nimori & fluffyllama
Author: nimori
Title: Plight of the Occluded Soul
Words: 200
Pairing: Riddle/Harry
Theme: I know you well/you are a part of me/I know you better than I know myself. - Tool, Part of Me
For two years Tom saw in shades of green, as though he were looking up at the world from the bottom of a summer pond. Green homework, green Quidditch, green friends. Fat green uncle; stifling unmagical green house; green godfather, drunk and distant.
"You can't be possessed," said the girl whose name he knew, as if she knew anything about it.
It was like breathing underwater, too, always struggling for mere consciousness until a sharp-tongued blade parted their mind, gave him life with a word: Legilimens.
Legilimens, Legilimens, and Tom laughed each time the dark sneering man shouted it and their murky mind cleared. And when next they dreamt of a door he forced it open, and whispered to the one sending the vision that he was ready, bring the invasion.
And after he had forced their mind wide, he saw, for a time, in shades of red.
Red godfather falling. Red eyes, red snake, red servants, and none of them his any more than the green had been.
Never his.
"Get out of my mind," said Harry that summer, as if he knew anything about it, but Tom had nowhere else to go.
"Let me help you kill him."
Author: Llama (fluffyllama)
Title: In Still Water
Rating: R
Warnings: Character death, voyeurism, brief mentions of het.
Words: 2575
Notes: Huge thanks to the lovely ntamara and pitchblackrose for the beta!
No one can see their reflection in running water.
It is only in still water that we can see.
- Taoist proverb
Tom wasn't sure how old he was in the memory. Nine or ten, maybe younger. He knew he'd spent many years nurturing the pain into loathing, but the truth was it had almost been peaceful under the cold water.
There had been the initial cold shock, then a few moments of panic when up seemed to be down, and then sideways seemed to be down, and every way he stretched out his hand there seemed to be only grit or mud, and no warm air showing him the way out of the glowing green prison.
Far away and fading fast there was the sound of laughter, muffled by the force that filled his ears, sucking the sound away in a vortex of solid water that surrounded him and took control of his struggling limbs.
Water glittered, ripples and dapples shimmering in waves, and he couldn't steer his eyes away from them. It eased the pain in his chest to look at the pretty sparkling colours, and his arms were spread wide, fingers floating numb towards the brighter warmer water, before he realised what it meant and forced himself to push harder towards the sun.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Did you hurt them?" Harry skimmed a stone across the lake, watching it skip towards the horizon in a series of ripples.
"Who?"
"The boys who did that. Threw you in."
"I didn't mention any boys."
"I know. So did you?"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
No, he hadn't hurt them. He'd been angry at first, before the edges of his world became brighter, sharper, suddenly in focus; before he'd realised for the first time that there were more things in the world than could be seen from the narrow windows of the orphanage. The boys didn't seem worth noticing by then.
Something had changed when he crawled out of the pond. It was as if he breathed out raw power, each rattle from his lungs rustling the leaves on the trees overhead as he dripped and squelched his way back up the hill in his ruined Sunday best. Sparks crackled from his fingers as he rubbed the feeling back into his hands, and dogs circled and whined behind neatly painted gates as he passed; they could feel the change in him. To Tom, the wonder was that anyone could miss it.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"I never liked dogs until I met Padfoot."
"Padfoot?" The boy's capacity to miss his point completely always caught him on the hop. It was extremely irritating. Padfoot, Padfoot? Then he picked up Harry's thought of Sirius, tentative and tinged with pain. "Oh, the animagus."
"I think that's why I was scared when I thought he was a Grim. Aunt Marge's bulldog used to chase me up the apple tree."
Disgusting Muggles. "They didn't chain the beast up?"
"No, just me."
"Some things never change, it seems."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
They'd never tried to restrain him again after that day, though. It wasn't just the boys with their sly glances and blatant sniggers that saw him as he made his way back to the spartan dormitory, gathering power to him with every step. Everyone scattered as doors flew open for him without a touch, muttering curses and crossing themselves in case they were next. But Tom had more important things on his mind.
His mind, that was the thing. Every hint of new power, every drop of slimy water that magically evaporated from his clothes with each step he took; each opened up a whole range of new wonders and possibilities. He wanted to explore all of them.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Wasn't like that for me."
Tom paused, the interruption unexpected. "No?"
"No. I just had little things happen, nothing big and dramatic."
Was he joking? "Are you quite sure about that?"
"What?" Harry seemed startled, then relaxed. "Oh, you mean… that. You think that could have been it?"
"I would imagine so."
"Sorry. I didn't mean to make it sound like it wasn't a big deal. I just don't remember."
"I'm not him." Tom pointed out for the umpteenth time. "He's not me. I'm not offended."
"Um."
"What?"
Harry chewed on his quill. "So when are you going to tell me how to kill him?"
"It's not quite that simple."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The boy dug his heels in, as Tom knew he would. Stubborn little brat.
For once though, he was telling the truth. Without trust, without a certain level of control over this prison he peered out of day after day, it wasn't going to happen. And it was a prison - even though his view was clear and untainted by anything but a teenager's eyes, he wasn't going anywhere, nor could he stretch out and make himself at home.
Instead of arguing, he observed. That had always been his strong point - watch and wait, find the weakness, the thing someone wanted or needed above all. It wasn't easy with this one. The boy's gaze rarely lingered on anything for long, as if he was afraid to covet things he might not live to own.
What his eyes did follow briefly, Tom noted with surprise, was not a passing attractive girl, or even a boy, but couples. The boy's two friends grew closer to each other by the day, and further away from him; or perhaps it was Harry who pulled back. Together they watched the dance, the game that played out around them, and despite Harry's avowed disinterest in petty romances and squabbles, it was clear he couldn't look away.
It wasn't much, but Tom could work with it.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"If we get it over and done with, you can be just like them. Free to act your age."
"I don't want to be like them. They've all gone mad." Safely hidden behind his bed curtains, Harry scratched away at his homework by wandlight, the scrape of the quill shredding Tom's patience.
"No. And you know that's not true. You're my age now, and I know what's in those thoughts you keep hidden from me."
The quill stilled. "No, you don't."
"Maybe not the details. But I doubt they are much different from anyone else's."
"And anyway, there aren't any thoughts. I don't have those sort of thoughts."
"Come now. Before you knew I was here you used to touch-"
"Shut up!"
"-yourself at night. It must be difficult to stop yourself now."
"I said, shut up." Harry spoke out loud, which was unusual in their little chats. He pulled the curtains tighter as a murmur came from the other side.
"I know it feels good. I had a body once, and I remember-"
"It won't work, you know. You're not going to control my body."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Even with the boy's suspicions aroused it was easy for Tom to steer the boy around the castle at night; a fortunate combination of sleeplessness, insatiable curiosity and the invisibility cloak. He rather enjoyed showing him secrets that the Marauders Map didn't display, and the sheer fearlessness of the child impressed him, very much against his will.
It was even easier to tempt him out of bed after the first time they stumbled on a pair of bodies moaning together in the corner of an unused classroom. Perched on the desk, bare legs clamped around flesh that gleamed silver in the moonlight, the girl gasped and whispered and groaned between the grunts that matched the frantic pounding between her legs.
Harry watched until the jerking buttocks stilled, and was still breathing heavily when he climbed back into bed in the early hours. Tom could feel the walls around his thoughts crumbling, but he didn't push; he had to show he could be trusted.
They hardly missed a night of roaming the less well-used corridors after that. More than the physical secrets of the castle were their domain now, its rooms and tunnels. Now they knew all Filch's dirty little secrets; how he lurched from spy hole to spy hole in all the broom cupboards and storerooms conveniently placed near the girls' bathrooms, and rubbed his grimy hands against his groin when he found a late night occupant. Sometimes they even wandered the route a few minutes ahead of him, though Harry showed disappointing restraint by keeping his hands out of his pants.
They knew why Lavender Brown yawned her way through Monday morning's classes, and why she shuffled in her seat uncomfortably after her conquest of one particular Ravenclaw prefect that they both suspected had centaur - or maybe even Giant - ancestry. Neither of them had slept after that sight, Tom lying in wait for the moment the boy cracked and lowered his hand to relieve his arousal, letting the hidden thoughts spill over to multiply with the new images in his mind.
And when Tom had been quiet long enough for Harry to pretend he wasn't there, the boy's body trembled and sweated and shook in the darkness until he spilt long suppressed seed over his own clumsy fingers.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"It's even better when it's someone else's hand." Tom casually suggested once the excursions and subsequent relief had settled into a routine.
"You still here?"
"It's not as if I can leave." Tom had no intention of leaving, and perhaps it was time to move things on a little. And what a perfect little scenario they had stumbled on tonight.
"Oh, Harry. Just look at his face."
"I hope I don't look like that when I'm w-, well, you know."
"No, I don't think so. But it's different with someone else's hand. More… intense."
"Hmm. I suppose."
"Look how well that dark-haired boy knows the other's prick. How many times has he curled those fingers around it, do you think? A dozen times, a hundred times, stroking and squeezing, feeling that stiff flesh under his hand, kissing it, licking along that length until his lover screams his name?"
"Don't."
"He knows every ridge, every pleasure point as well as the boy knows it himself, but with it comes the excitement of unpredictability, that tiny hint of danger, the unknown. That's the edge, Harry. That's what you want to feel - there's nothing like it."
"Stop it."
"Let me touch you, Harry."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
He could feel the faint echo of his own touch on the boy's flesh, even though only the hand that slid under the school robes was his. Nothing else was giving him full sensation, or anything close. Even so, his disembodied hand was comfortably synchronised with the one that tugged down the shabby y-fronts.
Tom ran his one hand down the boy's belly, his fingers warm against the flushed and damp skin. Harry shuddered, the lithe body rippling with the combination of his own hand and a stranger's touch, and Tom soothed, petting his way down to the jutting erection.
He wasn't sure if the gasp was in their head or out loud, but Harry bucked into his firm grasp, steadying himself against the nearest desk. They watched the sure and steady motion of hand and mouth in front of them, and gradually fell into an almost identical rhythm, only Harry's occasional shivers disrupting the pattern of squeeze and slide, firm strokes and gentle brushes of sensitive skin. Damp with leaked juices and fresh sweat, Tom slipped experienced fingers over the head of Harry's cock and whispered, "When I say 'Come', Harry." He felt the boy give a jerk, the words bringing him closer to the edge, "When I say it, I want you to come for me."
It was easy to take the boy's other hand - teenagers and their hormones, such a pushover - and the work of seconds to drag a finger down the hot clenching buttocks and just push the tip inside as he whispered "Now, Harry. Come for me."
Harry came so hard they could probably feel it three floors away in the Gryffindor dormitory. Or possibly Hogsmeade, Tom told him as they laughed and staggered their way back to bed.
In bed, Harry's mood changed abruptly. "You gave it back to me this time. How do I know it won't be different when we get rid of him?"
"You have my word on it, of course."
Harry snorted once before falling silent, staring up at the ceiling.
"I'll think about it."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Which of course meant 'Yes', or he would never have shown a sign of weakness.
A deal, a month, and a series of explosive arguments later, Harry told the Headmaster what he could do with his strategies. They walked into Hogsmeade alone, Tom breathing in lungfuls of crisp night air and humming one of the tunes Harry called old-fashioned. They returned after three days to chaos and commotion, and never said a word about it other than "He's gone."
Tom was surprised how good it felt to show everyone what he could do - he had nothing but contempt for that slippery potion-stained old queen and the bearded old fool.
"Don't call them those names," said Harry in his head. Then: "Is he really?"
"Voldemort is gone, yes." Tom couldn't help sounding smug.
"No, I mean… what you said about Snape?"
So that was what lurked behind those walls - a fancy for the Potions Master, of all things. Hardly what he would have expected. He wondered if he would inherit the boy's tastes along with his body; not that it really mattered.
"He usually looks as if he wants to gobble you up. Or at least throw you on the floor and fuck you senseless." He was deliberately coarse, and felt his throat gulped reflexively; Harry's reaction. He must be more tired than he'd thought.
"He's probably going to be celebrating with everyone else tonight. Maybe even in a good mood…" The boy had a glint in his eye and a sly smile at his reflection in the mirror.
"Harry. Am I not enough for you?"
"I can't see you wanting to do some of the things I have in mind even when we do find you a new body," Harry whispered.
Silly child. As if he could be embarrassed. Although it was rather… distasteful.
Maybe he should let the boy have this… a last request. He was certain he could take the body permanently without too much risk now that the competition was gone, but it would be some hours before he was sufficiently recovered to ensure the boy remained under control. He slipped back into the recesses of their mind, oddly relieved as physical sensation left him.
"Try not to annoy him too much," he warned him, wrapping himself around in darkness and letting his consciousness drift. "He has the temper of a gorgon, and I'd rather not be trapped forever in a corpse."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It was the cold shock that woke him.
By the time Tom recovered from his panic and wrested back control, both fingers and toes were stiff with cold, ice running through his veins and fire through his lungs. When Harry's feeble struggle against his invasion was over, nothing more than a trampled smudge remained of the boy in his stolen mind. But by then his hands and feet were numb, arms and legs useless, and still he plunged downwards to the lake bottom.
He wasn't sure how much later the lake threw him up to the surface, but the moon was high, painting the craggy hills and towers with silver. The cloudless night was as still and breathless as the small body that held him fast, rocking endlessly to the distant tinkle of music and the laughter of victory on the wind.
Title: Plight of the Occluded Soul
Words: 200
Pairing: Riddle/Harry
Theme: I know you well/you are a part of me/I know you better than I know myself. - Tool, Part of Me
For two years Tom saw in shades of green, as though he were looking up at the world from the bottom of a summer pond. Green homework, green Quidditch, green friends. Fat green uncle; stifling unmagical green house; green godfather, drunk and distant.
"You can't be possessed," said the girl whose name he knew, as if she knew anything about it.
It was like breathing underwater, too, always struggling for mere consciousness until a sharp-tongued blade parted their mind, gave him life with a word: Legilimens.
Legilimens, Legilimens, and Tom laughed each time the dark sneering man shouted it and their murky mind cleared. And when next they dreamt of a door he forced it open, and whispered to the one sending the vision that he was ready, bring the invasion.
And after he had forced their mind wide, he saw, for a time, in shades of red.
Red godfather falling. Red eyes, red snake, red servants, and none of them his any more than the green had been.
Never his.
"Get out of my mind," said Harry that summer, as if he knew anything about it, but Tom had nowhere else to go.
"Let me help you kill him."
Author: Llama (fluffyllama)
Title: In Still Water
Rating: R
Warnings: Character death, voyeurism, brief mentions of het.
Words: 2575
Notes: Huge thanks to the lovely ntamara and pitchblackrose for the beta!
No one can see their reflection in running water.
It is only in still water that we can see.
- Taoist proverb
Tom wasn't sure how old he was in the memory. Nine or ten, maybe younger. He knew he'd spent many years nurturing the pain into loathing, but the truth was it had almost been peaceful under the cold water.
There had been the initial cold shock, then a few moments of panic when up seemed to be down, and then sideways seemed to be down, and every way he stretched out his hand there seemed to be only grit or mud, and no warm air showing him the way out of the glowing green prison.
Far away and fading fast there was the sound of laughter, muffled by the force that filled his ears, sucking the sound away in a vortex of solid water that surrounded him and took control of his struggling limbs.
Water glittered, ripples and dapples shimmering in waves, and he couldn't steer his eyes away from them. It eased the pain in his chest to look at the pretty sparkling colours, and his arms were spread wide, fingers floating numb towards the brighter warmer water, before he realised what it meant and forced himself to push harder towards the sun.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Did you hurt them?" Harry skimmed a stone across the lake, watching it skip towards the horizon in a series of ripples.
"Who?"
"The boys who did that. Threw you in."
"I didn't mention any boys."
"I know. So did you?"
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
No, he hadn't hurt them. He'd been angry at first, before the edges of his world became brighter, sharper, suddenly in focus; before he'd realised for the first time that there were more things in the world than could be seen from the narrow windows of the orphanage. The boys didn't seem worth noticing by then.
Something had changed when he crawled out of the pond. It was as if he breathed out raw power, each rattle from his lungs rustling the leaves on the trees overhead as he dripped and squelched his way back up the hill in his ruined Sunday best. Sparks crackled from his fingers as he rubbed the feeling back into his hands, and dogs circled and whined behind neatly painted gates as he passed; they could feel the change in him. To Tom, the wonder was that anyone could miss it.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"I never liked dogs until I met Padfoot."
"Padfoot?" The boy's capacity to miss his point completely always caught him on the hop. It was extremely irritating. Padfoot, Padfoot? Then he picked up Harry's thought of Sirius, tentative and tinged with pain. "Oh, the animagus."
"I think that's why I was scared when I thought he was a Grim. Aunt Marge's bulldog used to chase me up the apple tree."
Disgusting Muggles. "They didn't chain the beast up?"
"No, just me."
"Some things never change, it seems."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
They'd never tried to restrain him again after that day, though. It wasn't just the boys with their sly glances and blatant sniggers that saw him as he made his way back to the spartan dormitory, gathering power to him with every step. Everyone scattered as doors flew open for him without a touch, muttering curses and crossing themselves in case they were next. But Tom had more important things on his mind.
His mind, that was the thing. Every hint of new power, every drop of slimy water that magically evaporated from his clothes with each step he took; each opened up a whole range of new wonders and possibilities. He wanted to explore all of them.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"Wasn't like that for me."
Tom paused, the interruption unexpected. "No?"
"No. I just had little things happen, nothing big and dramatic."
Was he joking? "Are you quite sure about that?"
"What?" Harry seemed startled, then relaxed. "Oh, you mean… that. You think that could have been it?"
"I would imagine so."
"Sorry. I didn't mean to make it sound like it wasn't a big deal. I just don't remember."
"I'm not him." Tom pointed out for the umpteenth time. "He's not me. I'm not offended."
"Um."
"What?"
Harry chewed on his quill. "So when are you going to tell me how to kill him?"
"It's not quite that simple."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
The boy dug his heels in, as Tom knew he would. Stubborn little brat.
For once though, he was telling the truth. Without trust, without a certain level of control over this prison he peered out of day after day, it wasn't going to happen. And it was a prison - even though his view was clear and untainted by anything but a teenager's eyes, he wasn't going anywhere, nor could he stretch out and make himself at home.
Instead of arguing, he observed. That had always been his strong point - watch and wait, find the weakness, the thing someone wanted or needed above all. It wasn't easy with this one. The boy's gaze rarely lingered on anything for long, as if he was afraid to covet things he might not live to own.
What his eyes did follow briefly, Tom noted with surprise, was not a passing attractive girl, or even a boy, but couples. The boy's two friends grew closer to each other by the day, and further away from him; or perhaps it was Harry who pulled back. Together they watched the dance, the game that played out around them, and despite Harry's avowed disinterest in petty romances and squabbles, it was clear he couldn't look away.
It wasn't much, but Tom could work with it.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"If we get it over and done with, you can be just like them. Free to act your age."
"I don't want to be like them. They've all gone mad." Safely hidden behind his bed curtains, Harry scratched away at his homework by wandlight, the scrape of the quill shredding Tom's patience.
"No. And you know that's not true. You're my age now, and I know what's in those thoughts you keep hidden from me."
The quill stilled. "No, you don't."
"Maybe not the details. But I doubt they are much different from anyone else's."
"And anyway, there aren't any thoughts. I don't have those sort of thoughts."
"Come now. Before you knew I was here you used to touch-"
"Shut up!"
"-yourself at night. It must be difficult to stop yourself now."
"I said, shut up." Harry spoke out loud, which was unusual in their little chats. He pulled the curtains tighter as a murmur came from the other side.
"I know it feels good. I had a body once, and I remember-"
"It won't work, you know. You're not going to control my body."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Even with the boy's suspicions aroused it was easy for Tom to steer the boy around the castle at night; a fortunate combination of sleeplessness, insatiable curiosity and the invisibility cloak. He rather enjoyed showing him secrets that the Marauders Map didn't display, and the sheer fearlessness of the child impressed him, very much against his will.
It was even easier to tempt him out of bed after the first time they stumbled on a pair of bodies moaning together in the corner of an unused classroom. Perched on the desk, bare legs clamped around flesh that gleamed silver in the moonlight, the girl gasped and whispered and groaned between the grunts that matched the frantic pounding between her legs.
Harry watched until the jerking buttocks stilled, and was still breathing heavily when he climbed back into bed in the early hours. Tom could feel the walls around his thoughts crumbling, but he didn't push; he had to show he could be trusted.
They hardly missed a night of roaming the less well-used corridors after that. More than the physical secrets of the castle were their domain now, its rooms and tunnels. Now they knew all Filch's dirty little secrets; how he lurched from spy hole to spy hole in all the broom cupboards and storerooms conveniently placed near the girls' bathrooms, and rubbed his grimy hands against his groin when he found a late night occupant. Sometimes they even wandered the route a few minutes ahead of him, though Harry showed disappointing restraint by keeping his hands out of his pants.
They knew why Lavender Brown yawned her way through Monday morning's classes, and why she shuffled in her seat uncomfortably after her conquest of one particular Ravenclaw prefect that they both suspected had centaur - or maybe even Giant - ancestry. Neither of them had slept after that sight, Tom lying in wait for the moment the boy cracked and lowered his hand to relieve his arousal, letting the hidden thoughts spill over to multiply with the new images in his mind.
And when Tom had been quiet long enough for Harry to pretend he wasn't there, the boy's body trembled and sweated and shook in the darkness until he spilt long suppressed seed over his own clumsy fingers.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
"It's even better when it's someone else's hand." Tom casually suggested once the excursions and subsequent relief had settled into a routine.
"You still here?"
"It's not as if I can leave." Tom had no intention of leaving, and perhaps it was time to move things on a little. And what a perfect little scenario they had stumbled on tonight.
"Oh, Harry. Just look at his face."
"I hope I don't look like that when I'm w-, well, you know."
"No, I don't think so. But it's different with someone else's hand. More… intense."
"Hmm. I suppose."
"Look how well that dark-haired boy knows the other's prick. How many times has he curled those fingers around it, do you think? A dozen times, a hundred times, stroking and squeezing, feeling that stiff flesh under his hand, kissing it, licking along that length until his lover screams his name?"
"Don't."
"He knows every ridge, every pleasure point as well as the boy knows it himself, but with it comes the excitement of unpredictability, that tiny hint of danger, the unknown. That's the edge, Harry. That's what you want to feel - there's nothing like it."
"Stop it."
"Let me touch you, Harry."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
He could feel the faint echo of his own touch on the boy's flesh, even though only the hand that slid under the school robes was his. Nothing else was giving him full sensation, or anything close. Even so, his disembodied hand was comfortably synchronised with the one that tugged down the shabby y-fronts.
Tom ran his one hand down the boy's belly, his fingers warm against the flushed and damp skin. Harry shuddered, the lithe body rippling with the combination of his own hand and a stranger's touch, and Tom soothed, petting his way down to the jutting erection.
He wasn't sure if the gasp was in their head or out loud, but Harry bucked into his firm grasp, steadying himself against the nearest desk. They watched the sure and steady motion of hand and mouth in front of them, and gradually fell into an almost identical rhythm, only Harry's occasional shivers disrupting the pattern of squeeze and slide, firm strokes and gentle brushes of sensitive skin. Damp with leaked juices and fresh sweat, Tom slipped experienced fingers over the head of Harry's cock and whispered, "When I say 'Come', Harry." He felt the boy give a jerk, the words bringing him closer to the edge, "When I say it, I want you to come for me."
It was easy to take the boy's other hand - teenagers and their hormones, such a pushover - and the work of seconds to drag a finger down the hot clenching buttocks and just push the tip inside as he whispered "Now, Harry. Come for me."
Harry came so hard they could probably feel it three floors away in the Gryffindor dormitory. Or possibly Hogsmeade, Tom told him as they laughed and staggered their way back to bed.
In bed, Harry's mood changed abruptly. "You gave it back to me this time. How do I know it won't be different when we get rid of him?"
"You have my word on it, of course."
Harry snorted once before falling silent, staring up at the ceiling.
"I'll think about it."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Which of course meant 'Yes', or he would never have shown a sign of weakness.
A deal, a month, and a series of explosive arguments later, Harry told the Headmaster what he could do with his strategies. They walked into Hogsmeade alone, Tom breathing in lungfuls of crisp night air and humming one of the tunes Harry called old-fashioned. They returned after three days to chaos and commotion, and never said a word about it other than "He's gone."
Tom was surprised how good it felt to show everyone what he could do - he had nothing but contempt for that slippery potion-stained old queen and the bearded old fool.
"Don't call them those names," said Harry in his head. Then: "Is he really?"
"Voldemort is gone, yes." Tom couldn't help sounding smug.
"No, I mean… what you said about Snape?"
So that was what lurked behind those walls - a fancy for the Potions Master, of all things. Hardly what he would have expected. He wondered if he would inherit the boy's tastes along with his body; not that it really mattered.
"He usually looks as if he wants to gobble you up. Or at least throw you on the floor and fuck you senseless." He was deliberately coarse, and felt his throat gulped reflexively; Harry's reaction. He must be more tired than he'd thought.
"He's probably going to be celebrating with everyone else tonight. Maybe even in a good mood…" The boy had a glint in his eye and a sly smile at his reflection in the mirror.
"Harry. Am I not enough for you?"
"I can't see you wanting to do some of the things I have in mind even when we do find you a new body," Harry whispered.
Silly child. As if he could be embarrassed. Although it was rather… distasteful.
Maybe he should let the boy have this… a last request. He was certain he could take the body permanently without too much risk now that the competition was gone, but it would be some hours before he was sufficiently recovered to ensure the boy remained under control. He slipped back into the recesses of their mind, oddly relieved as physical sensation left him.
"Try not to annoy him too much," he warned him, wrapping himself around in darkness and letting his consciousness drift. "He has the temper of a gorgon, and I'd rather not be trapped forever in a corpse."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
It was the cold shock that woke him.
By the time Tom recovered from his panic and wrested back control, both fingers and toes were stiff with cold, ice running through his veins and fire through his lungs. When Harry's feeble struggle against his invasion was over, nothing more than a trampled smudge remained of the boy in his stolen mind. But by then his hands and feet were numb, arms and legs useless, and still he plunged downwards to the lake bottom.
He wasn't sure how much later the lake threw him up to the surface, but the moon was high, painting the craggy hills and towers with silver. The cloudless night was as still and breathless as the small body that held him fast, rocking endlessly to the distant tinkle of music and the laughter of victory on the wind.