Before the snow falls
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Drabble for actualodinson's 30 Day Dark Fandom OTP challenge
Day 1: 10/1/14
Prompt: Physical ailments (knife/bullet wounds; illness/fever.)
Summary: I always hated the snow, it took everything from me. TMR/HP
...
"Don't get out of bed," a small hand pushed against his chest. Strength leaving him, he fell back, head hitting the pillow. Gazing up at the pale blue ceiling, he sighed.
"Where am I?" he asked, eyes not once leaving the ceiling, even when he heard the other person shift around to his left. He wondered who nursed him, not many would do so after all he had done.
"My home," the soft voice, decidedly male despite the quiet delicate tone, replied. The male swept his bangs from his forehead, brushing it out of his eyes. He couldn't help but want to laugh, he would kill lesser men for even attempting to lay a hand on his person in any manner, yet he could do nothing as this stranger did it.
"And where is your home?" Blinking, he found himself staring straight into pools of green, so bright it reminded him of acid, a shade so riveting the next words spoken phased right through him. "Come again?" A tinkling laugh, like bells, his hazed mind identified, rang out.
"I live alone in this isolated area, you wouldn't find anyone for thousands of miles. The closest landmark would have to be the lake five miles out to the west." No one for thousands of miles? Where the bloody hell did he end up?
Coldly, he asked, "You wouldn't happen to have any method of leaving this place, would you?"
Green eyes shuttered close, a light shiver making its way down his spine at the tone.
"No, I do not, my mother, she might have left something of that nature, but I would not be able to recognize it. I'm afraid I never got your name, mister," his voice, for some reason, grew softer. Leaning back, he gazed at the man he found in the middle of nowhere, drenched with blood and grime. Dark silver, like liquid mercury, stared at him, like those eyes were looking straight into his soul. His eyes roamed over the male, taking in the dark brown wavy strands of hair brushing messily into those dark eyes, the Aquiline nose, the softened aristocratic features, the thin lips a pale purple against the nearly starch white skin, the faint, nearly unnoticeable scars scattered throughout that skin, he flinched back in shock as he felt a hand lightly brush against his face.
His eyes darkened, silver turning into the dark grey of a storm, as the angel – for who else would even dare to care for the demon of nightmares, the feared Lord Voldemort? – ogled him. A smirk made its way onto his face. He didn't think that the angel – or should it be kitten? The inky black hair brushed against his face just enough to make the almond green eyes look twice as huge as they should – even realized how long he spent staring at him.
"Lord Voldemort," he decided, he never gave out his original name, not anymore. "And yours?"
"Harry. Harry Potter." Blushing at the silver eyes that seemed to stare right through him, he abruptly stood up. Backing away, he said, "I'll be right back. I'll just…um…go get some food and refreshments! Yes, food and refreshments…"
...
Recovering from a bullet wound to the leg was always a pain, but at least the green-eyed angel kept things interesting. Really, how naïve and innocent can he get? Going wide-eyed over a simple chaste kiss to the cheek, flushing as red as a fire hydrant, the man couldn't help but laugh at what he can get out of the teen. Days past, weeks flew by, eventually the bullet wound healed, a small starburst scar the sole reminder of the injury.
...
"Do you really have to leave soon?" Harry asked, he liked the man. Ever since his mother died from illness (he could never get the black and purple splotches out of his head, the discoloration and hair loss destroying his mother's beauty), leaving him alone, this was the happiness he had ever been. Sometimes, he wonders what would have happened if his mother hadn't run away with him as a toddler, his father dying to help them escape. His mother would never tell him why they had to run away, just saying that a terrorist organization was angry and that things escalated. Blushing as the older man nipped at his ear, he shuddered when strong arms wrapped around him, chin resting on his head.
"Is there anything else that could forestall my return?" Blowing lightly into his angel's ear, he smirked as he watched the slow unravel of the green eyed teen.
"Mister Lord Voldemort, sir?"
"Hmm?"
"Well…I…" words failing him, Harry grabbed the silver eyed man's face with his hands, kissing him hard. He gave in.
Smug, Lord Voldemort *cough*cough*Tom*Marvolo*Riddle*cough*cough* allowed his angel to drag him to the bedroom.
...
"Wh-where are you going?" Green eyes blinked up dazedly, worn out from the activities last night. It was dawn, the sun barely peeping out behind the clouds.
"Leaving." Putting on clean clothes, Lord Voldemort barely sent a glance back before exiting the bedroom.
"W-wait!" Rushing out after him, bed sheet wrapped around him, it was a miracle he didn't trip. "Who do you think you are, mister? After last night, you're just going to leave? Without even a proper farewell? After everything?" In a rare show of anger, his mother had beaten his temper down well enough during his childhood, Harry poked his guest? - lover? - one night stand? - in the chest.
*Bang!*
Blowing away the smoke from his gun, he never looked back. His angel brought out the human side of him, he cannot allow that to happen. Walking out of the house, he greeted his right hand man, Lucius Malfoy. "Get a clean-up crew here. I want that house gone. This whole land bombed to smithereens. No evidence left, got it?"
"Yes, my lord, right away," bowing, the platinum-haired man took out his cell and immediately placed calls. It took a couple months, but they finally had their boss back. He didn't question the corpse lying in the house, wrapped up daintily in dark red linen and otherwise bare to the world, a gunshot wound to the temple. He didn't question the disturbed air around the Dark Lord either. He didn't have permission to, thus he left it alone.
Snowflakes gently began to drift down from the heavens. Sighing, he muttered, "I always hated the snow, it took everything from me, even if it's by my own hands." Shoving his hands into his coat pockets, Lord Voldemort – no – Tom Riddle at this moment, stepped into the helicopter. A quick glance back made his chest constrict painfully. He had no choice. He was a dark lord. And dark lords had no weaknesses.
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-SilverReplay.