No. 1 Denial: Harry Potter: Tom Riddle/Harry Potter
Title: It was a Dark Room
Author: Evilremmy
Pairing: Tom Riddle/Harry Potter
Theme: Denial - Five Stages of Grief
Rating: G
Author's Notes: Post HBP
It was a dark room.
Harry didn’t know how long he’d been lying there. He was still wearing his clothes and his broken glasses. His forehead still oozed blood from the jagged cut that Snape had carved into his forehead. They’d torn the part of Riddle’s soul that had bound itself to Harry from him. The plan had been to bind it to an object, but all that Harry remembered now - disorientated as he was - was that something had gone wrong.
In some moments he remembered the bright green flash of Avada Kedavra: as he killed Snape on command and shattered his own soul; breaking away that foul part that belonged not to him but to the wretched snake Lord that was Voldemort. He remembered Snape falling - remembered his own agony only briefly - and then blackness.
When he’d finally managed to open his eyes; he was lying at the foot of a bed; his back against the cold wood footboard, and his hair thick with his own congealed blood. He stirred, ignorant of his own filthy state and ragged robes. There was a warmth beneath the blankets of the bed on which he stirred; a human warmth. The bed creaked - and the body pulled upright, and without so much as a frightened noise had his wand out from under his pillow, pointed straight at Harry.
There was moonlight shining on Harry’s face; bright moonlight. It came from behind the disturbed figure - so that Harry could be identified, without a chance to identify the sleeper, no matter how hard he squinted through the darkness.
But the hard, demanding voice that sprang from the darkness was a thing of nightmares, and utterly unmistakable. “Who are you?! Tell me!” It was filled with such compulsion - such power.
“No…” Harry was breathless. “No…you can’t be real…”
“I assure you,” came the voice; and now it was lower, a soft purr - for Riddle was looking deep into Harry’s wide and frightened eyes. “I am very, very real.”
Denial was the easiest option. In time, Riddle crushed it like a bug and watched it bleed.
Author: Evilremmy
Pairing: Tom Riddle/Harry Potter
Theme: Denial - Five Stages of Grief
Rating: G
Author's Notes: Post HBP
It was a dark room.
Harry didn’t know how long he’d been lying there. He was still wearing his clothes and his broken glasses. His forehead still oozed blood from the jagged cut that Snape had carved into his forehead. They’d torn the part of Riddle’s soul that had bound itself to Harry from him. The plan had been to bind it to an object, but all that Harry remembered now - disorientated as he was - was that something had gone wrong.
In some moments he remembered the bright green flash of Avada Kedavra: as he killed Snape on command and shattered his own soul; breaking away that foul part that belonged not to him but to the wretched snake Lord that was Voldemort. He remembered Snape falling - remembered his own agony only briefly - and then blackness.
When he’d finally managed to open his eyes; he was lying at the foot of a bed; his back against the cold wood footboard, and his hair thick with his own congealed blood. He stirred, ignorant of his own filthy state and ragged robes. There was a warmth beneath the blankets of the bed on which he stirred; a human warmth. The bed creaked - and the body pulled upright, and without so much as a frightened noise had his wand out from under his pillow, pointed straight at Harry.
There was moonlight shining on Harry’s face; bright moonlight. It came from behind the disturbed figure - so that Harry could be identified, without a chance to identify the sleeper, no matter how hard he squinted through the darkness.
But the hard, demanding voice that sprang from the darkness was a thing of nightmares, and utterly unmistakable. “Who are you?! Tell me!” It was filled with such compulsion - such power.
“No…” Harry was breathless. “No…you can’t be real…”
“I assure you,” came the voice; and now it was lower, a soft purr - for Riddle was looking deep into Harry’s wide and frightened eyes. “I am very, very real.”
Denial was the easiest option. In time, Riddle crushed it like a bug and watched it bleed.