to please him, and the sooner Albus spoke to him the sooner he could leave and see Harry again.

But he dutifully followed his Professor to the Transfiguration classroom. He sat in one of the chairs, crossing his ankles beneath the desk and folding his hands above it, and Tom waited.

He looked patient and polite, but Albus could see the intense dislike that Tom tried but failed to completely hide, swirling in his eyes. Tom had never quite forgiven him for that day five years ago when Dumbledore had suggested taking Tom away from Harry. He didn't think Tom would appreciate it again now, but what kind of a person would he be if he didn't even try? He had tried to contact the Aurors but according to them, no one lived at the flat the letter had arrived in, and there was no record of a Doctor Potter, a Mr Potter, or a Harry Potter of that approximate age anywhere in the Ministry records.4 He just didn't exist and so there was nothing they could do about him. But Dumbledore could try and keep Tom away from the man, even if they couldn't keep the man away from Tom.

"My boy, I have to recommend that you remain at Hogwarts again this summer. It really would be beneficial to you, with the NEWTs fast approaching, and the Defence Professor looking for an apprentice. You could spend the summer trying the position out. I know you were interested in it a year ago."

"How do you know?" Tom asked curiously. He had wanted to teach, ever since he was thirteen and Harry had told him that he had once taught some of his friends in secret because their Professor was useless. Harry had been a rather good teacher, and Tom had hoped to be able to fill those shoes one day, but he didn't want Dumbledore knowing his hopes and dreams.

"I know many things, my boy. The walls talk."

Tom turned his head, and beside him upon the wall was a very familiar looking portrait. In fact, there was a matching one of this particular Wizard hanging in the Astronomy Tower, but Tom was sure it had been empty that night, very sure.

Though, while many people had secret trysts at Hogwarts, it was never enough to warrant the attentions of someone other than your Head of House. That Dumbledore was speaking to him meant it had something to do with Harry, and Tom was half scared that the portrait had heard him tell Abraxas about Harry touching him. But no, no, Tom consoled himself, because if it were wrong then Aurors would have been involved by now. But it was only Albus Dumbledore, and in the scheme of things he wasn't really that important. So Tom pushed his chair back and stood up, glancing coldly at the frowning Professor.

"I'm going home, sir. Please stop interfering with my life."

Dumbledore watched him go in silence. He couldn't make Tom stay; he couldn't force Tom to do anything. He wasn't the boy's legal guardian. He had considered adopting him, keeping him in the Wizarding world where he would be safe, but to do that he'd need the signature of Tom's foster parents. He'd need Harry's permission; Harry, who no one but Tom could seem to find.

A man that apparently didn't even exist.

XXX

July 31st 1944. 17 years old.

Harry had done his research. It was only a matter of time, he now knew, before the spell would start to break down. It could take anywhere up to twenty years to end completely, and Harry had already been in the past for thirteen of those years. It could happen at any time, without warning, during the next seven years. Harry would have no say in the matter, he would be taken by surprise, blindsided and dumped back into his future. He might even be in the middle of sex while it happened, or taken a dump, or any other manner of embarrassing things could be occurring as he was tossed across time. No, he needed to have control over this, and with that need for control at the forefront of his mind, he had decided he needed to be the one to decide when he would return home.

There had been mentions of the counter-spell in several books he had managed to track down, but so far he hadn't found the actual spell. But when he did, when he was ready, he would cast it himself, and wait fifty years for Tom to find him.

But Tom would have to survive those fifty years. He would have to still be Tom, and while Harry knew the boy would have to age partially at least, there was no way he was engaging in activities of any kind with a man who looked every one of his seventy-plus years!

Harry had found it, he'd stolen it, without having to kill the lonely old women, or frame her terrified house elf. The Locket was tucked away within his robe pocket, and Harry patted at the bulge lightly to reassure himself. Tom stood by his side, pale and silent, and he looked up at the large, sprawling mansion that took up most of their line of sight.

"This is where my father lives?" Tom asked in a soft voice.

"Does it bother you that he had all of this land, this property, and you've grown up with nothing?" Harry asked, genuinely curious. He had been angry when he had seen his house at Godric's Hollow. Someone surely could have fixed it up and he could have lived there with Sirius as his guardian. Instead, they had left it broken and ruined as a memorial and shipped him off to the Dursleys. He had been envious of the adjoining houses, all of which looked bright and cheerful and welcoming in comparison to Number 4 Privet Drive, and he had hated them all for one selfish second.

"It makes me angry. He abandoned my mother to die, he abandoned me, but I didn't grow up with nothing, Harry." The seventeen year old smiled sadly at the only person who had ever seemed to love him. "I grew up with you. So let him have his riches and his bigotry. I have you. I don't need anyone else."

Harry gave the teenager a small smile before he took a deep breath and whispered, "I brought you here to kill them."

Tom threw himself backwards, gasping. The only thing that saved him from sprawling across the pebbled driveway was Harry's hands on his shoulders.

"What?" He hissed, looking horrified. Sure, as a child he had often imagined the other children and the staff at the orphanage dying slow, horrible deaths at his hands, but he had never once acted upon those desires. Even when Helen Doyle had died, it had been an accident and Tom had been distraught; though he had calmed considerably once he had realised that Harry wasn't angry with him.

"Think of it not as murder, but as karma. They deserve it, they deserve this for abandoning you, for hating you without even getting to know you first. They left you Tom, they didn't want you, but I did. I do! And I want this too! You know we won't always be together, right? Eventually they will manage to separate us, but if you do this," Harry said, pulling the Locket from his pocket and thrusting it at Tom. "If you do this then we can find our way back to one another. We can be together forever then, Tom."

"What is it?" Tom asked, reaching hesitantly out for the shinning Locket.

"It used to belong to Salazar Slytherin. Your mother sold it while she was pregnant, to raise money to feed herself and thus you. She gave a way a part of her heritage, the only thing she owned that was worth anything, so she could provide for you, and yet your father has all this money and he couldn't even offer you the most basic of things: food, shelter, warmth. There is a spell you could use to enchant the locket, you could make it into a Horcrux and place a part of your soul inside to keep it safe and no matter what happens we will always find our way back to each other."

Tom's fingers curled around the chain of the Locket. He looked up at Harry with wide eyes, and licked his lips nervously. "What do I have to do?"

"Kill them. Use the Killing Curse, I know that you know it Tom; I've seen you practising on the neighbours pets. The Curse will split your soul, and then focus on the locket, focus on pouring your soul into it. You'll know it has worked when you are unable to open the locket again." Tom pried the edges apart, and gasped at the painting of a serious looking man with a fuzzy, black beard. "If you love me, you'll make the Horcrux," Harry added, growing impatient with Tom's silence. He had assumed that the boy would jump at the chance to inflict pain on someone else, but apparently his fear of Harry leaving him was still stronger than his desire to hurt. "I want this, Tom," Harry added, leaning forward to brush their lips together. "I won't leave you if you do this. This is to keep us together. Unless… Unless you don't want to be together anymore?"

"Of course I do!" Tom shouted, cheeks flushing red. "You won't be disappointed?" He asked then, in a meek whisper. Harry merely shook his head, and Tom, as desperate for approval as he ever was; still that pathetic four-year-old deep down inside, straightened his shoulders and turned resolutely towards the front doors of Riddle Manor.

Harry left him to it. Walking into the village of Little Hangleton and purchasing two bars of chocolate, because Tom would definitely need them. When he came back, Tom was crouching on the front steps of the house, half-hidden in the shadows beneath the overhanging porch, and the Locket was hanging from his neck. Harry ignored him, stepping around him and into the house. Everyone was dead. Riddle Senior splayed in the doorway of the dining room presumably killed as he tried to escape. Tom's grandparents were slumped on the table, sitting side by side, both as dead as each other. Harry smiled to himself, unwrapping one bar of chocolate and making his way back outside to Tom.

"I'm so proud of you," Harry whispered, green eyes glinting, as he handed the bar over. "Is there anything you'd like as a reward?"

"Make love to me," Tom whispered, looking hopeful and sounding broken, and briefly Harry regretted his decision. But Tom needed to have a Horcrux, and this death was the only one Harry could justify. Strangers and helpless old women were innocent to him, but this family, these people were the reason Tom became Voldemort, the reason Harry suffered for years at his hands. They were the only ones who truly had it coming, in his mind; the only ones he could justifiably convince Tom to kill.

Harry shook his head and released a soft sigh. Then he reached down to pull Tom to his feet, lacing their fingers together as he whispered, "anything you desire, my love." He led Tom back into the house, into the dining room where three bodies watched them in silence as Harry began to strip. Against Tom's better judgement, he closed his eyes and allowed Harry to lead him.

XXX

October 18th 1944. 17 years old.

"Tom! Tom!" Abraxas shouted, but Tom didn't stop of slow down. The Locket still hung around his neck and it reeked of Dark magic and sin, but no matter what Abraxas did or said Tom wouldn't take it off. Harry liked the sight of it upon him, you see, and Tom was happy as long as Harry was. "Tom you need to listen to me!"

"What?" The boy finally turned around, eyes narrowed and lips turned down. He placed his hands on his hips, and the golden Locket swung lightly on its chain, until Tom reached up and pressed it against his chest.

"You can't go back for Yule! You're coming to my house and you have no choice in the matter. There, I've said it. I've already told my parents, and now they're expecting you, and it'd be bad manners to change your mind at this point!"

"Harry will-" Tom began.

"No. No more Harry! It's always Harry this and Harry that with you, Tom. Can't you understand that what he did to you was wrong! People like him deserve to go to prison! It was abuse. It was rape. It was wrong, Tom!" Abraxas screamed at him, face flushed, and Tom remembered how the blonde had looked crying out beneath him years ago as he enjoyed topping. "It's wrong!"

"What is wrong? That I love him, that he loves me, Abraxas? Is this jealousy talking?" Tom asked, with a chuckle, not sure if he should be amused by his friend's behaviour or not.

"I'm not jealous. I'm worried. He shouldn't have ever touched you like he did. Even Professor Dumbledore is worried about you, and I know the two of you don't get on, but he's been trying to keep you both apart for your own good. What he does to you… how long has it been going on?"

"I can barely remember when it started. But, Abraxas, it doesn't feel wrong. It can't be wrong, because Harry said-"

"Adults can be wrong too, Tom. And they lie. All of the time, sometimes to protect us and sometimes to hurt us, but you can't always believe everything everyone else says."

"Then how can I believe you?" Tom whispered. His eyes were closed, and he looked so hurt that Abraxas almost regretted this conversation, but it had to be done. Tom had to know.

"Because I'm your friend." Tom opened his mouth, probably to comment that Harry was his only friend, or his only love, or his only parent, but Abraxas cut in again. "And he is a paedophile who had been abusing you for years. So trust me."

"I need to think about this. I need, I need to think." Tom told him, forehead creased as he frowned. There would be research to do, things in the library that he could read that would disprove Abraxas' words (or, more worryingly, prove them). This must have happened to other people before him, Tom thought. He can't have been the only stupid, pathetic, gullible child in the whole world, right? There would be proof. Once he found it, Tom would decide what to do then. "I'll come to your home for Yule," he told his silent friend, and then he left the room, heading straight for the library. But before he started researching, he wrote to Harry, to ask if it was true and to tell him of his plans for Yule.

When Yule passed and Harry still hadn't replied to him, Tom knew he didn't need to read more about psychopathology and grooming or conditioning to know the truth. Harry's silence was all he needed.

XXX

March 24th 1945. 18 years old.

Harry looked down at the parchment on the table. The spell was written on it, there in front of him, within arm's reach. It was almost over and he was so close to having this all end. The punch line was fast approaching, and once the spell had been cast Harry would know whether the last fourteen years had been worth it. He would either find himself right back where he started, Tom having gotten over the abuse and sworn revenge on Harry Potter, or he would land in a whole new world, where Tom had never managed to overcome his training, his desire to sexually submit himself to his foster father. Harry didn't know which would happen, but he knew he'd prefer the latter option.

His fingers traced the words on the parchment.

Beside him, on the sofa, sat a backpack, filled with anything of importance that Harry was bringing with him. He picked it up, and slipped his arms through the straps and rolled his shoulders until the bag settled into place against his back. With his wand in his right hand, and the last letter Tom had written to him in his left, Harry knew that this was the moment. This was his last moment here, because when Tom returned that summer he would be too late.

Harry would be gone.

And then they'd all learn how well his plan had worked out.

XXX

June 9th 1945. 18 years old.

He was calling himself Lord Voldemort now. It was an anagram of his real name, the name his parents had given him, the name Harry had used as he pounded into his body, as Tom had clung naively to him. But he wasn't that person anymore. He was a different person now, a stronger person, and it was time that Harry learnt he had crossed the wrong person.

Abraxas waited silently behind him, wand in hand, as Tom opened the door to Harry's little flat. The Locket hung around his neck, sparkling in the light from the corridor, and then dulling as Tom stepped into the dark room. With a flick of his wand the lights turned on, but there was no one within the room. It was silent, and Tom searched through the kitchen, the bathroom, the bedroom, before finding himself standing stupidly once more in the living room with Abraxas at his back.

There was a piece of parchment on the table, with a spell that Tom didn't recognize written on it. Beside it, was the letter Tom had written, asking Harry if he really was a paedophile, the letter to which Harry had never replied. Lastly, there was one more letter, and with shaking fingers Tom picked it up.

"Hello Tom,

It must be terrible of me, to not be there for you once you finally realised what I had done to you. But, I suppose, I'm a terrible person. I wouldn't have done this if I wasn't, now would i? But, really, you only have yourself to blame. That man, the one I told you about, who tied me up and hurt me for his pleasure, he was the man you would one day become if left unchecked. And the world does not need two such people… Though I suppose there are now him and me, so I have failed in that respect.

But I am confident that you will never be like us. It is too engrained in your very being, the disease to please, the need to submit, the wild clenching feeling you experience at the thought of someone above you or within you; I bet you're feeling it now, remembering how it felt to let me take you, aren't you?

I told you the world would conspire to tear us apart, but I know you, Tom, and I know you'll horde that Horcrux close because deep down you can't wait to see me again. I will return to you, in time, like I promised; and Lord Voldemort always keeps his promises, right? You're standing there, reading my letter, and telling yourself you can't wait to see me so that you can hurt me for hurting you, humiliate and punish me, like I humiliated you. To use me? But deep down, in a place inside of you where even you are afraid to look you know that you can't wait for me to return because already you miss the feel of me pinning you down, buried to the hilt in your arse while you scream my name.

But don't worry, my Tom. That day will come soon.

Your Harry."

Abraxas took a step towards him, hands outstretched to comfort his friend, but Tom shoved them away. "I'll show him," the boy hissed, vowing revenge, "he'll be sorry."

But secretly Tom knew Harry was right. And there were tears escaping his eyes, because already Tom missed his friend and lover, and he wasn't sure that his anger would be enough to keep him until Harry came home again.

XXX

1 – Tom has one of those horrible winter birthdays, which means by the time he is old enough to go to school the year has already started. He'll be 12 during the 2nd term of his 1st year, and so on, so when Tom graduates he will already be 18 (as opposed to Harry, who turned 18 after he graduated).

2 – Young boys can get hard, they just cannot ejaculate until they reach puberty and sperm starts to be produced. Orgasm can also happen, as it is due to the stimulation of nerves, rather than the existence of sperm. My friend had a younger brother, and when he was 1 they could never get a nappy to fasten on him, because he was always erect. Apparently it was due to surges of adrenaline (but don't take that at face value: it's been a long time since she told me this). Puberty starts around 12 or 13 for boys, and as early as 8 for girls, but some are early bloomers. Like Tom, who apparently started ejaculating at 11!

3 – I lost track of my maths at some point, and now I think the ages/Hogwarts years in the latter half of the chapter might be incorrect. But as I said, Tom has a difficult birthday, unlike Harry's very easy to follow age-to-year ratio.

4 – Harry would be around 40 now. I am assuming that since there was such a gap between the grandparents going to Hogwarts and having James, that they would have graduated and married by now, but would still be fairly young, and James doesn't exist yet. So there's Harry, who is 40, and there's Harold Potter and his wife, in their late twenties.

Thanks for reading! I hope to have chapter 04 done…. Eventually. It's going to be different! Wouldn't it be cool to have a banner for this? But it's never going to happen!