"My my, look who's there", Tom Riddle said almost conversational as he came to a halt right in front of Harry, fiery red eyes looking down at the diary he still held in his hands, but apparently in no hurry to regain it whatsoever.
„A resistence member."
The man had an aura of smug arrogance around him. His tone of voice was dark, yet calm, like he was someone used to indicating fear with his mere presence.
Which was probably the case.

Also, he didn't even do as much as glance at the limp body of Lucius Malfoy.

The man was more than a head taller than Harry, even if they both had stood.

Weird. He'd always thought of Voldemort as inhumanly looking, and somehow, he was right, even though in another way than expected.
He theoretically knew how the Dark Lord looked like, of course, but it was always different seeing someone face to face.

His features were youthful, almost angelic, and his skin seemed pale in contrast to his dark brown locks.

He wore a black shirt and a black pair of pants, his blood red tie somehow highlighting his crimson eyes.

Quite handsome. Maybe that's why so many adored him.

Thick powerful magic radiated from him as naturally as body heat. It was dark and heavy just like the diarys, but so much stronger. It was drowning.

Disappointment flashed across the mans face as he took a closer look at Harry: "Well, that's a shame. I was hoping to have gotten the most powerful."

"The most powerful, as you're all so keen to call him, is currently not available. But we could have some fun instead."

Riddle blinked in surprise. He only then noticed the others relatively calm posture, even though there should have been nothing but fear.

Mild curiosity shone from vibrant green eyes instead as the two stared at each other in silence for a moment.

The man on the ground before him was unarmed, yet not afraid, Riddle realized, inwardly frowning. He had heard of this certain underground group which was compromising with the Light, of course. Always when he felt one of his horcruxes getting destroyed, he later on learned it had been their doing or that they've somehow been involved in it.

Sometimes he imagined killing the three of them through slow torture.

This must be Green, then. The third one, the pretty kind-heart who never aimed to kill. Except for his soul, it seemed.

A mask hid his face, a hooded cloak the rest of him, though Rita Skeeter had been right for once: His eyes were exceptionally beautiful. Pity their light would fade so soon.
Who's hiding beneath that mask?

He was just about to find out when suddenly, the other man reached for his wand despite his injury so very fast it took even Riddle a second to register, but not fast enough.

In the blink of an eye, the Dark Lord held his wand in hand and pointed it towards Green.

"Crucio", he muttered calmy, like he had thousands of times before, with the intention to hurt, to shred, to tear apart.

He wouldn't be disappointed: sweet agonized screams immediately echoed through the library, and Riddle couldn't stop himself from being thrilled at the sound.

He lowered his wand, not planning to lift the curse too soon.

Though the screams stopped abruptly. And suddenly, the entire room fell into silence, before the hooded figure on the ground broke out in loud and barking laughter - The man he'd just crucioed was laughing at him, mockingly!

He was never shocked. Never caught off guard. Never.
And yet here he stood, frozen in utter confusion.
Because it just wasn't possible, the other should have been in sheer agony.

In only a matter of seconds, an seemingly unfazed Green was standing right in front of him, having his wand pointed loosely at the taller mans chest.

Riddle could feel his magic then, through the tip of the others wand.

Warm, both in color and temperature, but heavy and powerful just like his own.

Intoxicating.

"How-"

He wouldn't get the chance to end the question, because the dark clothed thief disapparated right then and there. They stared at each other for what felt like an eternity before he disappeared, together with the last and once first of his precious Horcruxes.

Luna and Draco had been waiting for him, anxiety written all over the faces as the time went by.

He'd sent the patronus. So why wasn't he coming?

When Harry finally appeared, relieve washed over them - only to be immediately replaced with worry as they saw his injured shoulder.

He brushed it off, it was merely a scratch.

Thinking about what could have happened in this library, he was glad he'd been able to use Riddles moment of surprise to his benefit.

Everyone would have been surprised though. Harry was an abnormity.

A freak.

It was two days post-incident when they heard of it.

"A peace contract?! Negotiations?! Between Lord Voldemort and the Order?!"

Draco couldn't believe it, even though it was constantly repeated on the radio and written in every newspaper of Magical Britain.
„Does that mean... the war is over?", Luna asked and looked at her friends from over the kitchen table, wide eyed and hopeful.
Harry felt numb. A peace contract. That contained the word peace, did it?
It was all he'd ever wanted to happen since the first protests had begun on Londons streets.
All his life, he'd felt helplessness in the face of fate, with his parents being dead since he was just an infant and the curse Magic itself had put upon him.
But they've made a difference, they've made a difference.
And something about that made him more happy than anything ever could.

The three of them lived together in a flat somewhere in London, directly over an old and rustic bar that served an extraordinarily delicious after eight pie.
When they had started doing missions in the name of The Order, it became some kind of retreating place for them.
Harry enjoyed every minute in Muggle London.
He loved bringing up his chair to the fire and spent many evening hours sitting at the counter of the bar downstairs.
There was a guy called Eliot, one of the regular customers, and sometimes, they played cards to pass the time.

Eliot was a singer and occasionally, he'd perform a song or two in the evenings.
Harry didn't have a good singing voice, one could call it decent at most, but he played the violin. Though he wasn't exceptionally good at that either, he just didn't have the time to practice.
Which wasn't important.
When making music, every pain he'd ever experienced would fade away for the time being. Nothing else mattered then. So spending time with the Muggle Musician always made him feel kind of... unburdened and light hearted.

„I'm very sure both sides are going to make high demands, but it's a start. No more violence", Harry said and a rare smile appeared on his lips as he did.
„No more violence", the other two agreed, just as the fireplace burst into flames and, out of nowhere, a letter appeared in its center.
„That must be The Order", Draco muttered, unimpressed. As he took it, the paper was cold.
„What's in it?"
The blonde silently read it through before he answered.
„It's an invitation of the Order to take part in the negotiations. Also,... one of the Dark Side's conditions is that we bring them the Diary Horcrux – unharmed and fully intact."
„We can't do that! We just got it! Who's gonna guarantee the ending of the war if Voldemort will stay immortal?", Luna interrupted, obviously scandalized by the sole idea.
„He and every member of his inner circle promise to make an Unbreakable Vow", Draco read aloud, frowning.
„If you ask me, I think it was to be expected. Why would Voldemort want to negotiate in the first place?", Harry asked rhetorically.
„Because there's one thing he desires even more than political power. And that is to save his last remaining Horcrux from destruction. More than anything, he's a human being, one who happens to be incredibly afraid of Death."
„Well, I wouldn't exactly call this man a human being", the other male muttered as he tipped onto the parchment absentmindedly.
„Bullshit", Harry grumbled, „we're all human. Even the monstrous maniacs."
Silence followed his statement.
„Aren't you happy, Draco?", Luna suddenly asked and he turned his gaze towards her questioningly.
„With the war's end, you'll get to see your family again."
Draco didn't look all too happy at that. Worry was written large all over his face.

Tom Riddle was standing in his office in Malfoy Manor, turned towards the window, seemingly lost in thought and frowning deeply.
Beautiful, the nightly skyline.
His last Horcrux: In the hands of the enemy, directly snatched from under his nose, and yet all he could think about was one certain pair of vibrant green eyes and sudden mockering laughter echoing through an empty library.

But how?

He would see those eyes again.