Severus's form shook.

Harry Potter was abducted by the Dark Lord.

He tried to push down the whirlwind of emotions. They only came back stronger. He groaned, throwing himself onto his sofa.

The Dark Lord has stopped his crusade against Harry Potter.

That was good, on the surface. Severus had sworn a vow on his magic and life that he would protect Potter at any cost. He no longer had to dance the edge between complying with the Dark Lord and saving Potter's life.

A piece of the Dark Lord's soul was within Potter's.

Albus had told him about the Dark Lord's horcruxes. Severus was the man that contained the ring's curse to Albus's hand. Besides the curse, a horcrux was a dangerous piece of dark magic to even touch. And it had been living in Potter for almost his entire life.

The Dark Lord cannot die without Potter dying first.

That was the flaw in his perfect world. He could not kill Potter nor be involded in his death. His tough teaching in class was toeing the line as it is. The war could not be won without Potter being dead.

What would Albus say?

He wouldn't - couldn't - reveal that piece of information. Albus would do everything in his power to kill the boy for the greater good of the wixen world. And Severus would have to fight against him.

The Dark Lord would win the war.

He didn't lose when he attacked the Potters. In fact, he had sealed the fate of the war at that point. Everything Severus had been working for - all the healing their world had done - was futile. The Dark Lord would continue to come back even after death.

The Death Eaters wouldn't give up if the Dark Lord died.

The man proclaimed he wasn't mortal time and time again. When he came back, he proved it. Anyone would give their hand to prevent the agonsing tortue they endured their first meeting. Severus wasn't exempt from that either, he was only a little lighter on him because he still worked under Albus.

He was stuck.

Side with the Dark Lord, become a second-class citizen due to his blood status. Have his students taken away because they weren't fortunate enough to be born into an all-magical family. His world would crumble, dying until it's reduced to ashes.

Side with Albus, and Potter dies. If he knew - the sinking feeling in his gut told him Albus knew - then he would want Potter dead. Severus would have to either be left out or fight against the plans.

And Potter's death didn't guarantee that the Light would win.

Severus sighed, pulling himself from his sofa. He swept over to his room, to his nightstand. In a drawer, he pulled out an old, yellowed photo.

"Lily," He touched the red-headed girl, who smiled and laughed in the photo, "I have failed you. I can't succeed."

Harry took an awkward stance in front of Voldemort.

"Feet further apart," Voldemort commanded, prodding his hip with the tip of his wand.

"Ow!" Harry complained. But he moved his feet.

"No, more to the centre. You're too far inward."

They had been correcting his stance for close to an hour, and frankly, Harry was about to take "not seeing the light of day" over this. He thought they'd be duelling on day one, only to learn that was maybe in a week or two.

"Perfect," Voldemort said after another ten minutes. "Memorise that; engrain it in your memory."

Harry rolled his eyes.

A hard prod was sent to his ribs. Harry tumbled to the floor, groaning and trying to regain his breath. He glared at Voldemort, who looked quite smug. Bastard, messing up all his work.

But he couldn't ignore the racing electricity that filled him when they touched.

He bit his lip, "Did you feel that?" He asked, standing back up.

"Be more specific."

"The… electricity? Give me your hand." Harry raised his hand, palm facing Voldemort.

Voldemort looked skeptical, but pressed their palms together.

Again, there was a steady hum of electricity. But he couldn't help but notice how abnormally cold Voldemort was. It reminded him more of a corpse than a person.

"I… see." Voldemort's eyebrows furrowed. "I assume it's due to the horcrux. Does it pain you?"

"No, but it's growing stronger." The hum inched toward his brain.

The moment he felt it go over his eyes, an unholy pain overtook him. He dropped to his knees and rested his head against the cool floor. Sticky blood leaked from his scar, dripping into his eyes.

He was acutely aware that Voldemort was watching him. When the pain had dissipated enough, he staggered to his feet.

Then, Voldemort reached out and directly touched his scar.

The pain blinded his vision. He hit the ground and retched onto the floor. The acidic taste in his mouth made him want to vomit again. He spat, trying to regain his composure.

"Interesting." Voldemort vanished his puke.

"Interesting," Harry mocked back.

"Perhaps, hm, I will need to look closer at the horcrux embedded in your soul." Voldemort pressed a glass of water into Harry's hands. "I believe it's because the bond wasn't solidified. The pain, theoretically, should go away. Or at least your reaction won't be as violent."

"What - What do you have to do?" Did he have to murder someone again?

"Hm, I will not disclose the specifics, but it involves splashing the object with my blood. I assume it is the same, however, you may have to drink it." Voldemort looked like he was about to say more, but stopped.

Harry cringed.

He was no stranger to tasting blood. He'd swallowed his own blood several times before, but swallowing someone else's was a whole different ballgame. Particularly Voldemort's blood. He wasn't even sure the man had any.

"I will research more. We simply will not touch for extended periods of time. I will give you a few minutes to compose yourself while I look for books on the subject." Voldemort turned on his heel and stalked off.

Harry limped to his bag. He needed some type of reassurance. His hands found the cold diary in an instant and flipped open the pages. The diary sensed his distress, and and an inky blackness spilt out.

"What ires you?" Tom asked, gently wiping away the sweat on Harry's forehead with his sleeve. The tingle returned, but it was warm, like stepping into a hot bath.

"I found out if I touch Voldemort for long enough - or he touches my scar - it basically crucio's me for a few seconds." He complained. Harry flopped on the floor and rested his head on Tom's lap.

"That's odd. It doesn't hurt when I touch it, does it?" He hesitated to put his hand down.

"No, quite the opposite." Harry placed Tom's hand on his head, demanding to be pet. "He said that it's because the horcrux isn't solidified. I might have to drink his blood or something."

Tom's nose crinkled. "Hopefully not. Do you need any pain relief?"

"It's fine; I can deal with it." Harry tossed and turned in Tom's lap. He curled up into a tighter ball and buried his face into Tom's stomach. Tom let out a sigh but continued to stroke his hair.

"If you say so."

They stayed that way for a while. Just content in each other's presence, happy to simply exist.

But a thought brewed in Harry's mind.

"Do you feel anything?"

"Hm? Well, it feels nice. I can feel your heat. I can't feel temperature, and my sense of touch, hearing, and smell is much duller. But with you... there isn't any of that." He admitted, stroking his cheek.

What about taste?

Harry blushed at the thought.

"Hm?" Tom asked. "You got warm. Are you feverish?"

Harry wanted to curl up and die. "Um, no, just ah, nothing."

"If you're sure."

Harry snuggled closer, trying to conceal his burning cheeks. He could forget everything when they were like this. It was nice to just bask in another's presence.

But all good things must come to an end. The moment he heard footsteps, he quickly hid Tom. It saddened him to see him go, but he knew that he'd get a visit that night.

Voldemort came into the room with eight books in his arms. Five were thick, large tomes that looked ancient, while three were thin and almost more like pamphlets than actual books. He sat the stacks on a table that was pushed against the wall.

With a flick of his hand, he summoned a chair and began flipping through pages of the large ones. Harry hmphed; did Voldemort even remember he was there?

"Stop acting like I neglect you. Get into a duelling stance and put up a shield. I will send spells to you, and you will block them." Voldemort flicked his wand from his holster.

Harry perked up. Finally! Some sort of action!

He hopped to his feet and stood in position.

"Further to your left," Voldemort said, "and put your right foot back a bit."

Harry groaned. They spent five minutes perfecting his pose, and at that point, Harry felt stiff and unnatural. Voldemort rolled his eyes and propped up his book as soon as Harry was perfect.

"Stupefy." Voldemort flicked at him before Harry had a chance to summon his shield.

He barely managed a weak Protego in time before another spell shot at him, this time an off-orange colour. His shield broke, and Harry forced more magic into the next one. This one was stronger, larger, and it could cover most of his body.

"Focus on having a smaller shield." Voldemort sent a nasty hex to him.

"Why? Isn't it better to have a bigger one?" Harry asked as small white cracks formed in his shield.

"Only if you are being attacked from multiple angles. Small shields work best, as they use less magic, and are quicker to manoeuvre than a larger shield. You just need more accuracy." He lazily flicked off another spell.

Doubtful, but knowing he was probably correct, Harry cancelled the spell and started to cast another one when needles pricked his left leg. He staggered, hissing curses, as he saw the fabric had been ripped open and tiny abrasions were on his skin.

"We will work on changing the power in a spell without recasting it. Again." Voldemort paused for a second to give him time to recuperate.

Another twenty spells later, and Harry was tired. He could hardly move the shield on time before another one came at him. And Voldemort wasn't even trying! He was just haphazardly flicking spells at him while calmly reading his books.

An idea struck him. Harry forced more magic into his shield and made the shield push out against the next spell instead of absorbing it. The red spell bounced off his shield and ran directly to Voldemort.

The man, not paying attention, took the full brunt of the spell. A short slash cut across his face and the corner of the little pamphlet-book was knicked. Harry smirked.

Voldemort closed his book slowly and ran his finger over the cuts.

A yellow spell shot out of Voldemort's wand. It blasted through Harry's shield and struck his hip.

Harry crumpled. Little shards of his hip bone were shaving off and impaling his joint. He whimpered, biting down hard on his lip as he just hoped for the pain to stop. But it didn't.

The whimpers morphed into small sobs as he could feel the ball of his bone slowly dissolving, like a jawbreaker. He banged his head against the ground to try to distract himself.

"Is it still going?" Voldemort asked in surprise.

Harry couldn't say anything as he was trying to stop himself from screaming. The bone had run out and was now shredding his muscle. His hand was clamped against the area, and he could already feel a soft, squishy spot forming.

"No, no, it should have ended a long time ago…" Voldemort loomed over him.

Harry shied away as Voldemort kneeled down. He curled into a tighter ball, trying his best to make himself as small as possible.

"Here, let me see it." Voldemort raised his hand.

Harry shielded his face with his arms. The spell had progressed, ripping apart the thin layer of fat and moving on to the underside of his skin. Voldemort hesitated, but placed his hand on his hip.

"Shit." Voldemort cursed.

He mumbled a few words in parseltongue, and the spell stopped. Harry choked in a breath, then kept his mouth shut. It burned, like molten iron being poured into his socket.

Voldemort muttered more words in parseltongue, and his entire leg went numb. Harry sighed, his lungs cramping from holding his breath for so long. The tingles were starting up as well.

"I'm bringing you back to your room. I know a potion that will fix this within the hour." Voldemort scooped him up and Harry's bag was magically lifted into his lap.

"Be quick." Harry hissed, wrapping a hand around the bag's strap. "The electricity is moving."

Voldemort nodded and speed-walked out of the room. He just barely made it to his room in time, depositing Harry on his bed as soon as possible.

The man was in and out of his room within minutes. Harry laid there, diary clutched against his chest. It calmed him.

"Here," Voldemort said as he handed him two vials. "The purple one will fix the damages, and the other is a pain reliever. Take both."

Harry downed the two foul potions. The aftertaste combination was even worse. Voldemort barked for Pipskey to get him some pumpkin juice to sip on. Even then, it didn't help too much.

"I am - "Voldemort hesitated, glancing at his wand, whose tip started to glow grey, and then he looked relieved. "I need to leave. A Death Eater is calling me. Rest and heal."

Harry let out a long sigh as the door slammed shut. He summoned Tom, needing some relaxation before he fell asleep.

Voldemort's glamours went up the moment he exited the room. Another meeting was required of him. This time, it was Severus who asked for him. It was almost never good when Severus called; most of the time it was news of the Order planning a new, effective way to derail his plans.

TThe man in question stood in the entrance hall, pacing. Voldemort sighed. Not a good sign either. But delaying the inevitable never ended well.

"Severus, what is it?" The first name still felt foreign on his tongue. Had he ever called them by their names, even at the beginning? He couldn't remember.

"My Lord!" Severus's voice was practically quaking. "Dumbledore has figured out that Potter has been kidnapped instead of running away. He has managed to convince the Aurors to raid Malfoy Manor to try to find him. It's happening in two hours."

"What." Voldemort hissed. Most of the Azkaban prisoners lived there. Hell, most of their everything was there.

"What will we do, my Lord?" Severus appeared just as distressed as he was.

Voldemort didn't hesitate, he yanked Severus's arm and pressed his bone-white wand onto the dark mark. He called for everyone. They needed as much help as they could get, especially at this time of night.

"You will start moving everything here. Work for efficiency, not organisation. Scrub every piece of our existence from there. My followers will stay here." Voldemort grabbed Severus' arm and apparated them into Malfoy Manor.

Narcissa was, as always, already up. She was less dressed, in a nightgown, but she looked as alert as ever. Behind her, yawning and rubbing his eyes, was Lucius. His eyes widened as he looked at the Dark Lord.

"There will be a raid here in two hours. Gather everything and bring it to my manor. Only the inner circle is allowed to transport; however, I may extend the offer to the middle circle. Relay this to everyone." Voldemort didn't stop to make sure they understood and instead rushed to the guest wing.

Approximately 93 Death Eaters were staying at Malfoy Manor. Others had been welcomed to hide in their ancestral homes, but the rest were not so lucky. Voldemort summoned firecrackers from his wand and lit them ablaze.

Loud bangs rang out in the hall. Moments later, the convicts were peering out from their doors, second-hand wands raised. Voldemort cast a sonours on his voice.

"You need to evacuate. Do not leave a trace of your existence. When you are ready, report to the entrance of the hall. You have one hour." There was much more than just the Death Eaters to worry about.

"My Lord, I will make sure the rooms are cleared, as will my family." Bellatrix reported a deathly serious expression on her face.

"You all have heard of this possibility; use your emergency kits." Voldemort rushed to Bellatrix's room first.

"Come, Bellatrix. You need to be prepared first. I will have Narcissa check instead."

Voldemort and Bellatrix rushed to pack everything. Part of their emergency kit contained a bottomless, feather-light bag that could fit everything. It was painfully hard to enchant them, but they were vital in situations like this.

He found a disturbing amount of Daily Prophet cutouts of him and mentions of him, but he was too stressed to care. Within minutes, Bellatrix was ready. Leaving her room, Rodolphus and Rabastan were packed as well.

He apparted them all to his manor and instructed them to guide the Death Eaters to the guest wing. He'd have to host at least a few in the family wing, but he'd reserve those for his inner circle.

"Don't settle yourselves. Anyone in the inner circle or upper-middle circle is to wait. I may have to host the family wing." At times like this, he was glad he had extended Riddle Manor to twice its original size.

Bellatrix's eyes gleamed at the thought.

Time was drawing close. And everyone was exhausted. Anyone, including Voldemont, would be after more than 30 apparitions. Again, he thanked himself for opening his wards to his inner circle.

Ten minutes.

That was all the time they had to spare. They had barely gotten the last of the dark artefacts out of there. Voldemort sent off Narcissa with strict instructions to sip a dreamless sleep to make it look like she'd been sleeping the entire time. She thanked him profusely and went off.

In the end, all eight of the Azkaban escapees from his inner circle needed to be moved into the family wing. Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rabastan Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy, Barty Crouch Jr., Amycus and Alecto Carrow, and Tiberius Nott all needed to be hosted.

"Need I remind you that Harry Potter is not to be harmed. Antagonising him, though tempting, will result in a fight you will not win because you will not harm him. Understood?"He spoke more to Bellatrix than to the others..

There were some tentative agreements, but they were still agreements. He settled them in the rooms furthest from Harry's, which put them at the entrance of the wing.

"Do not pass the garden door unless specifically instructed." He pointed to the door in the middle of the hall.

"The lounge, kitchen, and library are on this side." He gestured opposite their rooms.

"Thank you so much, My Lord." Bellatrix giggled. She acted like he had offered her his bed!

"Sleep. Your bodies are still healing."

Voldemort watched as they each entered their rooms (Bellatrix has asked for one separate from her husband's) before casting a detection ward. It would alert him whenever someone entered or left the rooms. Another one was placed a few metres away from the garden door.

He hesitated at Harry's door. He'd be awake by now, but he wasn't sure how he'd take the news.

Since when did he care?

He shook his head.

Voldemort opened the door.

"What?" He muttered.

On the bed, wrapped up in sheets, was a younger version of himself. He was cuddling Potter. Running his hands through Potter's hair as the boy softly snored. And looking so happy while doing so.

His younger self looked up from Potter. A flicker of fear crossed his face, then amusement.

"Merlin, you're ugly."

Voldemort stepped back. How dare he—how dare his younger self insult him like that! He dropped his glamours with a glare on his face.

"Oh, that's what he meant by that." Young Voldemort laughed. Laughed.

"How are you here?" Voldemort asked.

How on earth had he returned? In physical form, he could interact with the environment. But there was something different about his magic. Like it had twisted slightly. Young Voldemort looked apprehensive, but answered.

"Horcrux, obviously."

"Which one?" He tried to remember how old he could have been, but the memory evaded him.

"Diary."

"Potter said he killed you." At that, Young Voldemort laughed again.

"My death was greatly exaggerated. There wasn't enough basilisk venom to completely destroy me, but it took up all my magical reserves to keep myself from dying. Then Potter got a hold of me and cut himself on the page. I absorbed his magic." He said it as if it were the most obvious thing.

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "And what about... this?" He nodded to them.

"I siphon magic through an emotional response. This," He gestured to them, "elicits a very happy response."

"Does he know?"

"Of course he does. He knew of me, but he only gained my identity after Vernon nearly beat him to death." Voldemort scowled.

"And why didn't he tell me?" Anger sparked within him—something he hadn't felt towards Potter in a while.

Potter groaned in his sleep. He shifted, burying his face in Young Voldemort's chest and gripping at his shirt. Young Voldemort glared at him.

"Calm down. Do you think I want to be trapped under dozens of enchantments again? Do you think I want to be forced back into the diary again? Do you think I want to be treated like he is?" He hissed venomously.

"I didn't think you were fully sentient." True, he knew it contained his thoughts at the time, but to be fully corporeal and able to think on his own accord? Never.

Young Voldemort tched. "Of course you didn't."

They stood there in silence.

Potter, as always, had impeccable timing.

He snuggles closer, bumping against Young Voldemort's chin. His leg swung over Young Voldemort's hips, and Potter shivered pleasantly.

"Patronus," He muttered sleepily.

Voldemort's jaw tightened.

"When he wakes up, call for Pipskey and use her to send for me. He is not to leave the room until we talk." He backed away and shut the door before hearing the answer.

He didn't know whether to be disgusted or glad. His horcrux wasn't destroyed - the one that had 50% of his soul - and he was able to be corporeal now. But he didn't know what to think about the other.

The idea of Potter cuddling up to his 16-year-old Horcux was never a possibility. Never a thought. Potter even called him a Patronus. A beacon of pure happiness and light. The polar opposite of him.

He wasn't even sure what to think - by all means, his horcrux's reactions should be the same as they would have been back then. And he wouldn't have done any of that, even to Abraxas. Nothing so intimate.

Perhaps 50 years trapped in a diary did harm to the psyche.

Isolation would be a motive for any type of physical contact. Even if he was repulsed by it, he still interacted with or bumped into people. Professors would literally pat him on the back all the time.

Yes, that's what it must be.

Voldemort didn't get much sleep that night.

He saw himself from another perspective. Harry was leaning over himself, his hand hovering over his chest. In his sleep, Dream-Harry rolled onto his side. A spider crawled onto him. Harry brushed away the spider, his hand pale.

Dream-Harry leaned into the touch, and a wave of power rushed through Harry. He pulled his hand back, and Dream-Harry let out a short sigh. Harry hesitantly reapplied his hand to him. He recognised another wave of power—magic, he recognised.

He gently patted himself for hours.

Harry awoke reluctantly. It felt amazing just to cuddle up to someone, and he knew they'd part when he woke.

However, he was the only one awake.

Tom was sleeping, his chest moving slowly up and down. He appeared to be at ease just lying there. His slight furrow to the brow and slightly downturned lips were gone, instead resting neutrally.

With a gossomer's touch, Harry coasted his thumb over his cheek. Tom twitched, leaning into his touch. Butterflies bubbled in Harry's stomach. He reached out again, this time cupping his face. Tom breathed out, almost a sigh, and shuffled closer to him.

A smile stretched itself across Harry's face. He shuffled himself until he reached eye level. There, he carded his hands through his hair as softly as he could. A part of him melted as Tom snuggled up to him.

Tom's hands, which were wrapped around his waist, gripped him closer, clawing at the fabric of his shirt. It brought his face nearer. Pale-pink lips were parted slightly. Soft, warm, breath blew in his face.

Taste.

The word repeated itself in his head. He banished the thought and chose to focus on other matters.

But Harry could not imagine anything better.

For a while, he continues to preen him.

Tom's eyes slowly cracked open. Brown, Harry noted. A warm, dark chocolate brown. He had thought they were red for the longest time. His pupils were wide and trained on him.

"Morning." He said.

"Morning. Sleep well?" Harry asked, still brushing through his hair. He hadn't even encountered a knot yet.

"Very," He yawned, "You?"

"Spectacular ." It was the best sleep of his life.

"Mhh," Tom hummed in agreement. His eyes scanned Harry's face. "Have you always looked this bright?"

"Um," Harry's face was flushed. "I think?"

Tom laughed, thumbing his cheek. "You are just such a bright light. How fortunate I am to have encountered you."

Tom drew their faces a little closer, their noses almost touching. He leaned up and placed a soft kiss against Harry's forehead. Electricity thrummed through his veins, warm and relaxing like a hot bath.

His thumb traced Harry's facial features. Around his under-eye, to his cheekbones, down across his jawline - Tom stopped at his lips. He paused, brushing against Harry's bottom lip with a contemplative look in his eyes. His hand withdrew.

A frown crossed his handsome face. "Pipskey?"

A pop later, and a house elf appeared.

"Tell Voldemort we're up." Tom sighed.

"Young Master will inform Master." Pipskey bowed and popped away.

"Hm?" Harry asked, perplexed.

Tom sighed. "Voldemort decided to intrude on us when you had just fallen asleep. He asked some questions, didn't like the answers, and told me to alert the house elf when you were awake. He needs to talk to you or something."

Harry couldn't help but blush.

"Maybe he'll stop intruding. He needs to learn how to knock." Harry huffed. He walked in on him changing twice.

"Mh, yes. That would be great, wouldn't it, love?" Harry's face turned to fire.

Tom reluctantly drew away. Harry already missed his touch. The warmth, the gentle caresses, even just the presence. But he'd have to suck it up if Voldemort was coming. But he knew he'd always have him at night.

A knock sounded from the door. Harry and Tom looked at each other, smirking. They separated further, sitting criss-crossed in front of each other.

"Come in! I'm decent!" Harry smiled as he yelled.

Voldemort reluctantly entered the chamber. His eyes flickered from Harry to Tom, then back again.

"Leave," He commanded Tom.

"No. Whatever you say will just get back to me anyway." Tom rolled his eyes.

"Leave." He said again.

Tom groaned, but complied. He turned into a floating liquid of black ink and hopped back into the diary on the nightstand. Harry looked at Voldemort questioningly.

"Yesterday, there was a raid on Malfoy Manor. The rest of the Death Eaters are housed in the Manor. Bellatrix, Rodolphus, and Rasbatin Lestrange, Lucius Malfoy, Barty Crouch Jr., Amycus and Alecto Carrow, and Tiberius Nott are in the family wing, where we are."

"They are under strict instructions not to harm you; however, tread carefully. I do not want you in the main manor. You have access to the kitchen, lounge, library, garden, training room, and spare room. If you ever leave the confines of this manor, it will be when I accompany you. Understood?"

Harry nodded.

"Wait, Barty Crouch Jr. is alive?" Harry exclaimed. Great, someone who tried to murder him was alive.

"Yes." Voldemort answered. "Lucius swapped him out for a muggle when he was getting the dementor's kiss."

There was fear within him. He'd encountered all of those Death Eaters. Vicious, foul people, who'd sooner kill him than anyone else. He swallowed hard. Hopefully, they'd heed the warning.

"Kitchen?" He asked. He didn't know there was one.

"Yes, there is a separate kitchen for the family-specific house elves. If you are ever hungry and Pipskey is busy, walk down and ask for food." Harry bounced at his words.

"Can I cook there?" Voldemort looked at him sceptically.

"I assume so? I have never tried." Voldemort shrugged.

"Is anyone there right now?" Harry jumped out of bed.

"I do not know. Be careful." Voldemort stared at him with a knowing look on his face. It wasn't as if Harry looked for trouble; trouble seemed to find him.

"I'll try."

Harry: Pain

Tom: lemme help you

Voldemort: bro wtf

Tom: yer an asshole, get away from my cuddle-buddy