Title: The One True King
Author: Shara Lunison
Beta: Batsutousai
Rating: M
Pairings: HP/LV, JP/LE, HP/everyone, ever, SS/LP
Warnings: AU; OoC; character death; pseudo Lion King crossover; dark, insane, promiscuous, Slytherin Harry; pseudo incest; more as they happen

Disclaim Her:

~Let Me Go, Let Me Out, This is Not My Choice~

It took Harry until after his first Christmas with Lily and Neville to come to terms with the fact that Lord Voldemort was inside of him. He ignored the diary, locking it away securely in his desk until he knew what to do with it.

It wasn't until he found out, quite by accident, that having the Dark Lord inside him had given him certain other gifts that he finally decided to confront the diary. He opened the book to the first page again and wrote, 'I can speak to snakes.'

Tom replied after a few minutes of making Harry stew. 'That is hardly surprising.'

Harry nodded, not really having expected anything else. He decided to forge ahead and asked, 'Is there any way to bring Lord Voldemort back without my having to die?'

The answer was swift: 'Of course. Idiot.'

Harry could almost imagine Tom saying that in the fond way he had, and it brought tears to his eyes. He had thought he was all cried out by now, especially after Tom's birthday had come and passed without his lover there to celebrate it with him.

When he recovered, he wrote, 'What do I have to do?'

'First,' Tom replied, 'You must get the Death Eaters back under control. I would imagine they're running amuck without me—him—there to control things.'

'I can't do that, he'd kill me as soon as I revived him!' Harry protested.

'Nonsense. You're going to prevent all of my—his—hard work from going down the drain. Here's what you need to do…'

Harry followed the diary's every order to a 'T'. And so it was that, on the thirtieth of April, exactly six months from the Dark Lord's defeat, Harry stood in a field that Tom had frequently used for such gatherings. He pulled the sleeve back from his Dark Mark, pressed his wand to it and said, "Morsmordre," in Parseltongue while focusing through the Mark on each and every Death Eater who was not imprisoned, calling them to him.

It only took a few moments for the pops of apparition to begin arriving, and Harry smiled in amusement as several of the early comers fell to their knees, babbling, "My Lord"s left and right and generally making fools of themselves.

Lucius and Severus arrived together, the only ones so far to come wearing their silver masks. Harry only knew them because he had learned to distinguish their masks from everyone else's. When the pair saw him standing at the center of the field instead of the Dark Lord, they moved closer as if to speak to him. He halted them with a look.

They looked puzzled, even behind their masks, until they spotted Harry's new…friend.

'Can I go scare them, Master?' the ten-foot long black snake asked him.

'Go on, Nagini,' he told her fondly, speaking loud enough that anyone standing nearby would hear him hissing in the snake tongue. 'But do try not to poison anyone.'

'Yes, Master,' she hissed sullenly before darting quick as lightning into the gathering crowd of Death Eaters and playfully snapping at the heels of those cowardly enough to run from her. Harry was more than a little amused to see Wormtail backing away well before she reached his part of the field, then turn tail and run while transforming into his rat form. Harry didn't even bother trying to stop Nagini from following her instincts and eating the man, though he wasn't terribly disappointed when she missed. Peter Pettigrew's disappearance would have been too hard to explain.

"Harry?" Severus whispered to him from quite close by.

Harry turned to his friend, unsurprised to see Lucius and Regulus and a few others of their school group nearby as well. Instead of answering their unspoken question, he whirled and motioned with his hand to cause a short platform to appear just behind him. He stepped onto it and motioned again to make it hover about a foot off the ground, easily allowing him to see over everyone's heads.

He raised his wand—he was using Tom's wand, with the diary's permission—and fired a shower of green and silver sparks over the crowd gathered around him. "Silence!" he ordered.

The first mutinous cry was not surprising, but it was sooner than he had hoped. "Who do you think you are, Potter? Where's the Dark Lord?" yelled someone who thought he was far enough back in the crowd to go unnoticed.

"What I think, Avery," Harry snapped, wriggling his wand in the man's direction and watching in satisfaction as he was drug forward by an invisible rope around his neck, "is that I am the one who gathered you here, and if you want to know anything you need to shut up and listen." He released him with a flourish and then turned his attention back to the crowd in general. "You are here, because since the Dark Lord's disappearance you have all gotten sloppy."

"Disappearance?" Lucius interrupted, allowing his excitement to show in his voice and in the parts of his face Harry could see. "You think he's alive?"

Harry knew the question was far more subtle: "You spoke in the snake tongue, ergo…"

"I am working on reviving the Dark Lord," Harry said loudly, so everyone could hear. "He is not dead, but it will take several years before he can be resurrected. One of the sacrifices I need is not yet ready to be used in the ritual." He grimaced, thinking of Neville. The boy had to be at least five years old for the ritual he had found in an ancient book from Tom's library. He also had to begin displaying accidental magic, which he had not done yet. Harry did not think the boy was a squib, but he couldn't take the chance that the ritual would fail. He only had one opportunity to make it work.

"Why should we believe you?" Avery snarled, making of himself a target again. All of the Death Eaters in his vicinity wisely backed away.

Harry calculated in his head the consequences of killing the man. He was unmarried, with a younger sister who had been in Severus' year at Hogwarts. His family wouldn't miss him too much, he hoped.

'Nagini,' he hissed loudly, ignoring their gaps. 'You may kill that one.'

'With pleasure, Master!' Nagini crowed from somewhere out in the field. The crowd of Death Eaters jostled, trying to see into the darkness for the giant snake they knew was out there somewhere. Nagini had continued trying to find Wormtail, not realizing that he had returned to human form and was in a part of the circle closer to Harry.

"W-what did you say?" Avery asked, spinning wildly in circles, his eyes wide as he looked for his death. "What did you ruddy well say, Potter!"

"I told her to kill you," Harry said calmly.

Avery turned on the spot, trying to apparate away, not realizing that Harry had discreetly cast an anti-apparition jinx over the area as soon as he decided to kill the man.

Nagini didn't wait any longer to take her meal. She lunged out of the darkness, venom-filled teeth latching onto the arm that Avery rose to defend himself. He didn't even have his wand out, the fool. Not that it would have mattered.

The watching Death Eaters backed well away from Avery and the snake, watching in awed horror as he became paler and paler by the second. In under a minute he was dead, staring up at the stars with empty eyes.

'Can you butcher it please, Master?' Nagini asked petulantly. 'I am not yet big enough to eat him whole.'

"Of course, Nagini," Harry said in English for the benefit of the crowd. He lowered the platform and stepped fearlessly across the clearing to the body before coolly amputating the arms, legs, and head and cutting the torso in half lengthwise after removing the man's clothes. "Is that better?"

For answer, Nagini gave a delighted hiss and detached her jaw to take in one of the legs. Harry was fascinated at watching her scales bunch and stretch as the limb was forced into her body whole. It took only a minute or two for her to swallow it fully. He cast stasis charms on the remaining pieces and left them where they were. He would take them home with him as treats later.

Turning to the somewhat green circle of spectators, Harry slowly spun as he asked, "Are there any other objections?"

Dead silence was his reply.

"Good. I welcome your questions, but do not presume to imply that I would lie about such a thing as the Dark Lord's return."

"When will he be returning?" one Death Eater asked breathlessly.

Harry returned to his little platform above them before answering. "If everything goes to plan, on Halloween in three and a half years. If I am delayed, I will let you all know. I am now capable of calling you as the Dark Lord did, but I will refrain from such public gatherings if at all possible. We should all be lying low until his return."

"How did you gain the ability to talk to snakes?" Severus asked with honest curiosity in his voice. The utter silence that followed his question showed that no one else had dared to ask.

Harry hesitated, touching the area over his heart. "I was there when the Dark Lord was defeated. I will leave it to him to tell you the tale when he returns, but I have become his vessel, of sorts. I know the Dark Lord is alive because I can feel him in my every waking moment. My ability to speak the snake tongue and to call you all through the Dark Mark is caused by this connection."

There were murmurs of surprise and appreciation. Harry decided to end the meeting on that note, not feeling up to answering any other questions, and quite tired from keeping up the façade of confidence that he had been portraying. It was all going as the Tom in the diary had said it should. Now all he had to do was wait for Neville to grow up a little bit more.

~Is There a Way I Can Find You?~

Harry grimaced as he stared down at his five-year-old nephew, who was staring at his shoes and twisting his fingers around one another like they were a Cat's Cradle.

"Still?" Harry growled.

Neville looked up at him through his lashes and slowly shook his head.

Lord Potter scoffed and started to turn away, then changed his mind. He pulled out his wand—his old holly wand, not Lord Voldemort's—and handed it to the child.

Neville stared at the length of wood in his hand like it might bite him.

"Well, give it a wave, boy!" Harry snapped, losing what little patience he had with the child.

Neville waved it half-heartedly, and nothing happened.

Harry snatched back his wand, whirling away from the child. Inside, his heart was breaking. "We'll try again next year."

~Is There a Sign I Should Know?~

He shoved six-year-old Neville off the end of the dock and the child fell two feet into the chilly black waters of the lake and did not resurface. Staring at the water, Harry wondered what would happen if he just let the boy drown. Would he really die, or would magic finally come to his rescue and save the boy of prophecy from drowning?

A shout behind him made him turn to see Lily breaking free from Severus' hold and rushing toward him. "Where is Neville?" the mother asked breathlessly, studying the water.

Harry sighed and cast a summoning charm, pulling Neville back from the deeps. "I was trying to teach him how to swim," he lied. The boy was left, gasping and sobbing, on the planks of the dock while Harry turned and left, disappointed once more.

"Is he…" Severus trailed off, not sure how to broach the subject.

Harry's eyes clenched tightly. "He will be. He has to be."

Severus just nodded, choosing not to argue with the man who would resurrect the Dark Lord.

~If I Could Be Close Beside You~

'What do we do if he never shows any sign, Tom?' Harry asked. Before he could see the response, a knock sounded on the door. "Enter," he sighed.

Neville came in, recently turned seven, and closed the door behind him. "Uncle Harry, I…"

"What is it, Neville?" Harry snapped, exhaustion clear in his voice. He was so tired of all this. He just wanted Tom back. The diary was his lifeline—the only thing to keep him sane—but it helped less and less the more time passed.

"I-I think I did m-magic," Neville breathed. He had developed a stutter quite early on, probably due to Harry's menacing attitude toward him. Harry could have cared less, except it made the child a pain to listen to.

Harry spun in his chair to stare hungrily at the boy. "Really? Tell me!"

Neville took an instinctive step back, and started with his shoe scuffing, finger twisting motions. "Mummy gave me a potion, and when I took it, steam came out of my ears." He looked up through the fringe that now covered his forehead. "That was magic, right?"

A pepper-up potion. A bloody pepper-up potion! Harry turned away in disgust. "A Muggle would have had steam coming out of their ears if they took that potion, brat. Now get out!"

There was the sound of Neville hastily grappling with the doorknob, and then the door opened and closed with a soft thump.

Harry bowed his head over his desk and blocked out the world with his arms. He couldn't afford to hope anymore. It hurt too much.

~If I Could Be Where You Are~

It was Neville's eighth birthday, and the day after Harry had turned twenty-seven, when Harry finally snapped. He found himself standing at a third floor window at the very top of his house, holding Neville by his ankles out the window.

"Uncle Harry, please!" the boy begged pitifully, tiny hands reaching up and attempting to grab hold of some part of his uncle to pull himself back inside.

"You're nothing but a mistake," Harry said viciously, shaking the boy dangerously. His hands slipped a little, but he could have cared less. "You're nothing but a fucking squib!"

"No, no, please!" Neville sobbed. He had lost the strength to reach back up to Harry, and was now staring down at the ground with the blood rushing to his head. "I'll do magic, I'll be good!"

A pang went through Harry's chest, and he released the boy's ankles to touch the mark over his heart in wonder. "Tom?" he whispered.

Neville screamed as he fell, and then the most wonderful thing happened. As Harry watched, the idiot boy bounced all the way down to the front gate.

~If I Could Reach Out and Touch You~

"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!" Harry summoned a bone from the grave and motioned it toward the large cauldron he was working with. Regulus Black was submerged up to the shoulders in the potion Harry had prepared for the ritual, and was struggling feebly against his bonds as he watched Harry wide-eyed. As the liquid hissed and shot out sparks, turning an electric blue, Harry just smirked at him, relishing in the suffering of the traitor. If Tom had been around the past several years, Regulus never would have remained under the radar for so long.

Harry picked up a heavy silver knife, mentally preparing himself for the next step. "Flesh of the servant, willingly given, you will revive your master!" He slashed the knife across his arm before he could think about it too much. His arm was lopped off cleanly, just below the elbow, and the piece of flesh fell into the cauldron beside Regulus, who had started to whimper and struggle frantically. Harry couldn't help the scream that pierced him, barely noting the bright crimson color of the liquid in the cauldron now.

As swiftly as he was able, he stumbled to the headstone where he had tied up Neville's prone form. The child was unconscious—Harry not having wanted to listen to the brat wail during the ritual—he took the knife still in his hand and slit Neville's right wrist, dropping the knife and picking up a goblet he had left there for this purpose. When it was brimming with blood collected from the wound, he shuffled back to the cauldron to finish his task. "Blood of the enemy….forcibly taken….you will….resurrect your foe."

The blood was tipped into the cauldron, and the liquid turned to a blinding white. Regulus' whimpers became screams and Harry tipped sideways to watch, cradling the stump of his arm as he performed the last step. He reached inside of himself to that piece of Tom he could feel, and he pushed. It was like a physical exhale as Tom's presence and magic and power left him in a rush, surging instead into the now silent form in the cauldron.

White sparks began shooting from the cauldron, brighter and brighter until he could barely look at it without being blinded. Then suddenly, the light became a surge of white steam billowing thickly up into the midnight air. Harry could see nothing, and waited with trepidation for some sign that it had worked. Some sign that Tom was coming back to him.

And then, through the mist, he saw the form of a man tall and strong rising from the depths of the cauldron.

"Harry?" came Tom's familiar voice.

Harry sobbed, crying out incoherently at the sound of his lover's voice after so long. The man stepped out of the cauldron, staring at him, before kneeling beside him completely nude and touching Harry's wretched arm with gentle fingers.

"What have you done, Harry?" Tom asked, horror in his eyes.

"I brought you back," Harry whispered, black motes beginning to float across his vision. "I've waited so long, Tom. I couldn't bear it…"

"Shh…" Tom murmured. He plucked his wand from the pocket of Harry's robe and waved it over Harry's amputated limb. "Rest, Harry."

Harry closed his eyes gratefully. The pain was gone, and Tom was back.

Lord Voldemort had risen again.

~To Bring You Back Home~

Harry flexed the fingers of his new left hand, marveling at the feat of magic that Tom had performed. It was seamlessly connected to what was left of his arm, flesh-colored for the most part, and matched the size and strength of his right hand exactly. The only difference was the stylized pattern of the veins running through it. They looked like vines, with small serpents hidden amongst the leaves and stems. Harry thought it was beautiful—it certainly felt that way. It pulsed with Dark magic of a sort that he had come to associate with parseltongue spells.

Looking around his bedroom where he had awoken, Harry wondered where Tom had gotten to. As if the thought had summoned him, his lover walked through the door and stopped short at the sight of him sitting up in bed, awake.

"Harry," Tom breathed.

There was a softer look to the man, as though his emotions were closer to the surface in his reborn body. Harry studied him, satisfied with what he saw. He had been afraid that, by using Regulus' body as a golem, Tom would end up inhabiting the other man's body instead of being truly reborn. There were hints, here and there, that this had once been Regulus Black's body, but he was still black-haired, red-eyed Tom Marvolo Riddle. He was gorgeous, and Harry felt tears prick his eyes as he realized again that he had succeeded.

"Tom!" Harry cried, lifting his arms in an entreaty to the Dark Lord.

Tom swept across the room at once, folding Harry into an embrace and peppering soft kisses to every part of Harry that he could reach.

"I missed you," Harry sobbed, clinging to him and inhaling the familiar scent of his lover. The man had clearly showered, using the same soaps and scents that he had always used. It was a comfort that almost made him forget the long years that had kept them apart.

"I would say the same, but I was with you the entire time," Tom murmured, nuzzling his nose into Harry's neck and inhaling deeply even as he pressed a kiss there. "I did miss this—being able to touch you, and hold you, and love you, and…"

Harry cut him off with a kiss, their breath mingling as lips and teeth and tongues clashed. He was pressed back into the bed, Tom's comforting weight on top of him, and he ceased to care about the rest of the world entirely.

Clothing was sloughed off, their lips barely parting to make the effort, and their hands explored flesh wantonly, neither relenting for a moment.

Tom prepared Harry gently in a way he never had before, and then pressed inside, coming home. They moved slowly, savoring every sensation. Harry kissed every part of Tom's face and neck that he could reach, touched every quivering sweat-slicked muscle, and shared every gasped breath.

"Tom," Harry hissed, not realizing that he was speaking in parseltongue. Tom gave a surprised grunt, pressing a little harder, moving a little faster. "My Tom."

"Harry…" Tom groaned, pressing Harry's knees back as far as they would go. The new angle tightened the wet heat around him, and he thrust more shallowly as Harry began to clench around him.

Reaching a hand between them, Tom fisted his lover with erratic strokes, watching the deep green haze of lust clouding Harry's eyes.

"Mine," Tom growled, and they fell over the edge together.