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Chapter Text

“It’s the Monster under my bed,” Harry insisted. But his parents wouldn’t listen. Monsters under the bed were common for wizarding children but they were merely close relatives of boggarts, only weaker. They could not actually touch the children. They could not pull at Harry’s clothes and curl tentacles around his ankles.

“Harry, dear,” Lily smiled at her little boy, “it’s just a nightmare. A bad dream. You’re safe here.” Standing next to her with a hand on her shoulder, James grinned too. “You’ve got your Mummy and your big, strong Daddy here. We’ll both protect you. Nothing to fear eh, son?”

Harry looked up at them in dismay. How were they supposed to protect him if they didn’t believe him? “Please, Mum,” Harry pleaded with his large green teary eyes opened wide, “please don’t let me sleep alone tonight. Please?”

“Oh Harry,” Lily leaned forward to give him a tight hug, “but you are a big boy now and we had a pinky promise that you’re going to try and sleep in your own room this week. We must not break our promises! Alright?”

Harry nodded reluctantly, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Now go back to sleep,” James looked at his son fondly and ruffled the signature messy Potter hair that Harry had inherited. They both helped to tuck their child back into bed before casting Nox and leaving the room. The door was left slightly ajar so that they could hear if Harry started shouting for help again.

Harry stared at their retreating backs in misery. He waited until the lights in the corridor had dimmed as well and there were no more footsteps that could be heard. He then pulled the covers fully over his head and huddled in the little space, wishing that it were safe. Harry counted to ten and slowly let his breaths out, keeping calm as his Mum had taught him. Perhaps… perhaps it would leave him alone for the rest of the night, if he kept very, very still. Perhaps –

A shiver crawled up his spine and Harry squeezed his eyes shut in despair. The Thing was back. The Monster. He could feel it – the chill had started to creep over him, causing him to shiver even as he lay under the thick duvet. It lay thick and heavy like a freezing blanket over his small quaking form. He could hear the door to his bedroom slowly shut with a click.

Harry curled up further into a foetal position, his hands and feet tucked in as he clutched at the front of his pajamas while his teeth chattered uncontrollably from the cold. He couldn’t stand this for many more nights. His parents’ presence in the room seemed to keep the Monster away but left alone and it would return without fail.

Harry was tired, so tired of this fear. He was a coward, just like Ron had called Neville. And he didn’t want to be a coward. He didn’t want to be disliked the way Neville was. He wasn’t a coward – he was supposed to be like his Dad, brave and proud and strong as a stag. Or like his Mum whom Padfoot called a crazy spitfire – whatever that was supposed to mean. But it sounded powerful and fierce.

And Harry… Harry cowering because he was afraid of the Thing… Harry was afraid to see it, to see what it really was… because Harry was a – a

“I’m not!” he said in an angry whisper, and then even louder, “I’m not!” He threw his duvet off with as much courage as he could muster and sat up straight and stiff in his bed.

“I’m not a coward! You are! Sneaking about under my b-bed. That’s not right. It’s very rude!” Harry called out, proud that his voice wasn’t shaking as much as he thought it would. “And I don’t clean under my bed, it’s very dusty!” he added for good measure.

A hissing, slithering sound came from under his bed and Harry tensed up further. His room, so bright and cheery in the day looked dark and ominous now. The little snitch toy buzzing about that his Dad had helped him tie to the ceiling cast shadows that look like creatures with horns writhing over the walls. Harry shuddered and did his best to keep his eyes open. He had a feeling that were he to close his eyes, the very worst would happen.

Slowly the shadows crept up the edge of his bed, one, two, three tendrils pushing hard into the mattress. So hard it seemed like they would puncture and tear it apart. Harry froze, the gripping sense of danger blaring alarms in his head. The darkness lashed about and rose violently. Harry watched helplessly as it loomed over his head. To little Harry, so young and naïve, death had seemed so far away. Now he was staring at it in the face; he knew with certainty that this thing could kill him.

The shadows pooled onto the bed and then like roiling waves they rapidly spilled over and under the covers, reaching Harry’s skinny legs. It was nothing Harry had ever felt before – like a thousand needles pricking his legs, stabbing and ripping. Harry thrashed and jolted as it held him down. It hurt so badly that Harry wanted to scream, but nothing came out of his throat. He could not tell if it lasted a minute or an hour. He just knew that it was pain.

Pain.

So much pain.

Help, Harry thought, please help. But no one came.

Eventually, the pain receded enough that he could feel the tears dripping down his face. His legs had gone numb by now. If the evil thing was still hurting him, he could not tell. Harry looked at the monster towering over him – dark coils and tendrils, shifting from barbed spikes to tentacles to something that looked scaly. Just when Harry thought the monster would devour him, it seemed to hesitate. Slowly, a face seemed to form amidst the black fog. It was a gruesome visage: cruel red eyes, slits for nose, a snarling lipless maw and a veined bald head.

“You’re very brave,” it hissed. Harry could see a forked tongue between its sharp teeth. “Is it true courage or mere foolishness?”

Harry stared, wide-eyed.

“You called me a coward,” it growled, “and told me to reveal myself. Do you believe you can fight me and win?”

Harry shook his head.

The monster cocked its head with an air of impatience. Harry, despite the shock he was in, felt compelled to answer, “I just wanted to… why? Why are you doing this to me? Why are you hurting me?”

“Because I can,” the monster laughed cold and high and cruel.

“Can you stop?” Harry asked.

The monster leaned its face closer to Harry; so close they almost touched. “What would you give me in return?”

“I don’t know. Anything you want,” Harry said desperately. He could not feel his legs. He could not feel his legs.

The monster’s eyes widened, and its face broke out into a dreadful grin. “Oh, you are such a good boy. I do like you very much, little human. I want you. I want your soul,” its voice started to grow louder, a greedy, hungry and violent quality in its tone now.

“My soul?” Harry trembled.

“Your innocent soul. A powerful soul, but so, so innocent,” the monster undulated in excitement, “give it to me and I’ll stop hurting you. I’ll even give you back your legs.”

Harry flinched in shock and stared down at his legs. He could not see them because of the dark fog that covered them. He did not know what state they were in. He could not feel his legs. This was a nightmare – it had to be. A nightmare that threatened to drown him in madness. Because he knew he would never be capable to dreaming this up.

“I’ll give you my soul,” he whispered helplessly. His voice shook as he tried to hold down the choking fear.

“Good choice,” the monster hissed. It lifted one claw to his forehead and lightning-quick, it sliced it open. Harry finally screamed. It burned. It burned worse than the pain in his legs had. Harry was crying openly.

“You’re mine now,” the monster said. Abruptly, it slid back off the bed. Then the door slammed open and the lights switched on.

“Harry! Are you alright? We heard you –” Lily stopped short at the sight of the room that had been ravaged and her son sat atop a bed that was torn apart, crying as he stared blankly at the wall, blood dripping down the side of his face.

Lily’s screams echoed into the night.

Chapter Text

Harry’s life had completely changed after that one night. He was told that he had been in a catatonic state for a few days as his parents scrambled to bring him to St Mungo’s and sought the help of the Headmaster of Hogwarts.

When he woke, Dumbledore came by, stared at his scar and asked him only one question.

“My boy,” the headmaster had said gravely, “what is the name of the monster?”

“Tom,” Harry answered, offering the name the monster had told him.

“Was there another name he gave you?” Dumbledore gripped the edge of the table.

Harry racked his brains. There was one, whispered into his ear in his worst nightmares, months ago… it was not the one that Tom had told him.

“Voldemort,” Harry whispered. Dumbledore had sagged visibly before he left.

The healers bustled in then, intent on figuring what was wrong with Harry. They spoke about him as if he wasn’t there, listening to every word they spoke.

Trauma, they’d said, your son may never be the same again.

An unbreakable curse.

An unsolvable riddle.

At first his parents watched over him, until work and the birth of a younger sibling called them away. Sirius and Uncle Lupin tried as well, and even Uncle Severus had come back from his trip in the Americas to help with the potions. Then the mediwitches took over, and even the Aurors were stationed with him every night for the first few months to make sure his monster would not pay a visit. But the monster was always there. Harry could sense his presence, even when adults were in the room. He had never left Harry, not for a single moment.

It took three months before Harry was finally brave enough to speak to the monster. They had left him in the room, the sunlight streaming in from the windows, as if it would make a difference. The piece of darkness opposite him looked like it had cut out of the deepest night – a place the sun and all good things would never be found. It seemed to repel all the warmth and light until even the brightly lit room seemed wane and washed out.

“Hello,” Harry said. The darkness coiled out slowly and shifted towards Harry in a slow and menacing gait. The same face that appeared that night was now forming amid the darkness again. It was just as terrifying as Harry remembered. Harry took a deep, shaky breath. And another. And another.

He could do this.

“What’s happened to me?”

The monster paused, looking at Harry’s scar with a frighteningly pleased expression. “It is a gift from me to you. A mark of ownership. You are mine; your soul is mine. It will warn the others to stay away.”

“What will you do with my soul?”

“It is not your place to ask!” the monster hissed and then gave a piercing shriek; its pasty white skin tore at its cheeks as its open maw dropped impossibly low to bare the entirety of its sharp teeth. Its tendrils spiked in anger. Harry drew back quickly, fearful of the monster’s wrath. It quickly fell back into its usual amorphous and undulating manifestation.

“Shh shhh, little boy,” the monster cooed, reaching over with one large tentacle and curling its form around Harry’s quivering body, “I promised I will not hurt you. Don’t be afraid.”

Harry sobbed, hating the monster’s touch but not daring to leave its embrace. Its threatening tendrils sharpened into claws that could easily rend his flesh, even as it stroked him with mocking tenderness.

“Let me show you, Harry, what my gift will do for you. You must have noticed that none here are able to remove my gift to you. They are weak and useless. Harry, sweet Harry. You shall never leave me. With my gift, you shall be powerful and feared.”

Harry cried harder, his body wracking with each miserable sob. He didn’t want it. He didn’t want to be feared. But he was too powerless. He was Harry, just Harry. There was no choice. Harry leaned into the monster allowing the darkness to swallow him whole. This was his life now – he belonged to the monster. It was his monster.

By the time the healers came to check on Harry, the blood from his scar had crusted over his face. Of those who ran forward to help him, none survived.

It has turned active. Evolved? Aggressive curse.

Voices in his head. A malady of madness.

Parasitical dependency. Will die if we forcibly removed it.

Harry spent the next months and years watching people around him die or be injured. Whenever someone attempted to cast a counter-curse on him, or force potions down his throat, the darkness that now lived within Harry’s scar would lash out at them and Harry would be fine. (But the others were not.) He tried to tell the darkness not to hurt his parents, but it didn’t listen. The sight of his father clutching a broken arm taught him to keep his mum and dad at a distance.

“You’re mine,” Tom had told him, “and I’m the only one you need. I’ve told you this, Harry. Have you yet to learn what it means?”

“I-I know. I’m yours, but can I not have my mum and dad too?”

“Must I teach you a lesson you will not soon forget, Harry?” his monster leaned forward, its molten red eyes glinting so cruelly in the harsh lights of his hospital room.

“No, no I will be good,” Harry shook his head. He never asked again.

Even after Harry broke his Dad’s arm, his parents didn’t stop visiting and showing their love in ways they knew how. But Harry would reject every gesture. He knew it was better if they’d just left him alone. (It hurt too much to see his mother’s tears.) Although, over the years his mum and dad had withdrawn somewhat; guilt-ridden by their own inability to understanding what dark forces haunted their son – imprinted and possessed him. They’d visit him once a month – a promise – and Potters don’t break promises.

Harry was afraid of Tom, until one day he wasn’t. He could no longer deny Tom’s power and control over him. He did the only thing he could – he accepted it. His monster would speak to him every day, teach him things. Things that Harry found fascinating and things that Harry did not wish to learn. And he’d promised never to hurt Harry again. (But he’d hurt the others.)

With so many people coming in and out of his life, to treat him and the dark curse he was afflicted with, Harry should not have felt alone. But he was. He had been changed and no one seemed to understand that it was alright. Harry was okay. (He was still Harry. Wasn’t he?) The mediwitches tried to treat him nicely, but their smiles were strained. In their eyes, Harry could see that they thought it wasn’t just the situation, but Harry who had gone wrong.

But that could not be further from the truth. For at age 11, Harry was the most powerful wizard child of the century. He’d heard Dumbledore say so. He could make animals do his bidding, and he could talk to snakes. It was wonderful, before the Aurors found out. They’d stopped letting him go out into the gardens at the back of St Mungo’s after that. He could also make some things – small things – happen exactly the way he wanted them to with nothing more than his will.

It was everything his monster had promised him and more. (He had gained, but he had lost too. And that was okay. It was okay.)

Still, Harry felt lost at sea, a single boat rocking in the waves, but for his monster. His monster who had hurt him but was now his anchor – the one existence that never left, who never looked at him like he was Wrong. (Would always be more Wrong than Harry.)

“Well, Harry, I’ll leave it here for you,” James gestured awkwardly to the letter on the table, “you can open and read it whenever you feel like it.”

Harry eyed the yellow envelope and a distinct red seal but made no move to retrieve it. The table was positioned by the door where guests would stand and speak to him from a safe distance. (It wasn’t far enough. It wasn’t safe enough. But Tom said the darkness would not attack if they didn’t come any closer. Tom never lied.)

“We think Hogwarts may be good for you,” Lily said hesitantly, “St Mungo’s hasn’t… we’re grateful for the healers’ efforts but they haven’t really helped to… well. Harry, my love, I want this for you. I want you to go to school. Will you think about it?”

Harry nodded. His mother sniffled before leaving the room.

The minute the door closed, Harry ran over and plucked the envelope off the table. He sniffed at it. It smelled of parchment, owl, and his mum and dad. He was told so many stories of Hogwarts when he lived in Godric’s Hollow. It filled him with so much excitement then, thinking of the day he’d get his letter and open it with his family and friends by his side.

But now, it was just him and his monster.

“Tom,” he called out softly.

He felt it standing behind him, a comforting presence.

“I’ve gotten my Hogwarts letter. Do you think I’ll be going?” Harry asked.

“You think you will not?” his monster hissed.

“I’ve been stuck here for so long,” Harry said quietly, “I don’t know what it’s like on the outside anymore. Will you let me go?” What lay beyond the white walls of his St Mungo’s room?

His monster was quiet for a long time.

“I permit you to go,” his monster said, “Hogwarts was once my home too. You will like it there.”

“Will you come with me?” Harry turned around to look at Tom who was so close, the tendrils caressed Harry’s forearms. His monster reached out and pulled Harry into his arms.

“I will not be present in the same way. My powers are greatly weakened there, but I shall still be watching over you.” The evil creature leaned down – for Harry was not so foolish to think his monster was anything but evil – and lightly pressed its thin lips to Harry’s scar.

“Do not forget that you are mine. You shall not betray me, even at Hogwarts. They will not let you out, but after seven years you must return to me.”

Harry nodded.

“Good boy. But I want you to promise.”

“I promise.”

Potters never broke their promises.

Chapter Text

A few days before he was due to go to Hogwarts, Dumbledore paid him a visit in his room at St Mungo’s.

“Young Harry,” the old wizard sighed, “we have failed you. But believe me when I say I have not given up on removing the curse from you.” His eyes moved up to look at Harry’s scar solemnly.

Harry fought back the urge to cover his scar from Dumbledore’s scrutiny.

“You will be safe at Hogwarts. We have added at least ten more wardstones which will prevent the worst of the curse and possession. You will be like almost any other wizarding child. It is my hope, however unlikely it may be at this point, that your stay at Hogwarts for 7 years will cause the monster’s attention to wane.”

Harry hoped not. He stared at Dumbledore’s gnarly hands, unwilling to look him in the eye.

“We won’t be putting you on the Hogwarts Express; you will come straight via Portkey. But you shall be allowed to take the boat ride with the other first years. Hogwarts will be your home for the next seven years, and you will be free to make friends without the curse hurting any of them. The school will ensure your anonymity, and no one will know of your curse if you do not tell them. There is one last matter: the other students will not understand that your monster is different from theirs. I urge you not to speak about yours except in the vaguest terms.”

Harry nodded. This was the one thing he and Dumbledore agreed on. No one would ever understand what Tom and Harry shared.

“I’ll send Ollivander in in a moment. He will help you with choosing your first wand. The auror will be here to make sure you’re both safe.”

Harry did not reply.

Hogwarts was indeed as beautiful and as majestic as Tom described. The turrets and twisting spires against the night sky and twinkling stars were not done justice in the book, Hogwarts: A History that his parents had gifted him last year. As he sailed across the lake in the boat, he studied the moon’s silvery reflection, shimmering gently and so close that he could almost reach it were it really upon the waters.

But it wasn’t home. Home was where Tom was, and Harry felt his monster’s absence acutely the moment he had arrived on the castle grounds. He reached into his robes and gripped his wand – the brother wand to his monster.

The brother wand to Tom Riddle, Ollivander had said. His monster had shifted - no he had jolted - when Ollivander spoke that phrase. It was surprise, perhaps shock. An emotion Harry had never witnessed his monster exhibit. Somewhere in the back of his mind, Harry realized that this meant Tom had once been a person. He had to be to wield a wand. But that hardly mattered now. Not when he was so far away from Harry.

“What’s your name?” the red-head boy in the boat next to him asked.

“Harry Potter,” Harry replied softly. He wasn’t used to all these noises. His room at St Mungo’s had been very quiet.

“Whoa wait a minute,” the boy leaned forward in excitement, causing the boat to rock a little, “Kate’s older brother? How come I’ve never met you? You’re such a mystery to all of us! I’m Ron, by the way, Ron Weasley.”

But I have met you. We were friends, Ron. You’ve simply forgotten. Or maybe you were made to forget after that time my darkness attacked you when you visited me at the hospital.

Ron blinked at him, still waiting for a reply. Harry shrugged.

“I-I think he’s nervous,” Neville said as he clutched his toad. Harry wanted to snort. Neville looked far more nervous than Harry did. Ron gave up on pushing Harry for a conversation, but he continued to look at him with curiosity shining in his eyes.

That curiosity was quickly snuffed out when Harry was sorted into Slytherin. Harry didn’t mind. He was no longer the same Harry that Ron once knew. They would walk different paths now.

“A Potter in Slytherin,” a blond boy seated opposite him drawled, “now that’s a first.”

Draco Malfoy. He’d met him only once at a Ministry party. Their parents weren’t friends with the Potters.

Harry tried to talk to him, just a little. They would stay in the same dorm for seven years, so the least Harry could do was to try and be friends with him.

There wasn’t much to do that first night. Professor Slughorn, his head of house, explained the rules and other things he hardly paid attention to. He spent his time observing his surroundings instead. The Slytherin common room was a beautiful place, with a calming view into the lake. The shared dormitory seemed far too luxurious: lush with soft rugs, carvings and green and silver curlicues. It was the most colour he had seen in years. But when the drapes closed around his four-poster bed, Harry thought he’d never felt so alone before.

Harry was a decent student; he had already learned many things from Tom. Though it was likely he did not stand a chance of besting the Granger girl in theory, he could have been better if only he had bothered. As it was, his only interests lay in the magics of hauntings and curses. He wanted to know exactly who his monster was. His dark magic in his scar was somehow kept at bay within Hogwarts grounds. After the first night, Tom’s presence seemed to come back, though it wavered at times. Harry never saw Tom’s form while at Hogwarts. (Did something go wrong?)

A couple of weeks in and his schoolmates had pegged him as an oddball. Too quiet, too serious, always looking at people as if he was only just getting used to idea of them.

He gained some level of infamy when he was taken off Quidditch classes after multiple attempts to escape Hogwarts. Professor Slughorn kept a close eye on him during the weekends, and his parents came over to watch over him too when they could. Aside from that and the Hogsmeade fiasco in the third year, where he was also caught attempting to run away, the professors in Hogwarts found that Harry appeared to have settled in rather well. He made friends with his Slytherin housemates and unexpectedly, his oddness seemed to endear him to the other houses. Harry was confused by it, since the other oddball a year younger than him in Ravenclaw seemed to have been shunned instead.

“Lovegood’s just weird. You on the other hand are both weird and dramatic, especially with all your escape attempts,” Pansy said with more astuteness than people gave her credit for, “and that makes you fun.”

But it wasn’t for fun, Harry thought sadly. He’d just wanted to be near Tom again. He’d felt unmoored all these years without his monster – and Tom’s presence always seemed to be wavering somehow and disappearing altogether at times. (Perhaps something was wrong.)

“Harry’s not weird,” Draco scoffed while scratching away at his OWLs revision notes. He seemed unaware of the disbelieving looks his friends gave him.

“Because he’s the only one who listens to you, so you think the sun shines out of his arse,” Blaise muttered, low enough that Harry could hear him, but Draco who sat opposite could not. Harry decided not to contradict Blaise, because he did indeed prefer Malfoy’s company. If for nothing more than the boy’s ability to monologue and carry a solo conversation, while Harry kept blissfully silent. After all, there was only one being that Harry wished to speak with.

Was it merely his imagination that Tom’s presence disappeared entirely for short periods of time? Tom had promised to always be watching over Harry… He wondered what his monster was doing – he dearly hoped Tom hadn’t gone about trying to find another to replace Harry. He wouldn’t, would he?

Unless... (something was wrong)

While Harry had his thoughts focused mainly on school and his monster, he did not realise that he had gained many admirers. His handsome features played a large part in his popularity, but he never had cause to consider it until the first love letter made its way to him at the end of his fifth year. It was written in a beautiful penmanship, but the contents left much to be desired:

Dear Harry,

You’re so handsome. I want to pumpeh your rumpeh. If you’re down for it, Come to the Astronomy Tower.

- Your admirer

Harry crumpled the parchment and threw it in the bin next to him. He forgot all about it until the next morning, when hushed whispers echoed through the Great Hall.

“Are you certain?”

“Positive! I saw them carry Zach’s body out!”

“It was covered in a white cloth. How could you tell?”

“Smith’s sister was crying, that’s obvious enough?”

“Hey guys, what a morning eh? It’s true by the way, I was there when the news first broke out.”

“What, really? So how did it happen?”

“Some kind of dark magic. I heard they found him at the Astronomy Tower all dressed up.”

Harry stopped short; his hand paused mid-way where it hovered over a piece of toast. The Astronomy Tower… but it couldn’t be. It had to be just a coincidence, right? Besides Zacharias Smith may not have been his admirer either. He could have been meeting someone else…

Harry pushed down the voice in his head that told him there was no such thing as a coincidence in his life. Over the next weeks, the incident was all anyone could talk about, especially when the death was ruled as unnatural. But then their OWLs came, and many put aside the mystery to focus on their examinations. Harry merely felt emptier and despairing than he had before the incident. He threw himself into his exams as well, trying to shake off the feeling that something had gone terribly wrong. He managed well enough with a mix of Os and EEs. But there was no one for him to celebrate it with – his friends were all back in their homes. Well, there was one other but… (something was wrong)

“Tom,” he whispered softly, “I did alright.”

No reply was forthcoming.

After he opened the letter containing his results, he trooped through the silent dungeons and then above ground. The hallways were equally empty as they always were during the summer. His shoes clacked loudly on the flagstones as he made his way to the gargoyle standing guard at the bottom of the Headmaster’s office.

“I’m here to see Dumbledore,” Harry announced. He was never once given the password, but Dumbledore also did not deny him entry. The gargoyle sprang to life and the staircase was revealed. Harry headed up and rapped lightly on the door.

“Come in,” Dumbledore called out.

“Professor?” Harry asked, sticking his head in to peer at the Headmaster. Dumbledore gestured to a soft comfy armchair on the other side of the desk. “Have a seat, my boy.”

Harry warily stepped in and took his place opposite the old wizard. Dumbledore merely steepled his fingers and looked thoughtfully at Harry. Every so often his gaze would veer back to Harry’s scar. After a moment, his expression seemed satisfied.

“Sir,” Harry tried, “you requested to see me?”

“Yes,” Dumbledore said, “I wanted to know how you are doing? Are you faring better than you were at the start of the year?”

“Yes sir,” Harry said, “nothing’s changed.”

“Is that so,” Dumbledore said smiling as if he were privy to a secret.

“Well if there’s something you want to say, I’d wish you’d just come out with it instead of smiling at me and twinkling your eyes,” Harry said crossly, then blushed bright red when he registered what he’d just said. “I-I’m sorry sir, it’s just I –”

Dumbledore chuckled, “no harm done, my boy. I am merely glad to see that the years at Hogwarts have done you much good.”

“What do you mean, sir?” Harry asked, puzzled.

“I’ve spent many years researching the curse afflicted upon you,” Dumbledore explained, “and I discovered a series of wardstones and runes if used in tandem would decrease the dark influence of the monster on you. We hoped then that it would work, but nothing was certain. We could only tell when you set foot in Hogwarts. Your parents and I were pleasantly surprised to see how much your curse had been suppressed.”

“S-suppressed?”

“Surely you must have realised, Harry, how the voices in your head have lessened over the years? How you no longer withdraw from people, standing tall and sure? The monster does not have the same hold over you. You’ve become a confident young man.”

Harry stared at Dumbledore as he sat frozen in place.

“In fact, the more he tries to exert his influence in any way, the greater the damage it does to the bond through your scar, and therefore himself. If he tries to utilise your scar to attack any person. That would rebound against him. I do believe that at the end of your seven years he will be too weak to have any power left over you. You would finally be free, Harry.”

Harry had no idea how the conversation went from there, only that he stumbled out and back to his dormitory only half-aware.

He knew that his parents and Dumbledore had meant the best for him. Anyone would be happy to be free of the monster. Should be happy. So why Harry was in so much pain now?

Because Tom was hurt – hurt whenever he tried in some way to be with Harry. And then the incident with Zacharias… Harry closed his eyes and tried to focus. Tom’s presence was still there, but so faint. Was he aware? Did he know that he was hurting himself every time he connected with him? That Hogwarts, once his monster’s ‘home’, had now been turned against him?

Harry raised his hand to his cheek. It was wet.

Chapter Text

Harry stared at his ceiling, his hands behind his head. It was slightly past 8 in the evening and he could hear the rustling of the leaves from his window.

“Harry, dear,” Lily knocked, “are you in there?”

“Mum,” Harry sat up and crossed the room to open the door. His mother stood in the hallway, smiling radiantly with a tray of biscuits and tea in her hands.

“Your father was throwing a little tantrum about troubles at work, so I brought him some tea. Care to join us for some in the parlour?”

“Sure, just let me grab a book or something and I’ll come over,” Harry told her. He pulled out the Essays on House elves sent to him by Hermione and strolled down the stairs to their parlour. His father was in a rocking chair grumbling about some guy called Mundungus to his sister who looked bored out of her mind.

“Hey,” Kate said when Harry walked in, “just in time. Draco’s eagle dropped you some stupid package. It’s over there by the blue shelves.”

“Thanks,” Harry said, plopping down by the couch next to the shelves and quickly pulled open the wrappings. It was a rather small, nondescript grey box which signaled that even his flamboyant friend knew this wasn’t something to draw attention to. Harry took a slow breath and kept his face straight so his family would not find anything suspicious.

“So, what did he send?” Kate drawled as she flopped over the table and knocked one of the biscuits on the plate.

“Don’t play with the food,” Lily reprimanded her.

“Just a brooch he forgot to pack with the dress robes he gave me,” Harry answered.

“Draco is the weirdest shit,” Kate rolled her eyes, “who gives dress robes to a grown man for his birthday?”

“That reminds me,” James said from his rocking chair, “you’re twenty now. Do you want to apply for the dueling championship?”

“Whatever for?” Harry asked with his brows furrowed.

“You beat Snivellus last year, won that wand from him, didn’t you? I think you have talent there, son. Ouch!” James failed to dodge his wife’s smack on his head.

“I told you to stop calling him that,” Lily frowned. James merely grinned and rubbed his head unrepentantly.

Harry settled into the couch, leaning back comfortably and flipped his book open to read. Behind him, the little box was tucked discreetly at the base of his spine.

When his family had returned to their rooms, Harry quietly trudged back up and locked his door with a whisper. He pulled out the box from his pocket and laid it on his table before opening it. There was a little note from Draco.

Harry smiled and gently pulled open the small drawstring bag tucked snugly into the box. From within, a black stone fell out and landed in his open palm. He peered at it, noting the distinct symbol of a triangle with a circle and line through it embedded within the stone. It was the same – it felt the same. The Resurrection Stone.

Quickly, Harry opened his trunk and retrieved the wand he had won from his duel with Uncle Severus. He knew it had been Dumbledore’s and somehow Uncle Sev had gotten his hands on it, allowing Harry to win it through some careful maneuvering and a harmlessly suggested duel last year. The Elder Wand.

From his trunk, Harry also pulled out the silvery cloak that his father had finally passed to him during his birthday last week. The Invisibility Cloak.

Harry had all of them now. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

“Tom, I’m coming for you.”

Harry held the letter that Hermione had sent him, a year after they had graduated from Hogwarts. A year of sorrow, disappointment and abject failure when he had not managed to find Tom despite everything he had tried. Back then, his family thought his depression stemmed from simply needing time to adjust back to a normal life and gave him a lot of support that year. Harry had improved greatly since. But he never forgot – could not forget about Tom.

Now with the Deathly Hallows, Harry was certain he could find Tom again. He had told his family that he was to spend a week at Malfoy’s manor. Draco would surely cover for his absence. Harry only hoped they would not miss him too much. He did not expect to come out of this alive.

It was pouring heavily, and Harry made his way into the abandoned lighthouse standing upon an outcropping of rock in the middle of the sea. He pulled out a ratty blanket and settled down in the middle of the floor. It was an angry storm; the waves crashed against the rocks, the wind howling and the rain thunderous on the windows and the creaky wooden door.

Harry had found a place so desolated that no one had visited it for years. Yet it rested upon a powerful magic ley line that would aid his efforts in reviving his monster.

He donned the cloak, gripped the resurrection stone, and held the elder wand aloft.

“Tom, return to me,” he murmured. He did not speak again but concentrated hard on his memories of Tom’s presence. Words were only a distraction now. He could almost feel Tom’s darkness: the cruel spikes and claws, the soft tendrils and curling tentacles.

Harry opened his eyes a fraction, but nothing stared back at him in the deep dank room of the lighthouse. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes again, focusing on thoughts of Tom once more, trying to muster up the same crippling fear he once felt.

Nothing.

Harry shook his head, unwilling to accept the outcome. He had to find Tom again. He had so many questions. It could not end like this…

But what was it that Hermione said in the letter?

Perhaps… there was something there. Harry had stopped being afraid of Tom for a long while now. Fear wouldn’t be powerful enough to call Tom back.

Harry took a deep breath and tried again, this time wholly letting go of any remnants of fear. He thought of each word that Tom spoke to him when he was a young boy. Every bit of knowledge imparted. The sensation of a tendril curling around his small toes and the wry smile on that pale, monstrous face. The impatience his monster had shown when Harry couldn’t understand what he’d taught. The disgust he had shown when he saw what St Mungos was feeding Harry. Harry thought about what Tom meant to him, all the pain and anger when Tom prevented him from having his family around him, having friends any other normal child. And when even that had melted away over the years into acceptance and –

“Harry,” a raspy whisper came. So soft that Harry almost missed it.

He startled and looked up and found himself staring right into two red eyes.

“Tom,” he breathed out. His monster didn’t even have a face – just his two eyes and a mass of dark fog. He wasn’t sure if his eyes were playing tricks on him. Was it really Tom? Or simply Harry wishing for this so much that his imagination supplied him with he wanted?

A tiny tendril reached out and stroked Harry’s scar which had faded into a tiny silver streak by now.

Harry stiffened at the contact from Tom, dropping the wand that clattered loudly on the wooden planks. He raised his hand slowly to touch the dark mass that Tom was made of. When he felt the familiar coolness against his fingers, he burst into tears.

“Tom,” his voice shook, “Tom, you’re really here.”

Tom did not reply.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said softly as he stroked the small tendril that hovered near his scar, “you were hurt because of me. Because you tried to stay with me while at Hogwarts.”

The dark fog swayed gently.

“By the time I realised, it was too late. And the last year at Hogwarts was hell, knowing the entire time that I could not warn you nor save what was left of you.”

Harry shifted closer, staring into the red eyes that did not blink. The silence made a fiery well of anger burst forth from within Harry.

“Ten years, Tom. It’s been ten years. Look at what you’ve been reduced to. I don’t know if you can understand me. Do you still remember? You called me Harry. You must remember, don’t you? No! Even if you don't... It does not matter! This time it’s my turn to speak. I know what you are, Tom. Tom Marvolo Riddle.

Yes, my monster. I didn’t spend my Hogwarts years idling away. I traced your footsteps and looked for the truth behind the veil. You gave up your humanity so you wouldn’t die. Horcruxes, Tom. Horcruxes. What were you thinking? How could you be so foolish? You lost everything when you split your soul and you messed up. You messed up, Tom, and turned into a monster to be feared.”

The dark fog trembled.

“And you made me into someone that others feared as well. You changed my life and took away everything I held dear. You taught me to need you and only you. If not for Hogwarts I would never have known what it was like to be normal again.” Harry took a deep, shuddering breath.

“I hate you so much. Do you know? I kept wondering all these years why it was me and my bed that you came to haunt. Why did you have to ruin my childhood? And if so, why did you let me go to Hogwarts, knowing that you’d lose me? Why, Tom? Why?! Answer me! ANSWER ME!” Harry screamed, his tears pouring down his face as he tried to grip the dark fog, but it simply slipped through his fingers. The red eyes held no malice as they looked at him – more like a child, curious and waiting.

“You’ve just been distilled down to a mere wraith now. A fragment of what you used to be. Why did you fear death so much that you’d rather live a half-life, Tom?”

There was no reply forthcoming. The fog shifted slowly where it floated above the dusty wooden planks.

Harry sighed and flopped backwards onto the blanket, feeling completely wrung out and emotionally drained. The fog drifted forward slowly coming to rest an inch above Harry. It was so dark it blended into the background of the lighthouse ceiling. The red eyes hovered, looking down into Harry’s green ones.

“Do you know what’s the worst of it,” Harry whispered, “that I called you back from wherever you’d disappeared to not using my fear but using my love for you.”

The fog froze, the red eyes opened wide. Harry sighed and leaned forward, planting a kiss where he thought his monster’s mouth would be.

Harry lay flat again, spreading his arms wide. He was sure the stone and the wand had rolled off somewhere by now.

“It’s a pity that love doesn’t solve everything, no matter what the fairytales say,” Harry closed his eyes in resignation, “you probably have no idea what I’m saying now. But I needed this closure.” He breathed a few breaths, and then wrinkled his nose when he felt something tickling his head.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked, opening his eyes to find his monster pressing a tendril to his scar again. “Tom?” Before he could say another word, he felt something against his lips. Stunned, Harry just held still as Tom’s lips pressed insistently against his own. There was a tendril that slowly traced the seam of his lips and Harry opened them to allow it entrance. It curled gently around his tongue, then harder.

His monster rubbed itself against his face, his neck and another tendril slipped down Harry’s collar and stroked his chest. Harry moaned and reached up, hoping to touch Tom but a larger tendril extended from the fog and wrapped around his wrists, firmly but gently bringing it down above Harry’s head.

“Tom?” Harry asked again, his voice muffled by the numerous tendrils in his mouth. His monster paused before the tendrils seemed to twist into something much larger and began to push its way deeper into Harry’s mouth. Harry struggled when he felt it hit the back of his mouth.

What was Tom trying to do? He wouldn’t –

Harry’s back arched off the blanket as Tom pushed down his throat. Harry tried to kick Tom away, but his legs were held down as well. He desperately tried to breathe through his nose until he had enough air to calm down from the thick intrusion down his throat. Just as he had calmed somewhat, the tendril that never left his scar pierced through his head and Harry screamed, thrashing from the overwhelming pain. It felt like something was being pulled out from his very core. Harry had never felt this much pain since – since Tom gave him the scar –

Harry struggled even harder, the pain so dizzying that his vision blurred, and he knew that if this went on for much longer he would faint or perhaps die. He kicked out feebly until he felt a wrench and the tendril was removed. His scar was bleeding freely once more. In a daze, Harry wanted to run, leave as far as he could but his nerves were shot and the dark fog was covering him, blinding him from all else. He could feel the tremors in the fog, shaking as the monster wrapped around him. When the tremors subsided, Harry felt it lifting off him and there in the fog was Tom’s pale and monstrous face again.

The tongue that stretched out from the monster’s maw continued into Harry’s mouth and down his throat. Tom had never once relinquished his hold on Harry.

He looked up at Tom, his eyes teary from the pain and helplessness. His monster smiled, his thin lips stretching wide. But there was something unusually gentle in his eyes now.

“Thank you, Harry, for keeping your promise,” Tom said, his voice rasping as he slowly pulled his tongue out of Harry’s throat. “I asked for you to come back to me and let me take back the piece of my soul I left in your scar.”

Harry’s eyes widened in shock, “your soul… my scar?”

“Yes, Harry, you were my Horcrux,” Tom told him, “you were my lifeline, so that I would still survive Dumbledore’s plans for my demise while you were at Hogwarts.”

“You never needed the Deathly Hallows then, just my persistence in finding you,” Harry murmured, his throat sore and scrapped raw.

“No, indeed not. I was recovering but I could find you if I wanted to.”

Why didn’t you find me?

“Why didn’t you attack me just now then? Why wait?” Harry asked.

Tom did not reply.

Why did you wait for me to find you?

Harry’s green eyes shined with tears as he stared into Tom’s red ones.

Why did you let me go in the first place? Harry thought but could not bring himself to ask. Yet, Tom’s red eyes flashed knowingly.

“You could never hide anything from me, Harry. I can hear the question at the tip of your tongue. Why did I let you go to Hogwarts? Even when I knew what Dumbledore planned?” Tom spoke, bringing forth all the doubts that were buried deep in Harry’s heart. Harry’s breath quickened, uncertain of Tom’s reply but knowing he would never rest till he heard it.

Tom leaned closer, his face less than an inch from Harry’s. “Because I loved you too. In the only way I knew how. I let you go; to have a life of your own. I never had a guarantee that you would choose to find me. Had you lived your life, grew old and died, my horcrux would have died with you. But you came back. You came back to me, Harry. And now I’ll never let you go again.”

It was as if the veil had come off, the pieces had shattered, and Harry had no choice to stare at the naked truth of the twisted love between him and hist monster. Harry sobbed, his chest heaving as he cried to his monster. Because of his monster. For his monster.

“Show me, Harry, how much you can love a monster like me,” Tom said. Harry reached out and placed his arms around Tom’s neck, pulling his monster close. Harry shivered as Tom divested him of his clothes. The cloak was cast aside as the other two hallows had been. They did not matter – it was just him and Tom now.

Tom smiled against Harry’s mouth and plunged his tongue back down his throat while multiple tendrils caressed and stroked Harry’s flesh. Harry moaned as a tendril wrapped around his hardening cock, stroking it along its length. Other tendrils found their way to his nipples, twisting and pulling at them mercilessly until they were peaked and swollen. Harry could see how Tom kept his claws away safely away from Harry's vulnerable flesh. A tentacle, thick and cold gripped his wrists and placed them above Harry’s head once more. Tendrils wound around his arms tightly, leaving new marks of ownership along them.

Harry’s breaths became faster as his arousal increased with each teasing stroke of the tendril. Tom’s tongue was now deeply lodged down Harry’s throat, a long and thick appendage that felt like it always belonged. It was heavy in his mouth and throat, a slightly salty taste that Harry savoured. He closed his eyes, enjoying the fullness from it, until he felt something prodding at his hole. Harry drew up his legs, letting them fall to his sides as his monster rested between them. The tentacle prodded at his hole again, then slowly pushed in. Harry’s breath hitched. He could feel himself loosening around the tentacle and knew Tom must have used his magic. He smiled around the tongue still stoppering his mouth and throat. He’d thought Tom would have just pushed without caring about hurting Harry.

The tentacle was now slowly but surely finding its way into Harry, filling him up with its thick girth. His hole was stretched tight around it, the magic having loosened him only enough to allow the penetration without tearing him. He took deep breaths through his nose as it relentlessly drove into him. It made him feel even fuller than before, as it curled around within him, plunging deeper and deeper, until Harry was certain there would be no space left unoccupied by Tom.

Harry gave open mouth kisses, pressing against Tom’s lips ardently, fervently. He felt the tentacle withdraw, every inch of the slow drag of its journey out of him made more pronounced by the suckers that gently kissed his insides deep within. Then it pushed back in fast again, carving a path for itself through Harry. One of its suckers latched onto Harry’s prostate and stimulated it mercilessly.

"Ahh... ahhh!" Harry cried and whimpered and shook in Tom’s embrace. His toes curled and his hands fisted in the blanket as he tried not to fall apart from the intense sensations.

Slowly but surely the heat built up low in Harry’s groin and he cried silently when the orgasm crested over him. His back arched up into Tom as he rode each wave. All he could feel and all he could think was Tom, Tom, Tom, Tom. And the monster that haunted him continued to plunge into both of Harry’s holes even when Harry’s pleasure turned into pain from the overstimulation, until he too reached his climax. But Tom was a monster in every way. Harry had barely rested before Tom started again.

Harry clutched Tom while enveloped by the darkness, his eyes half-lidded as he fell into the push and pull rhythm, as if he floated in a realm between life and death, love and hate, devotion and indifference. And then he closed his eyes and smiled, giving himself wholly to his monster.