Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/12216375.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence,
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_Fandom
  Relationship:
      Voldemort/Harry_Potter/Tom_Marvolo_Riddle
  Character:
      Voldemort, Tom_Riddle, Severus_Snape, Lucius_Malfoy, Draco_Malfoy, Blaise
      Zabini
  Additional Tags:
      Threesome_-_M/M/M, Slow_Build, multi-chapter, Diadem!_Horcrux, Slytherin
      Harry, Possessive_Tom_Riddle, Sadistic_Tom, Soul_Bond
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-09-29 Updated: 2017-10-09 Chapters: 2/? Words: 10053
****** Prick Thee to Thy Bone ******
by ChocolateCarnival
Summary
     Borne unto this world in sins and darkness, two lost souls shall once
     again come together as a whole. Alas, time has not been kind. Nor has
     fate. Following in the footsteps of one another without knowing, it
     was on this day October 31st, 1991, that they once more crossed paths
     in full awareness. Slowly, one awakes from slumber and the other
     shall learn he is not lost...
Notes
     It feels like forever since I have done this, I think I'm almost
     forgotten. Haha, I have returned from my three year sabbatical! Well,
     sort of. Anyways, I'm not going to prattle too much here, Honeys.
     I've decided to come back to my fanfiction pieces and write my most
     beloved stories. We'll start over on a new fandom as well.
     This story is a little dark, so please heed the warnings below:
     Pairing: Lord Voldemort x Harry Potter x Tom Marvolo Riddle
     [Diadem!Horcrux]
     Yes, this is a threesome pairing, though it also a slow building fic
     as Harry is still in his first year. I'm writing him with his own
     twisted psyche. This won't be a story focused only revenge. Sorry if
     that is what you are looking for. I'm more of an author that focuses
     on the psychological aspect of my characters than the dialog. I also
     adore playing with the twisted minds.
     Anyways, please note the warnings: M/M/M Slash pairing, Lemon Content
     in the future, Violence, Sadism [not sure if it'll be pared with
     Masochism either], Possessive!Voldemort, Slytherin!Harry, Horcrux
     Materialization and light Elements of Shota (though, any true sexual
     situations will only be after Harry is at least 15 – 16 ).
     §...§ [Denotes the use of Parseltongue]
     So, I think I'll leave this for now. Please do not read if any of the
     tags upset you. I have already placed the warning before, thus you
     are reading at your own risk.
     Other than that; please enjoy:
See the end of the work for more notes
***** To You, Polaris *****
Black. Cold. Ice. Fevered Darkness. Sensation was seemingly impossible when
shrouded in the existence of a Horcrux. Completely encompassing the shard of
Tom Marvolo Riddle's soul captured at the youthful age of twenty-seven; time
had long since ceased moving. He was always drifting listlessly in a void of
nothingness, a semi-conscious state precariously balanced on the edge of
sensationless thoughts.
How long had he been here? How many nights, months, years had he spent curled
contentedly within the bejewelled vessel anchoring his soul? How many decades
had it been since a single placating touch had whispered sweetly across his
flesh?
The shard could not remember.
No. It was useless to remember.
A Horcrux did not need to feel, nor taste or think for itself. It was merely a
stopper in death…a bridge to immortality.
Alas, every so often, he would stir. Grimacing in distaste at the greedy little
fingertips that soiled his vessel's pristine surface, intense blue sapphires
glinted ominously black in the light of several flickering torches. The highly
polished silver, imbued with coils of dark magic; shimmered wickedly enough to
enrapture curious little minds all too eager to part with portions of their
magic. Yet, they never lingered long enough to rouse him. Always, always,
retreating fearfully from the overwhelming touch of his twisted soul.
That was until now.
He felt it at first, as if time had suddenly jolted back into being. Soft,
gentle and small fingers were trailing curious patterns over coiled silver. A
heady, burning, awareness flowing ceaselessly in the wake of tentative caresses
as it resonated deeply within the very constructs of the ancient diadem.
It was short but blindingly intense. A few milliseconds of mutually touching
souls, dark magic and innocent intent. Spiralling together in a much deeper,
sensual, parody of a kiss; a steady but live heartbeat was set aflutter in
tandem to the shard's own racing pulse. Allowing for the slumbering entity to
slowly uncurl itself from the restrictive confines of its vessel, a freezing
whisper of white frost soon followed the stone floor.
Experiencing an oddly freeing sensation, the Horcrux unconsciously drew its
strength from the diadem's core, twisting his mind into full wakefulness and
blindly reaching out to the one rousing him from decades of delirious sleep. It
was both gentle, cold and jarringly painful. Yet, at the same time, it was warm
and blissfully welcome. Effortlessly slicing through years and years of immense
self-control and dark loneliness, this sweet experience seemed to forge an
unbreakable kinship.
§Yesssss….ssssweet….sssssoul…..curioussss….little….ssssssoul….§ The shard cooed
quietly, his newly awakened consciousness shuddering in delight at the
insatiable yearning that was stirred within him. He wanted to claim this child,
to possess it and make it his. He wanted it. No, he needed it. He needed this
soothing gentleness… To break it… Mould it… Love it… Shatter it… To twine it
and watch as they spiralled in a blasphemous dance where no one could tell
where he began and the other ended.
Yessss, this soul; his littlesoul that was so much younger in innocence than
any first-year, pressing against him with such cloying need. He could tell the
child was barely over eleven, perhaps his innocence made him even younger than
that. He was untouched by humanity's darkness and greed, not a single
indication of selfish hedonism children often displayed. Yet, deep down, the
boy vibrated with a magnificent hatred for the world. There was a desperate
need to belong so dark that bitter sorrow already curled a possessive claw into
a black little heart.
It was like looking into a mirror of Tom Marvolo Riddle's soul at age six, a
perfect duplicate of the vulnerable helplessness that had nearly broken him in
the orphanage. Echoing the desperation that gave rise to his inherent sadism,
he had risen above the ashes of his ruination as the vengeful snake he was
today. Even now, he still remorselessly sought to poison all those daring
enough to feast upon the carcass of his dereliction.
§So precioussss…§ He crooned; allowing bloodied, crimson eyes, to flutter open
for the first time in forty-or-so some years. Materialising in the form of a
full coloured spectre on a bed of snowy white frost, the Room of Hidden Things
darkened instinctively at his presence as he stood at an imposing hundred-and-
eighty-three centimeter frame behind an equally small child.
The boy looked no more than eight, even when his robes denoted him as an
undeniable first year. Yet, he never once seemed to shy away from the spectre's
dark presence behind him. He was utterly entranced by the shimmering diadem in
his hands, almost as if he himself had just discovered the entire world.
Silently, soothingly, they felt it. It was a touching of two complimentary
personalities, a Polaris of intimacies and open acceptance.
The boy smiled joyously for the first time in many years.
With hair as black as midnight, impish curls fell haphazardly across a pale,
lightning marred, forehead as stray strands feathered playfully across rounded
cheeks. Stubbornly yet insistently defying the laws of gravity, the dark locks
carefully framed round rimmed spectacles and shielded the child's vulnerability
from the world.
§Beautiful…§ Tom Riddle hissed appreciatively, eagerly tasting the hint of
despair that lingered upon his tongue. He could tell the boy suffered, probably
viciously at the hands of those meant to protect him. It was truly idiotic, he
thought. How could anyone not see the glimmering gem that was before them? No
matter, a sly smirk curled the corner of pale lips as it ignited an insatiable
avarice in the depths of crimson orbs.
§Sssuch a rarity, sssweet child. Where did you come from?§ The words slipped
from his lips in an awed prayer. He was not expecting his question would be
answered, however. He was the only one capable of understanding parseltongue,
after all. Yet, he still hoped the unknown tongue would coax the little one
into turning around to face him.
§I-I'm sssory, I —.§ Frozen in absolute surprise when a small hundred-and-
thirty-eight centimetre frame whirled around to stare up at him with awe, a
hiss of pure delight rolled eagerly from within as glowing Avada Kedavra green
orbs locked curiously with crimson red. They were utterly breathtaking, he
mused. Reflecting the perfect match to his favourite curse. The dark entity
nearly stumbled in shock, however, when a breathy whisper of parseltongue
drifted between lush, petal, pink lips.
§I didn't mean to disssturb you, sssir. I-I jusssst wanted to find a place to
hide. And…and then I found thisss pretty crown. I—.§
§Diadem, child.§ He corrected automatically. Gracefully falling to his knee in
front of his new found treasure; long, spidery, fingertips reached out to brush
across a sweetly flushed cheek. He was gazing deeply into the depths of green
eyes, swiftly analysing and cataloguing the multitude of emotions reflected
there. He could not help but smile at the inherent warmth swiftly speeding
towards him.
He did not care if he was carving icy fear into the child's heated core, or
startling him with such a cold touch. In fact, he revelled in the slight
shivers he could produce. He had found exactly what he had been looking for, a
companion to stand by his side.
§Husssh, young one. I ssshall never harm you.§ He vowed.
Waiting patiently for distressed breaths to ease under his caress, he briefly
pondered the beauty of the complex puzzle before him. The spectre was not the
main soul, merely a piece of the whole. Yet, he had been stirred to life so
vividly that his consciousness was completely clear. Just what sort of power
did this young one possess?
§Hmm…tell me. What'sss your name, little one?§
§H-H-Ha-Harry Potter§ The nervous stutter was not missed by the older wizard,
an amused glint of teeth glimmering beneath the transparency of his form as he
ignored the snowy surface he stood upon. It wasn't cold, yet he knew his
presence must be somewhat unsettling for a first year. Elegantly folding long
legs beneath him to lower his imposing height, he beckoned the child to join
him without hesitation.
§I sssee. Hello, Harry Potter.§
§You may call me Marvolo. Tell me, just how did you end up in the Room of
Hidden Things?§ And just like that, Harry seated himself on a surprisingly soft
surface as he unconsciously leaned into the warm familiarity the spectre gave
off. Absently curling his arms around raised knees, he smiled happily as he
remained unafraid of the misty, ghost-like, entity. He felt warm, dark and safe
instead…almost as if the older wizard would forever protect him.
Shivering softly as he was forced to tell of the furious and cruel chase his
housemates had lead him on, curious green eyes lingered interestedly on several
towering pillars that littered the cathedral-like room. Small, first year,
fingers were trailing absently over the ancient headdress Marvolo called a
diadem. His attention completely captivated by the soft, gentle pulses that
still flickered periodically beneath his fingertips.
Completely unaware of the shivers his unintentional touches provoked, vivid
crimson eyes stared intently at the small form sitting so openly beside him.
The very air seemed to roil with rising electricity, a dark and heady
protective magic surging forth from within the Horcrux as it shamelessly
reached out to claim the sweet innocence coiled so sinfully around him.
There was a brief but notable warmth skittering across the child's skin,
whispering of an ancient binding ritual of souls strong enough to suffocate any
and all protests from the light-oriented objects around them. Marvolo had
already decided Harry Potter was his. He absolutely refused to give him up, not
even in a quest to gain a body or more freedom for himself.
Yes, he had many other plans for this child.
A sinister smile bloomed openly across hauntingly beautiful features; prompting
long, spidery fingers to card tenderly through temptingly soft, messy, black
curls. This child would be no one but his.
...
Harry James Potter always knew he was different, had always known. Even in the
beautiful and eccentric world of witchcraft and wizardry he recently
discovered, there was something fundamentally wrong with his psychological
makeup. No matter how many times he had been dragged off to church by his
relatives to cleanse his 'soul' of the devil or preached to by vile,
disgusting, priests that he was looming on the precipice of a fire and
brimstone hell. He simply did not know how to be 'normal'.
Whether it was because he yearned to have someone understand him or because he
was simply a demon in the flesh of a human, fate had already branded him cruel
enough so no form of child-like wonder ever touched his heart. Thus, he had
grown up in a household where he was systematically belittled, cast aside and
punished to live in dark, dank, cupboard under the stairs. No one had ever had
the decency to instill within him any form of psychological empathy, sympathy
or how to emulate the core emotions of humanity.
With the Dursley's so desperate to stamp out his magic at a young age, they had
unwittingly nurtured an emotionally apathetic child that took great pleasure in
tearing the wings from butterflies and mounting them on the walls of his
cupboard. Not to mention, gleefully tormenting his spoiled, pig of a cousin
with vivid night terrors when he tried to bully him.
It had been during the long, tedious, hours trapped in his cupboard that Harry
had first come to know the soothing warmth thrumming magnetically beneath his
skin. His power had become his only escape during those times, a small beacon
of hope in the eternal darkness. No one was yet to know he had been able to
actively mould his magic to his will since he was seven. They could never prove
it was him that simultaneously broke the bones of his bullies at school or
conjured the violent poltergeist that was bound to the Dursley's home for an
entire month after his eleventh birthday.
He still smiled at the memory of his aunt's hysterical screams the morning it
tried to drown her in the bathtub. Even his uncle had become too fearful to
approach his cupboard since then. Why they ever thought they had the right to
punish him for accepting his rightful attendance to Hogwarts School of
Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry would never understand.
Their minds were idiotically stupid. He had already shown them, brutally,
several times that he would never be the obedient little slave they thought to
mould throughout his childhood. It only served them right that they were now
afraid of him, especially after he had learnt the truth. Those disgusting
maggots had concealed his rightful heritage from him out of spite, a slight he
would never, ever, forgive. His suffering would be repaid in full, one day.
Yet, even here at Hogwarts, Harry learnt he was not normal. No one else seemed
to be able to control their magic without a wand like he could, nor did they
understand how he never reacted when his parents' deaths were brought up as
callous taunts. He felt absolutely no attachment when he thought of them,
perhaps there was a small twinge of curiosity blooming in him at what it would
have been like to grow up in a 'normal' wizarding family. Yet, it wasn't the
emotion he was supposed to have been feeling.
The sorting hat had told him quite conspiratorially: 'You have a truly curious
and extraordinary mind, Mr Potter. Even those desperate to influence the power
you will one day wield; you have the capacity to stand by your ideals without
compromise. I can already tell your path to greatness.'
'There was one other just like you sorted beneath my brim many decades ago. A
complex child with a view on the world very similar to yours. So better be —
SLYTHERIN.'
That was the day Harry Potter learned Slytherins were the supposed harbingers
of evil. They were snakes in the grass, seen as a threat to the rest of
humanity. Yet, why he was now ostracized by the self-righteous pricks of
Gryffindor, instinctively feared by Hufflepuffs or even snubbed by the
supposedly superior Raveclaws; Harry had no idea.
This was supposed to be a school of magic, a place of learning. Reality was
never written in black and white. There was no such thing as good and evil or
right and wrong, it was all subjective to the individual. So why this incessant
need for group mentality? What was it that drove them to act like shameless
cockroaches swarming with no thought? Even his own house, supposedly superior
in intellect and ambition, was no different.
The Ancient and Noble House of Salazar Slytherin was far too preoccupied by a
single event that happened a decade ago to this day. What did it mean that he
supposedly vanquished the Dark Lord with a rebounding Killing Curse? It seemed
terribly stupid to him, he was more interested in the magic it took kill an
individual with one spell. Just how did it work? Did it hurt the person on the
receiving end or was it a quick and painless death?
If it was, he was suitably satisfied his parents had not suffered.
'It's too complicated to understand,' Harry bemoaned irritably, his movements
fluid and graceful as he slipped away from the Room of Hidden Things. The last
few hours he spent in the company of Marvolo, were undoubtedly the best of his
school year so far. The older man came to mean a great deal to Harry in a
surprisingly short amount of time, especially since he never really trusted
anyone before.
It was like the spectre truly understood Harry, not the person the world wanted
him to be or the supposed hero. But the small, vindictive, child that liked
pulling the wings off butterflies and watching them squirm as learned
everything he could about curious curses and jinxes only explored in sixth year
textbooks.
With passing time however, it was getting closer and closer to the end of the
Halloween Feast. Harry had been very reluctant to leave his new friend behind.
When he told Marvolo he didn't want to go, the red eyed wizard had merely
smiled at him before pointing towards a beautiful onyx jewellery box settled on
the table before them.
'Pick it up, Harry.' Carved from a wood that bordered just shy of black, the
prominent rectangular lid moved and swirled together in the shape of two
beautiful serpents as they coiled together around a large black opal. The
warded lock; in the shape of a cobra head, had hissed at him curiously before
abruptly sprouting fangs and sinking into his flesh.
'Place the diadem inside, Harry.' Marvolo urged as the lock retracted and
clicked open with a creak. Revealing an opulent black, velvet, surface within.
'It acts as an anchor for my soul. If you always keep my vessel with you, I can
protect and stay by your side.'
'You will never have to be alone again.' With the box warded against thievery
and turned partially invisible by enchantments, Marvolo had explained that the
blood he offered the guardian ward acted as a binding tether to his magical
signature. Now, only he or Marvolo himself would be able to open it.
After hearing that no one would be able to take his friend away from him, it
was an exuberant eleven-year-old that raced all too excitedly through the halls
of Hogwarts. Clutched protectively against his chest was a warm jewellery box
as he practically skipped his way to the dungeons.
With a very special wand clutched in his right hand for protection; vibrant
green eyes flicked restlessly through the torch lit passageways as he traipsed
the twisted labyrinth hidden beneath the school. The castle was strangely empty
for being so close to curfew, he thought. Even though he was undeterred, he
still slipped inside the common room quiet as a snake.
How odd, though. The remaining students seemed to be having another feast in
the common room. Several of the upper years were glaring at him as he walked
past, no doubt hating the fact that he managed to hide himself away from their
attempts to curse him. But he mostly ignored their unwanted scrutiny, deeming
them far too beneath his notice. He only briefly listened to the furious
whispers echoing through the room, something concerning a troll in the first
floor girl's bathroom that some Gryffindors tried but failed to subdue.
He snickered quietly, cold fingertips curling more securely around the warmth
of his friend's hidden vessel as he felt Marvolo's distinctive magical aura hum
in agreement with him. With nothing more to say to his housemates, Harry
quietly walked towards the dorm room he shared with Blaise Zabini as he settled
himself on his bed.
Absently closing the dark, emerald green, hangings around him; the large four-
poster bed dipped softly beneath him as a well-practiced movement placed his
glasses on the bedside table next to him. Slipping exhaustedly beneath the warm
sheets, the small first-year settled his beloved jewellery box next to him on
the pillow as he decided being different wasn't so bad.
If he had been normal, he would never have met Marvolo. Nor would he ever have
learnt what it felt like to be content in the presence of another.
'Good night, Marvolo.' He whispered quietly. Giggling softly in delight when an
answering 'Sweet dreams, Little Serpent' echoed through his mind.
***** Chapter 1: Blistering Eclipse *****
Chapter Notes
     Finally, I managed to finish the first chapter, my Honeys! Thank you
     so much for your positive feedback on this story, it means the world
     to me. Please keep in mind that the warnings are listed in the
     Prologue's Author's Note, I don't want to keep posting it on repeat.
     I've decided to write slightly shorter chapters so that there can be
     more updates, quicker. However, I will currently be working on 2
     Voldemort x Harry Potter stories, the other of which will be posted
     in a week or so's time after I've had time to finish the Prologue as
     it is an adopted story.
     For now though, I'll turn this one over to you. I do hope that it'll
     live up to your expectations.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
***
'11 inches, Grenadilla (African Blackwood), phoenix feather core. Finely
flexible.'
Representing the harmonious duality that existed between the spiritual and
physical realms, the delicately crafted eleven inch wand was a stunning
contrast to the Dark Lord's own thirteen-and-a-half inch bone-white yew wand.
Made from a divergent purple wood so deep in colour it could be mistaken for
black, the superbly carved handle shimmered appropriately with the likes of a
lacquered turquoise and emerald butterfly wing.
Gifted a single feather from the very same phoenix as his own; two perfectly
complimentary wands had been forged into existence by Ollivander's skilful
hands. One, as black as the burnt out sun, that belonged to his Little Serpent
and the other as white as a moon made of bone…
Absently balancing dark wood upon the pads of long, spidery fingers; deeply
contemplative crimson eyes stared longingly at the dew kissed grass
encompassing the Black Lake outside. The hauntingly familiar sight of Hogwarts'
grounds; alive and shifting to the coming winter, was a blessing Marvolo had
not thought to witness for a very long time.
Seated comfortably on a windowsill at the very back of the library, the touch
of cool glass against his temple was jarringly cold as the surrounding
bookshelves conveniently cocooned his sighs of pleasure in unbreakable silence.
Only the occasional scratch of his young charge's quill across parchment as he
hurried to finish his homework, was daring enough to shatter their sanctified
stillness.
Brushing back a lock of deep mahogany brown that fell out of its elegantly
parted style; perfectly fitted midnight black robes shifted fluidly at the
miniscule movement as an unexpected shiver of awareness chased frantically up
the spectre's spine. His manifestation was distinctly odd at times, likened to
the existence of a ghost that only young Harry Potter seemed to be able to see.
And, Marvolo conjectured, the main soul piece and other Horcruxes.
The only difference he had to a mere spectre was the portion of magic he could
control and the influence he had over corporeal objects. He was completely
undetectable to the living, leaving behind only a fine layer of frost whenever
he was consciously or unconsciously reaching towards the dark ambience swirling
within his vessel.
Harry told him once, quite seriously, that his magic felt like starbursts of
roiling thunder. Instilling a hair raising awe throughout the atmosphere that
left behind a dark, almost bitter, undertaste of obscurity. And as it lashed
lazily through dancing air molecules, it unconsciously linked together the
magnetic force needed for a spectacularly destructive storm.
That was the first time Tom Marvolo Riddle had ever heard his magic described
like poetry, not the usual 'terrifying', 'horrible' and 'dark' most sane people
would utter.
Allowing a self-satisfied smirk to curl across ghostly pale lips, the older
entity felt oddly flattered by those words. In the presence of the Dark Lord
Voldemort, others usually had no choice but to feel utterly terrified. He so
loved wielding pure destruction and dominion over their puny little minds. Yet
this child, merely eleven and still so sweetly innocent, stood unafraid in his
presence and absolutely loved it. If that was not an indication of how
perfectly their souls coiled together, Marvolo didn't know what was.
Shifting half-lidded eyes towards the small figure sitting a few meters away
from him, bloodied crimson orbs brightened in pure amusement as his Little
Serpent struggled to make sense of his frantic scribbles that now reached half
across the parchment and half across the table.
Harry was indeed a peculiar child, even if it had only been a few weeks since
their first encounter. The little one hardly ever spoke aloud to others,
completely deeming their existence unworthy of his attention. And as a result,
it had borne a soft, fay-like voice that now always whispered sweetly in his
new found friend's ear.
Shamelessly offering the Horcrux all his attention, Harry didn't even seem to
mind that Marvolo took advantage of his childlike devotion. Their more serious
connection, however; stemmed from the similarity of their pasts. The flippant
way Harry described the horrors he suffered at the hands of his relatives,
often led to the older wizard's unrepentant, rampaging, fury. He despised that
he could not do anything as was, even when he was quite proud to learn that his
Little Serpent gifted them back the abuse ten-fold whenever he could.
No one, he vowed to himself that day. Absolutely no one would ever lay a hand
on his sweet little soul! They had no right to touch him…to even look at what
was his!
Biting back the deadly snarl that built steadily in his chest, rage-darkened
crimson eyes swiftly turned away from his current musings as he slowly but
steadily sought to calm the enraged crackles darkening his magic. The very air
was becoming thick with flawless command, prompting haunting Avada Kedavra
green eyes to look up from a vast spread of creamy parchment.
'It's alright, little one.' Marvolo reassured with a wave of his hand, the
eleven-year-old Slytherin nodding his understanding before a tiny, shy, smile
blossomed across lush petal pink lips. It was an expression that was going to
be the death of the soul shard one day, he was absolutely convinced.
Harry may have been unusually intelligent for his age, but he still couldn't
quite seem to grasp emotions and their origins in others. One of the many
reasons he was so shunned in his House. Yet, as one of the expression that his
friend had come to treasure beyond his apathetic derision, he only ever showed
it to Marvolo when no one else was around.
The two of them understood each other on a soul-deep level, they were perfect
mirror reflections of one another. Yet, at the same time, there was a vast
difference between them. Where Tom Riddle had learnt to imitate emotion and
effortlessly charm his way around adults at a young age, Harry Potter had not
yet had the opportunity to flourish. He simply had no idea the power he held in
his tiny hands, nor how easily he could make the world bow beneath his feet.
He was perfectly content to keep existing in a sadistic world of his own
creation and remaining by his friend's side for eternity. It was truly a shame
that no one could see the dark potential teeming within his small, hundred-and-
thirty-eight centimeter frame. Marvolo could already see just how far his
Little Serpent would grow under the correct tutelage.
His tutelage, he smirked to himself.
The listless shard had already promised to make Harry Potter intimately aware
of the beautiful ins and outs of the Dark Arts. Many were too prejudiced and
afraid to tangle themselves in such a wilful seduction at such a young age,
making it even less likely that an eleven-year-old would be able to wield the
power like a well-honed blade. But Marvolo was convinced that Harry would
succeed.
Yesss, his Little Serpent definitely possessed the power, strength and
determination for the Arts' delicate complexities. It was all there…in the
intricate flexibility of his Grenadilla wand, the brilliant mind he kept so
successfully hidden behind large, round rimmed, spectacles and the impish
cruelty that twisted so childishly through his still innocent, yet, beautifully
blackened soul.
§Sssssimply perfect.§ He hissed with pure satisfaction, the cool touch of
African Blackwood brushing up against his knuckles one by one as he elegantly
twirled the wand between long, graceful, fingertips. Its weight was a welcome
reprieve to his swirling thoughts, his magic slowly measuring its core against
his own power as it sang delightedly at the pure allegiance it found there.
Harry's wand was indeed just as responsive to him as his own. They could easily
swap without much consequence.
Even if this wand didn't have quite the same familiarity as his yew wand, it
would do wonders if he ever needed to protect his little one. The green sparks
skittering excitedly from the tip in answer, offered more than enough control
to its second chosen owner to cast his most loved spells. Crucio…Avada
Kedavra…Fiendfyre...
Oh, how Marvolo yearned to watch the world beneath his feet simply devoured by
flame and screams. To direct ceaseless oceans of basilisks and fiery beasts to
cull the dirty masses and satiate the insatiable bloodlust heating his veins—.
Startling from his thoughts at the sound of footsteps approaching their little
hidden alcove at the back of the library, the dark haired being rose from his
seat with an astonishing amount of grace as he came to a decisive halt behind
Harry's chair. Resting long fingers on a black and green robed shoulder, a
fluid bow forward allowed the placement of a borrowed wand by the boy's
rightful fingertips.
'It's time to go.' He whispered quietly, a restrictive and unusual tension
coiling heavily against the Horcrux's limbs. The approaching presence felt
oddly familiar. Yet, at the same time, the magic was distinctly blocked off. It
was almost like the wielder had placed immensely strong Occlumency shields
around his core to prevent any and all forms of recognition.
Having come across this sensation a few times in the past few weeks, Marvolo
sometimes discerned another sort of recognition stirring up the depths of his
soul. Yet, whenever he came close enough to breach an answer; it would slip
away from his consciousness without another word. It was utterly frustrating—.
'Harry,' His voice suddenly hardened with warning, long fingers tugging
insistently at impish black curls as the younger wizard whined softly at his
touch. He didn't protest, though; merely obediently packing away his homework.
Keeping Marvolo's attention split between his young charge and their
surroundings, intense crimson orbs soon trailed thoughtfully towards the edge
of the bookshelf that concealed them from the rest of the library.
It wasn't like anyone would easily find this place, he reassured himself. It
had already been long forgotten in the annals of time by the time he—.
There were only a few seconds to steel himself as the outline of a familiar
figure soon rounded the corner. The distinctive form of the Defence of the Dark
Arts Professor, trailing curious fingers across the spines of several ancient
tombs was a shock to his system. Those usually terrified, averted, muddy brown
eyes; glinted with otherworldly intensity as they landed thoughtfully on Harry
Potter.
Freezing in surprise as they flickered to the child's right, they openly traced
the spectre's distinct tall, frame with bewildered curiosity. There was a few
milliseconds in which Marvolo swore a subtle tinge of scarlet seeped passed
dark brown irises and coloured dull eyes a brilliant mirror of his own before
flickering dazedly back to itself—.
'Good morning, Professor Quirrell.' Harry's soft voice suddenly interrupted,
affectively shattering the tension that had been building between the adults as
the small first year shifted nervously closer to his eternal companion. Small
fingers were unconsciously reaching for Marvolo's sleeve in search of comfort,
he really did not like talking to others.
'G-g-g-good m-m-mor-morning M-Mister P-p-potter.' The Professor suddenly
replied, seeming to shake off the unusual occurrence with a bewildered blink
and small smile. 'O-o-off to b-breakfast, eh?'
'Yes, sir.' Harry smiled softly. 'Have a good day, Professor.' Glancing at the
tall man through coal black lashes, expressionless features soon shifted back
into place as absent fingers resituated slipping spectacles up his nose. His
Defence Professor felt a little different than all the adults he had
encountered, he thought with a little smile.
Sometimes Harry swore that the magic coiling through the man's class, felt
similar but much deeper and darker than Marvolo's. It held that same acquiesce
of dominion, that quiet thrumming of roiling lightning before the storm. Yet,
whenever Professor Quirrell used magic as a demonstration, there was something
tainted and ugly spread within it. It was almost like the magic was
deliberately sealed off from the world, lacking in the pure taste that
Marvolo's power contained.
'A-a-nd to y-you, M-Mr. P-P-Potter.' Completely missing the intrigued glance
shared above his head, the young Slytherin nodded his goodbyes as he moved away
at the behest of his friend. There were only a few moments of silence before a
distinct drop in temperature signified Marvolo's return to the diadem. There
was a welcoming brush trailing gently over his mind seconds later, a subtle
reminder he was not alone as small but steady footsteps headed towards the
Great Hall for breakfast.
...
'What was that, Marvolo? Did something happen?' Harry whispered quietly behind
his hand, wishing desperately not to startle his friend from the somewhat
unsettled and agitated mood he had settled into. The only other time he had
felt such a feeling coming from Marvolo, only at a much more dangerous level,
was the first time he had told his friend of the events concerning his parents'
death and the reason why his housemates seemed to hate him so much.
'Marvolo?'
'It's alright, Harry.' A soothing, clear voice echoed through his mind.
'Remember to talk through your thoughts, little one. We don't need unnecessary
attention questioning your sanity.'
'O-okay. I'm sorry—.'
'Don't apologize, Little Serpent. Not when there's nothing to be sorry for.'
Nodding courteously in response, determined green eyes flicked up from the
floor to observe the near empty Great Hall around him with new found
confidence. Marvolo had always said that he should walk with poised grace,
facing the world with straightened shoulders and undetectable emotions. There
was no need to show the sometimes rampant insecurities that whispered through
his veins.
'Anyways. I'm not exactly sure what happened. Maybe…maybe there is a piece of
my soul influencing your Professor. But I cannot tell for sure. It was too
quick to distinguish anything. Just be cautious when you are around him, Harry.
I don't want you to get hurt.' Frowning in confusion at those words, Harry just
couldn't quite imagine that any part of his friend would ever want to harm him.
Professor Quirrell himself was usually nice, if not unusually terrified of
everything in class, when he got something right.
He was not at all like the greasy haired, Professor Snape that hated him with a
passion. Now if Marvolo had said that he should be careful of his Head of
House, he would never have even looked at the man again. But Professor Quirrell
was different, he felt—.
'Right. Let's leave that there, I swear to Merlin that danger can knock you on
the forehead and you still wouldn't notice, Little Serpent.' Huffing in
indignation at those words, a brief furrow wrinkled perfectly shaped black
brows as the teen settled himself a little closer to the centre of the
Slytherin table that morning. He didn't feel like being cast out by his
housemates because of some stupid rule.
'Remember to eat,' Marvolo reminded him sternly. 'Don't just stare at the food
like last time.' Snickering in remembrance at his friend's long lecture the day
he decided to skip dinner, mirthful green eyes strayed briefly towards the head
table in search of the Professor they had been talking about as he filled his
plate with as much food as he could manage. Biting back the immediate scowl
that wanted to crease his forehead however, the moment glaring onyx eyes and
sneering lips trained on him, Harry ducked his in unrestrained fury.
'Why does he keep staring at me like that?! It's infuriating!'
'I feel your pain have, little one. But he won't live much longer, trust me.
Much less, in fact, if he tries to brush against our minds one more time.' The
dark promise that underlined Marvolo's usual calm voice, sent a delighted
thrill dancing down Harry's spine as a shy smile curled across the corner of
soft, petal, pink lips.
Just how did the older wizard always know exactly what to say to make him feel
better?
Peacefully completing his morning meal without noticing the hall fill around
him, the easy lull in their routine was only broken by intermittent, internal,
conversation as the younger of the two didn't even look up as his classmates
settled on the bench next to him half an hour later. There was no need to pay
anyone else attention, after all. Especially not since Marvolo was currently
telling him of an interesting ritual he had found on his travels abroad.
At Draco Malfoy's sneered: "Just what do you think you are doing, Potter? You
don't have permission to sit here." The smaller first year merely pushed his
empty plate aside in irritated annoyance and raised an enquiring brow at the
blonde's rude interruption.
'I don't need you or anyone telling me where to sit, Malfoy. A House is a
House, not a kingdom. Surely not your kingdom, either. I don't think you have
the balls to rule. Neither you, or any of the upper years in this school.'
Feeling his companion's quiet laughter ring near deafeningly in the back of his
mind, Harry couldn't stop the amused smirk that coloured his features at the
blonde's spluttering, red-faced embarrassment as he gathered his books and
stepped out of the Great Hall without another word.
'Really, Harry Potter. I did tell you to interact more with your peers. But to
cause such trouble at every turn… it's simply priceless.' Harry wasn't sure
exactly what he did to provoke such amusement from his friend, but he quickly
curbed the curiosity just to listen to the laughter instead. Marvolo didn't
show many emotions beyond rage, smug accomplishment and cool collectiveness.
But when he did, it sprang forth in such clear, beautiful sounds that the
little first year didn't ever want it to stop.
It always made something warm and bubbly settle deep in the pit of his stomach,
a feeling that he had not experienced many times in his life. And certainly not
at such intense levels as it was now. Perhaps it was the sensation of
'happiness'?
'That was the most I spoke to anyone in my year, before.' Harry said with awed
realization. 'I don't see what I said wrong. Why couldn't I sit where I wanted
for breakfast?'
'I sometimes forget just how naïve you sometimes are.' The older being mused.
'Slytherins have a hierarchal system, Harry. The strongest student in the House
has always had unspoken dominion over the lowly dregs. Because you are seen as
either a threat or too weak to defend yourself against them, they have decided
to cast you aside.'
'But—.'
'Let me finish, little one.' Marvolo warned. 'You are expected to adhere to
their orders no matter the situation. Thus the reason why young Mr Malfoy (the
supposed highest ranked in your year), told you off for sitting where you were.
The little bastard was merely seeking to establish his rule over you.'
'I'm not weak, Marvolo.' Harry protested being told what to do for most of his
life by shitty relatives and disgusting maggots, Harry had long since decided
he would bathe in the blood and entrails of anyone bold enough to try and order
him around again. He absolutely refused to debase himself for anyone's
amusement! It was—.
'Calm yourself, Little Serpent.' A soothing voice crooned softly. 'With such a
vivid imagination, I would simply love to pick you apart myself.' Causing a
distraught flush to creep across hauntingly pale cheeks, the incensed eleven-
year-old soon felt his anger drain from him as he ducked his head in
embarrassment.
'Always remember that they are worth nothing to you, Harry.' Marvolo reassured.
'I am the only one that should ever matter to you, no one else. We are the
same, my sweet Little Serpent. Our strength and power will one day be equal.
Therefore, you are far more powerful than a pitiful child with a rich daddy and
simpering mother.'
'One day, just you watch. One day they will all crawl on the floor begging for
scraps of your attention.' Gripping his bag tighter in answer, Harry raised his
head in decisive grace. Marvolo was right. He did not need anyone or anything
else, only his friend and the ability to expand his magic. Slytherin could
either cast him aside or bow before him, yet their fates would one day be held
in his very hands.
Then they would see, oh, they he would see just who was daring enough to try
and make him bow.
'That's the spirit, little one.'
'Now, remember to pay close attention to your classes. I won't be taking you
out to the Forbidden Forest for your first lesson in the Dark Arts on Friday if
you fail.' Silently accepting those terms, the young Slytherin settled himself
at a desk in the front of the charms classroom as he read through his notes one
last time to make sure he had all his spells memorised. He had sworn that he
would make his friend proud in whatever it was that he did, nothing else would
matter ever again.
Midnight was fast approaching with darkened despair, a heady black fog settling
low across the grounds of the Forbidden Forest as the beginning of December
froze iridescent white across the ancient, but rarely transversed, woods.
Trembling and swaying beneath the magical might of a dark new moon, the last
gates of the living and the dead was slowly but surely opening up to well-worn,
blackened, gloom.
A small figure, dressed in a pitch black robe with a silver fur-lined cowl
pulled low over vivid Avada Kedavra green eyes; trailed excitedly behind his
tall, ghostly, companion. He was eagerly observing every dip in gnarled tree
roots, every shift of movement rustling through dead leaves as the forest
instinctively skittered away from the Horcrux's overwhelmingly oppressive
presence.
Ensconced in the light of seven fiery-blue spheres, a perfectly formed
heptagram was spinning lazy anti-clockwise patterns around the two interlopers
as the barely shimmering illumination struggled to push back against the all-
encompassing night. Marvolo had said that the Forbidden Forest was once upon a
time the fuel for Hogwarts' wards, a fact that meant students were essentially
welcome if they knew how to approach the ancient woodlands correctly.
In order for them to tread upon sacred soil without torment, they had to make
their intent clear that no harm would come to the residents hidden here and
ground their existence by walking barefoot across the grounds. With no barrier
to halt the exchange of power between the earth and their magical cores, they
were essentially yielding themselves to the natural darkness that existed here.
It was but the first step in accepting the Dark Arts.
Smiling with devious delight at the ritual they were preparing to perform that
night, Harry hurriedly skipped after Marvolo's longer and more confident
strides. The pitch black darkness was roiling unsteadily around them,
swallowing up and spitting out heady sensations that were difficult to describe
as the eternal moonless sky refused to acquiesce its hold to even a single
source of preternatural illumination.
It was simply perfect, bare feet keeping stubbornly silent as the two midnight
walkers entered a small clearing not too far into the thicket. Small fingers
were curling hesitantly around the back of the darker entity's robes however,
wavering slightly in fear as intense crimson eyes glanced over a regal shoulder
to reassure the young one of his unwavering presence.
Marvolo seemed completely at ease here in the darkness; his regal,
aristocratic, features setting him apart from those of common birth as ghostly
pale skin shimmered like the moon on a blistering cold night. And those red,
red, eyes; framed in perfectly parted mahogany strands, seemed to sear a heated
fire right through the very depths of Harry's soul. It was like looking
straight into scorching hell-fire, a terrifying yet utterly mesmerising
sight...
'Nnng…Marvolo, I—.'
'It'll be alright, Harry. I'm right here.' The older wizard reassured softly,
his deeply soothing timbre calling out for the expansion of their protective
seven-point fire ward as it encompassed the clearing in a large, fifty meter,
ritual circle. Dyeing unseen snow and grass a shimmering, iridescent, blue; the
slow mystic vibrations present in the air soon pricked to life with vivid
intensity.
The older wizard was tracing a further few patterns with the tip of a black
Grenadilla wand, effortlessly erecting proximity and silencing wards that no
one would be able to circumvent without the use of parseltongue. It was but a
small compensation for the young one's unsettled anxiety before he started the
ritual.
'Ignis Vitae!' Instantly conjuring up a brilliant flash of white fire in the
centre of the circle, the newly kindled flames crackled and danced with
heliotropic madness as it boldly chased away the thickened blackness blotting
out the very skies. Passing the comforting wand back to its original owner, the
older Slytherin came to stand behind Harry's smaller frame as he smirked at the
now unconcealed excitement burningly brilliantly within emerald green eyes.
'Remember what I taught you, Little Serpent.' He drawled in a sensual whisper,
the coldness of his breath brushing tantalizingly against the shell of a small
ear. 'The ritual requires no words or wands. It is the Dark Arts in its most
simplistic form, flames fuelled by sacrificial intent. This fire, Ignis Vitae,
or 'fire-for-life', can only be satiated by a willing sacrifice drawn here by
your magic.'
'In reward for the nourishment you provide it, the flames will eventually grant
you a significant power boost to any dark spell you wish to cast during the
next moon cycle.' Nodding his head in understanding at those words, Harry
allowed glowing verdant green eyes to flutter shut behind long, sooty, black
lashes as he hazily reached for a tendril of magic coiled possessively tight
around his churning core.
The grounding sensation of large hands resting comfortably on his shoulders,
further lulled his magic to the surface as a meditative consciousness reached
tentatively outwards for a willing sacrifice. A heady sensation was soon
singing hypnotically across the surface of pale skin, the shuddering pleasure
completely encompassing two complimentary souls with the sound of a bitter-
sweet siren song as a small but noticeable jerk tempted forth something deep
within the forest.
Quick to send out a pulse of calm appreciation, Harry didn't dare open his eyes
for next ten minutes as he worked hard to keep his magic soft and coaxingly
sweet. Small pearls of sweat were beading unappreciatively across his brow, a
shuddering bliss curling tightly in the pit of his stomach as the sound of
several hundred dry wings suddenly broke through the fiery barrier.
Finally parting pale eyelids to observe the effects his magic had wrought,
brilliant Avada Kedavra green eyes glowed with stunned amazement the moment an
eclipse of dusky, white, moths swarmed unafraid towards the Ignis fire. A slow
but macabre dance to the death soon followed, brilliant white fire curling
welcomingly across moonlike wings as the unforgiving heat completely devoured
hundreds of chittering and humming insects.
It was pure silence in the face of their last soliloquy, an entire forty
minutes ticking by where neither wizard dared to breathe a single word as
enraptured eyes observed the scene with silent awe. So willingly they fell to
the kiss of flame, dying in brilliant embers of life as an unparalleled beauty
transcended the clearing that night.
A wild flush of excitement was dusting delicately pale cheeks, young Harry
Potter laughing for the first time with childish whimsy as his entire world was
reborn in a shade of blackened beauty. With dark pleasure still arcing across
the pads of fingertips, Marvolo's presence constantly at his back had become
his only anchor to reality.
'So beautiful,' He giggled reverently, instinctively leaning more fully into
the fierce embrace curling around his shoulders as Marvolo pulled him flush
against a larger body. The intimate position coiling them together chest-to-
chest, only added to the young one's consuming joy as he loosely gripped his
wand in his right hand and tilted his head back to look into brilliant crimson
orbs.
They were darkening to a deep blood red in possessive desire, the slitted
pupils sparking with newly kindled flames of pride as a smug smirk danced
contentedly across pale lips. The young first year was whispering a quiet but
meaningful 'thank you', suddenly fighting back an overwhelming sting of pain
watering his eyes as small fingers curled tightly in ghostly black fabric and
buried his forehead against a warm abdomen.
It felt so good, he thought to himself absently. But why did his chest felt so
tight? Even with the humming sense of belonging that curled so welcomingly in
the very depths of his soul, Harry was desperately afraid that someone was
going to rip away this happiness simply for being a bad child. He had sworn to
himself that he would never again be separated from Marvolo, he finally had the
power to overcome the painful burden of being so utterly alone in his pain and
suffering. Yet, he was afraid…so desperately afraid—.
'Marvolo…' A hitched sob cried out with broken despair, a sudden and
overwhelming flood of emotions opening up within a strained soul as a small
kiss of compensation tickled softly across the top of his head.
'Well done, my sweet Little Serpent.' A gentle voice breathed against impish
midnight curls, prompting the younger first year to settle himself shamelessly
on the soul shard's lap as they sat down together. Warm and gentle fingertips
were carding through dark black locks a few times before a cool forehead came
to rest against Harry's scarred one. The distressingly silent chest absent of a
heartbeat beneath his palm however, reminded the teen that his friend wasn't
really alive in that moment.
He was merely a shard of the whole, a piece to ensure immortality—. Burning
saline drops were slipping unbidden down flushed cheeks, causing a rare
gentleness to soften usually merciless crimson orbs as the pads of soft fingers
came up to swipe away the dirty tracks left behind.
'Now just what brought this on, hmm?' Marvolo asked with a soft sigh. 'You
performed the ritual absolutely perfectly, Harry. I'm so very proud of you. So
why are you crying, little one? It's the first time you've ever showed me such
terrible emotion.' Flinching softly at those softly reprimanding words, the
Slytherin buried his nose against a ghostly shoulder as he took several
shuddering breaths to silence his swirling distress.
'S-sorry…I-I just realized you're n-not really alive, M-Marvolo. And I want you
to—.'
'Ah, I see.' The older wizard interrupted quietly, seeming to understand
exactly what his younger counterpart was struggling to say. He wouldn't be
surprised if his Little Serpent was confused by his emotions at the moment.
'There's no need for such sadness, Harry.' He confirmed reassuringly. 'I
already promised you that you would never be alone, child. Don't ever forget
that.'
'I'm not in the habit of breaking my promises, even in death.' A quiet chuckle
of irony drifted past pale lips. 'I may not be 'alive' technically right now,
yes. But remember what I told you of my main soul piece? He too is still out
there, no doubt searching for a way to resurrect himself. Just like him, I too
can be resurrected at the right point in time.'
'That point in time is not now, however. Not with the Headmaster watching you
so closely.'
'The Dark Lord is nothing but careful, especially with a child that will one
day come to mean a lot to the both of us. It is also not going to be easy to
convince him of the deep connection we share.' Nodding sombrely at the reminder
that he was responsible for part of his beloved Marvolo's soul wandering about
without a body, Harry couldn't help the brief flash of fear that curled
painfully in the pit of his stomach.
'What if the Dark Lord t-takes you away?'
'He can try, Harry. But he won't get far.' The older being promised. 'I told
you before, we are bound together eternally. Our very souls, child, are
connected in such ways that many lovers could only ever dream of experiencing
such bliss. Our very destinies are twined together.'
'Risking me just to kill you is not something Lord Voldemort will ever do, I
know exactly how he thinks, you see.'
'We are the same person.' Marvolo tapped his temple for emphasis, a sharp
display of teeth crinkling the corners of his eyes as he leaned forward to
press a chaste kiss against the jagged lightning bolt scar marring his Little
Serpent's forehead.
Hissing in startled surprise however, when a spark of pure lightning shuddered
all the way through the ancient diadem hidden in Harry's pocket, the Horcrux
pulled away from his charge thoughtfully as he traced the pad of his thumb
across his bottom lip.
Just what was that? Even Harry had reacted to the affection unexpectedly, those
green eyes now rimmed in a shimmer of bloodied red behind round glasses as they
stared at him openly.
Was it getting too dark or was his mind playing tricks?
Frowning in thought as he pressed an achingly small frame more comfortingly
against his chest, dark crimson orbs watched in silence as the darkness once
more consumed their ritual circle and brightly glowing embers died back to
nothingness. The steady lightening in the sky, already told of the fact that
they had been here for far too long.
A small frame was leaning heavily against his side as the dark entity guided
them to their feet, small knuckles rubbing life back to drooping eyelids behind
round rimmed spectacles as Harry barely noticed strong arms circling his waist
and cradled him delicately against a warm chest.
The soothing scent of blood, burning fire, ice and cold darkness was lulling
him further into sleep as his mind completely shut down. There had already been
too many different emotions for him to process in one night...
'Come, Little Serpent. Let's get you to bed. We can talk about this another
time.'
...
Time was slowly running out, menacing scarlet red eyes glimmering unnaturally
from the darkened depths of a hooded cloak as the shadows clung possessively to
macabre, two-faced, serpentine features. Lord Voldemort, for once in full
possession of his servant's body; silently transversed the dark Forbidden
Forest in search of prolonging Quirrell's fast approaching death.
The living always perished far too easily at the slightest touch of his soul,
whether it was a snake or small animal he had possessed. Or the few unlucky
humans that unknowingly crossed his path… They always died within three full
months under his control, their souls insufferably weak and brittle like
fractured glass.
It was further proof that the true mastery of necromantic art could not be used
against the living, they were far too fragile. The taste of their fear and
raging anguish, however, as the life drained from their eyes; was a heady rush
all on its own. And with the new moon scurrying fearfully behind a curtain of
impenetrable black, the perfect conditions for hunting life had been born.
The Dark Lord was skilfully tracking his prey through the forest on bare feet,
vividly enforcing the natural laws contained in the soil.
After the decades he had spent learning the ebb and flow of black magic through
his travels, the time he spent as a bodiless wraith had taught Lord Voldemort
the rewards of unbiased patience. It was an unseen fortitude that allowed him
an entire night free of his servant's whiny complaints now, or even thinking
unnecessarily of the thwarted plans in acquiring the Sorcerer's stone.
He was calm enough to wait, to observe his surrounding and form a new strategy
whilst the rest of the world dropped its guard. There was something important
and unseen happening here at Hogwarts, after all. The small and unusual glimpse
he had seen through Quirrell's eyes a few days ago, had confirmed his theory.
The instant he had observed his younger self standing by the shoulder of Harry
Potter, his very breath had ground to a halt. It shouldn't have been possible
for anyone but him to wake his Horcruxes, they were irrevocably cursed to
devour anyone's soul daring enough to come too close. Yet, the deep connection
he could feel forming between the two souls had bled through his Occlumency
shields that day.
He could have sworn that he had stood in the presence of two Horcruxes, not
just one. And more than that, the prophesied child had turned out nothing like
he had ever expected. He would be truly surprised if the Headmaster ever
persuaded the child to fight for his useless cause now, especially since he was
so closely entwined with a very dark, very dangerous, Horcrux.
It hadn't done much to quell the rage at his own situation at present, however.
But the piece of his soul's materialized presence, had offered its master
enough clarity to step back and observe the coming events for now.
A glint of sharpened fangs, curling in a parody of a smile as slitted red eyes
narrowed predatorily on a shimmering silver pelt a few meters ahead. It seemed
that he had finally found what he was looking for—.
Twisting his head sharply, however, when an unusual vibration brushed across
pale skin, the distinctive sensation of a swirling proximity and silencing ward
soon tickled tentatively against the recesses of his mind. That in itself was
unusual enough for the Dark Lord to stall his current hunt, a tightly
controlled lash of magic whipping insistently against a delicately protected
ambience.
The wards were exceptionally strong for a mere student to have erected, a
lilting and swaying presence in the weave slumbering like serpents as narrowed
eyes widened in surprise at the realization of just what was blocking his
attempts… It was the successful incorporation of parseltongue in the magic, a
feat that only he had ever succeeded with—.
A quiet, sensual, hiss was rolling eagerly from the tip of a forked tongue,
barely concealed mirth shimmering behind shadowed features as bare feet slid
smoothly passed the impressive seven point fire ward without any resistance. It
was the perfect night for conjuring such delicious dark magic, the very air
growing thick with enjoyment as the darkened night refused to relinquish its
oppressive hold on any soul's passing senses.
A confidently straightened back was leaning nonchalantly against the bark of a
tree, intensely focused scarlet orbs taking in the ancient ritual taking place
before him as he remained careful not to cross the ritual circle and disturb
the flow of magic.
The Dark Lord simply couldn't conceal his surprise when a brilliant Ignis Vitae
fire soon consumed over a hundred moths in willing sacrifice. It had been many
years since he had borne witness to such a magnitude of martyrdom from nature,
almost as impressive as his own ritual had been at the age of sixteen. That
time, an entire swarm of red caps had willingly come forth with their dying
screams.
The small, cloaked, figure dictating death without a whimper of fear, however,
was literally glowing in unrestrained power. He could be no older than a small
first year, maybe even younger. But that simply wasn't possible—.
Allowing an exasperated sigh to colour the icy air misty white at his exhale,
Voldemort openly relaxed at the caress of dark magic dancing against him as he
waited patiently for his new prey to notice his presence. How long he was left
to bask in the blissfully sweet sensations, he could not tell. Yet, when the
sky lightened with the approach of morning; crimson orbs dilated in pleasure at
the familiar sight that soon greeted him.
A tall form was walking deliberately in his direction with a small child
slumbered peacefully against his chest, a cruel smirk twisting pale lips as the
Dark Lord finally confronted the confusion that had plagued him several days
ago.
§My, thisss isss jussst preciousss, my dark Horcrux…§ He hissed with forced
amusement.
§Teaching such a small child the Dark Artsss? Not to mention, binding
yourssself to the one resssponsible for my current sssstate…§ Two pairs of
identical red eyes clashed violently in a heated glare, the younger soul shard
bowing protectively over his chosen charge as a deadly predatory smile curled
across usually calm regal features.
There was a palpable tension curling through the air around them, two identical
magical signatures sparking violently against one another as time itself seemed
to grind to an unstoppable halt.
§So you have finally shown yourself, Lord Voldemort...§ Came the returned hiss.
§I've been waiting for you to come forward and claim our new treasssure for a
while now…§
Chapter End Notes
     Thank you so much for reading, my Honeys. I truly appreciate it. I
     hope you enjoyed my portrayal of Voldemort's character. There are
     many points in this chapter that will be expanded later on, I'm still
     working to get into the heads of my characters before focusing on
     confrontation between them. Good understanding of their makeup, means
     I can portray them much better in the future chapters.
     Anyways, please leave me a little review if you do not mind, it will
     make my exhausting day a little better.
     I'm also still torn on keeping Voldemort's snake-like appearance
     after his resurrection or giving him a body that's older than
     Marvolo's… Some of my Honey's input on that would be nice too on that
     too, I adore Voldemort's snake-like appearance as its right up my
     alley of macabre love stories. Oh well, I'll decide that later.
     Thanks again for reading
     Chocolate Carnival
End Notes
     Thank you so much for reading, please leave me a review or comment of
     what you thought. I would really appreciate it. Other than that, I'll
     probably be updating sometime soon.
     Yours Always
     Chocolate Carnival
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