Through All Aeons

A/N: Some of you may recognize this story. I originally published this a while ago, when I was still using the pen name Arianrhod. Well, after finding several other authors using that name, I decided to change my pseudonym to Lidane, and I took down all my fics for a while. But now I\'m back. :)

Since I keep getting e-mails about this series of stories, I\'m reposting them, untouched and unedited, with their original author\'s notes and all. This is pre-HBP, *totally* AU, and shouldn\'t be considered serious fiction by anyone. But hey-- it\'s porn, so it\'s not all bad. :)

Title: Through All Æons
Author: Lidane
Pairing: Harry/Tom
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Slash, language, bits of humor, some angst
Spoilers: a few around here, including some OotP ones, so read at your own risk
Archive: Green Lightening, AdultFanFiction.net, and The Rift for now. Anyone else who might want this, just ask first.
Feedback: keeps my muses happy.
Disclaimer: If you think I own any of this, or profit from it, seek help immediately.
Summary: In the end, it all comes down to a deep love that can set your soul on fire. Harry and Tom finally find their peace with each other, and with their lives.

A/N: This is it--the final story in the Delicate Boy series. There will be no sequels. In order for you to get the complete picture, and for this to make *any* sense to you at all, you need to read the other three stories--Delicate Boy, So Narcotic, and Healing Shores—first, and in that order. They can all be found in my user profile here.

The title and the passages quoted below both come from the same poem, “Panthea” by Oscar Wilde.

Also, the line that Tom quotes below is also by Oscar Wilde, from his book The Picture of Dorian Gray.

/…/ signifies parseltongue.

~~*~~

This hot hard flame with which our bodies burn
will make some meadow blaze with daffodil,
Ay! And those argent breasts of thine will turn
to water lilies; the brown fields men till
Will be more fruitful for our love to-night,
Nothing is lost in nature, all things live in Death\'s despite.

The boy\'s first kiss, the hyacinth\'s first bell,
The man\'s last passion, and the last red spear
That from the lily leaps, the asphodel
Which will not let its blossoms blow for fear
Of too much beauty, and the timid shame
Of the young bride-groom at his lover\'s eyes--these with the same

One sacrament are consecrate, the earth
Not we alone hath passions hymeneal,
The yellow buttercups that shake for mirth
At daybreak know a pleasure not less real
Than we do, when in some fresh-blossoming wood
We draw the spring into our hearts, and feel that life is good…

~~*~~

Everyone has their secrets, and mine is that I’ve always had a particular love of the classics, whether in the form of books, or music, or art itself.

As a Dark Lord, it was something only my two most faithful followers, Lucius and Severus, had any idea about, along with Nagini, since I often shared my observations on what I read, heard or saw with her until she was killed early on in the first parts of the war, sacrificing herself so that I could flee and go into hiding. It had been one of the Order’s more successful raids in the beginning, and bolstered their confidence.

Of course, letting my more rank and file followers know that I had a passion for the arts in any capacity was out of the question. It would have destroyed the image of a maniacal Lord, hell bent on destroying the world around me, and it would have given them the notion that I was human, and that was simply not allowed. That would have given the impression of weakness, and called into question my ability to lead. I refused to allow that to happen.

I know it’s surprising. A murderous, hateful, spiteful, ruthless Dark Lord with any sort of appreciation for beauty or creativity? But that side of me did exist, I assure you. It still does.

Yes, I was evil itself. And I am still a Dark wizard, unimpressed with the naïve attitude that a fool like Dumbledore tried to instill in his students that the world around them was an inherently good place and that people themselves have the best interests of the world in mind, rather than their own selfish desires.

As I told my Harry in his first year in school, there is no good and evil, there is only power, and those too weak to seek it.

History is full of examples of this—men who started with even the best of intentions would invariably fall victim to man’s inherent will to power, and will to dominate. Political systems and religions, while preaching love and tolerance and respect for others on one hand, would invariably succumb to legalistic squabbles over doctrine on the other, with rivers of blood being shed in the process.

In my own pursuit of power, I knew, along with Severus and Lucius, that raw power itself was the key, and that whatever it took to get that power over others was what was important. I preyed on the fears and prejudices of the pureblooded, playing to their innate distrust of half bloods like myself, as well as of muggleborns in order to consolidate my base of followers.

Building a pure master race of wizards, like some of the more fanatical among my flock had desired, was never my goal. Absolute control was. Rule with an iron will, with me able to mold and shape the wizarding world in any manner I saw fit after the injustices I endured in school as an orphan, and as the Heir of Slytherin. I would take over, and I would see the world in my own image.

It’s why I actively went after those who opposed me, such as the Longbottoms, the Weasleys and the Potters, and why I fought against Dumbledore so fiercely. They were determined to stop my quest to conquer, and I could not abide by any resistance.

They would not stop me, or my plans.

I would strip away the hypocrisy in the system, bringing the Dark out of the shadows and away from the whispers of doubt, and I would have the Dark taught openly, just as the Light is, ripping asunder the pretenses of normalcy and goodness that the wizarding world deluded itself with. I would force the world at large to admit their naïveté, and their sanctimonious, self-righteous foolishness. I would bring them all to their knees and make them take a hard look at themselves in the mirror.

And I would rule them all.

Hypocrites and fools, the lot of them. They trusted in the Ministry of Magic and in Cornelius Fudge to lead them. When I was almost destroyed, they deified a child—granted, a very powerful child, but a child nonetheless—as a near saint, and when that boy repeatedly showed he was human, and had his failings, they turned on him, calling him evil, and my successor.

It is the arrogance of the virtuous—they pride themselves so much on their certainty that they know precisely what makes something good or evil that they leave themselves no room for movement, or for the possibility that they might be wrong. They leave themselves no other leeway, or point of view.

Although, to be fair, I will readily admit that for most of my time on this earth, I existed in such a moral vacuum as well. I knew I was right, and they were wrong, and I would make them see.

How ironic then, that it would be me who changed first, and me who would come to look at things differently, and all because of the very same child who almost killed me, and who defied me at every turn and who fought against me as a mortal enemy until he admitted his most secret, darkest desires to himself, and he approached me, in disguise at first, then openly.

It was because of him that I came to see a new possibility for life. Many of my plans were still valid, but I no longer had the desire to see him dead, and for the first time, I was willing to concede defeat in the short term while planning for the long term. I faked my own death and created a false identity, and did it for him, in order to keep him.

When I saw with my own eyes that my Harry did not exist in terms of black and white, but in various shades of gray, I was enthralled. He was willing to go against the Gryffindor nature of being too heroic for his own good, and he sought out myself, Severus and Lucius with tactics that were far more Slytherin than I had ever guessed he could have been. He was willing to be selfish for a change, and to do what was required to get what he wanted. He was ambitious, cunning, and resourceful. Combined with his beauty and grace, it made for a tempting package indeed.

After we decided that my death would be staged, and that my wealth would be scattered into various vaults in Gringotts, I set about with Lucius and Severus in creating a new identity, pouring through my family history, even brewing lineage potions that stretched my background even further back, trying to find an obscure name that no one would think to trace back to Tom Riddle at all.

In the end, I ended up settling on a different tack, and only because of my Gryffindor did it even come up.

I still remember the conversation as if it were yesterday.

We were in Riddle Manor, seated at a large work table, parchments strewn about, bank records piled off to one side, and half empty bottles of scotch on the other, wondering just what in the hell we were going to do when Harry apparated into the room. My wards were keyed to allow him entry at will, and the three of us looked up at him, sleep deprivation showing through, and he grinned, arching an eyebrow at me and wondering what was wrong.

It had been just over half a year since the deaths of his friends, godfather and the werewolf, and my beauty had come around, all of us resolving our issues, and slowly rebuilding the trust that had been lost in the aftermath, and we had made a great deal of progress. He knew that my death was going to be staged, but had never been privy to any of the details, so when we showed him everything, he came over to take a look.

“So have you decided what you’re going to do about a name?” he asked me after seeing just how it was all to be done, and what was involved.

“No, not really. There are some very distant relations about six centuries back that I could probably name myself after, and no one would be the wiser, but none of their names are appealing to me in the least,” I groused, wrinkling my nose as I read them out loud.

A pensive look crossed his face for the moment, and he looked at my ancestral lines quietly. Then he stunned the three of us. “Who says you have to change your name at all?”

I smirked at him. “My dearest, most lovely Harry, haven’t you forgotten who I am? Tom Riddle has to cease to exist in order for the war to end.”

Rolling his eyes, he gave me an exasperated, affectionate look, then he walked over to where I was and pushed my chair back a bit, giving him the room he needed. After casting his cloak and jacket aside, Harry straddled my hips and settled his weight on me, wrapping his arms around my neck. My arms instinctively went around his waist, and my beauty smirked at me, a challenge in his eyes. I just looked at him curiously in response.

He leaned back slightly, so that his back was being supported by the table, and quirked his mouth into a lopsided grin. “Are you sure you’re a Dark Lord?” he teased, those fathomless eyes of his glittering in mirth. “You don’t seem to be one right now.”

My eyes narrowed and I looked at him. “Excuse me?” I snapped, insulted. “I’d be more than willing to prove I’m still a Dark Lord,” I offered petulantly. “Or have you forgotten that I know more Dark hexes than you?”

Throwing his head back as he laughed, Harry fixed an amused gaze on me. “Relax, love. I’m just taking the piss. But you really are going about this all wrong.” Running his fingers through my hair, he continued to rib me. “And I think I’ve just figured out why none of your plots to kill me ever worked,” he smiled.

“Oh?” I asked him, my own smirk firmly in place. “And why, pray tell, was that?”

“Simple, love,” he murmured, tracing a manicured nail across my jaw. His voice dropped even lower as he leaned in towards me for a kiss. Just as his lips brushed mine, he whispered, “You think too much.”

“What do you mean?” wondered Severus, as I tasted my pet’s lush, sweet mouth. Harry shifted in my lap so that he could look at his Potions master and at Lucius, and a small smile came to him. His gaze traveled from the other two men in the room back to my eyes and he said, “You really have no idea, do you?” We all shook our heads.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, our Gryffindor looked at us and shook his head in amusement. “And Slytherins are supposed to be the cunning ones,” he muttered warmly, causing all of us to give him speculative gazes. “Look at me,” Harry said. “When I go out most of the time, the only things that keep the mobs at bay are three simple glamouries—one to cover my scar, one to change my eye color at random, and one to style my hair differently. I get told I look a bit like Harry Potter, but not quite. People assume I take a cue from him with my makeup and clothes, but because they don’t see a scar, messy black hair, or green eyes, they don’t guess I’m not me. Why not just do the same? Hide in plain sight.”

Lucius looked askance at him. “And just how would you accomplish this?”

“It wouldn’t be that hard,” he shrugged, and then turned back to me. “Where did you go when I first got this?” he wondered, lifting his fringe to expose his scar.

“Albania. I was there for over a decade, went back after you killed Quirrell and was there until I was resurrected in the graveyard. Why?” I replied.

“Well, surely you picked up a bit of the language then, didn’t you?” he asked, and I nodded. “You’ve also done ‘business’ in Germany, Bulgaria, Hungary, Poland and Russia, correct?” continued Harry, and Severus, as usual, lost his patience.

“Of course he has! What does that have to do with any of this?” he sneered, his usual irritation showing through.

“It’s simple, Severus,” answered my sweet good-naturedly as he grinned at his former professor. “What school caters to that part of the world?”

“Durmstrang,” he replied quickly. “Why?”

“Well, look here,” he said, pointing to a few distant branches of my lineage. “Here are several lines that are based in Hungary, Bulgaria and Germany.” Looking back at me, he asked, “You know the area, bits of the language, have contacts there, and would know Durmstrang quite well, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” I countered. “But you still haven’t explained why.”

“Why not just create and forge documents that would continue those lines into the present day in Hungary, or wherever you would feel comfortable, have Karkaroff or whoever is the headmaster now create a scholastic record for you there? After that, a few simple charms would be all you need,” he explained, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“But to convincingly do that,” replied Lucius, “We’d have to infiltrate the Ministry of Magic in Hungary, and also bribe, cajole, or hex someone at Drumstrang to make the records needed, as Igor hasn’t been seen in years and is most likely dead by now.”

Pointed look, and Harry said to him, “Since when has any of that ever stopped you before, Lucius, or have you forgotten your own histories?” he asked. “People have ‘disappeared’ in the past in order for something to go your way,” he told Lucius. “Others have been ‘convinced’ that your way was the best way to proceed. How would this be any different?” Shock coursed through all of us, and finally Severus found his voice.

“Do mine ears deceive me, or did the Boy Who Lived just advocate murder, extortion and blackmail?” he asked, amusement in every word.

“Not at all, love,” replied Harry. “I was just merely pointing out your past manière d’être and wondering why you would consider acting any other way.”

I chuckled and ran my hands over his hips, then traced his bottom lip with my thumb. “You really have been around us for far too long, Harry,” I mused as he leaned into my touch. “What would the world at large say if they heard their savior talking about such things, or if they knew you were here at all?”

“The public at large can fuck right off, for all I care,” he snorted derisively. “Their war will end soon, and then we can have a life together. I’ve fought for others long enough; given them everything, lost those closest to me because of something I did that was beyond my control and because of the image the public created of the Boy Who Lived. It’s not my fault that the wizarding world put all their faith in a child, and they were so willing to crucify that boy if he didn’t measure up to their expectations. I was a model Gryffindor for so long, sacrificing myself and placing others before myself. I’ve lost too much to be that way anymore. I want to be selfish for a change, and just be with all of you,” he breathed fiercely, cupping my cheek with his hand and burying his head into my shoulder. “I couldn’t be arsed to care what they think. I deserve happiness as much as anyone.”

In that moment, as we shared an intense gaze, I knew without any doubt that I would be with him for the rest of my days. A quick glance at both Severus and Lucius told me they agreed.

A minute later, Harry stiffened in my arms and sat up. He put his hand out and summoned a book to him and flipped to a seemingly random page. After reading for a moment, he got a faraway look in his eyes, and then glanced at me, jade eyes blazing. “I’ve just thought of a name for you.”

“And what name is that?” wondered Lucius.

“Tamás Rejtvény,” said Harry offhandedly, his voice rolling over the words languidly.

“What does that mean?” I asked him.

“It’s the name Tom Riddle, only translated to Hungarian,” replied my green-eyed love. “A few fluency spells on your part to learn the language, along with any others used at Drumstrang, some simple glamour charms, and an accent charm, and you wouldn’t have to change your name at all. Not really, anyways. Once you created the identity and forged it, you really wouldn’t have to alter your life all that much.”

How right he was.

Less than three weeks after that conversation, a few well-placed Unforgivable curses led to Tamás Rejtvény, a Budapest native who had gone to Drumstrang in the 1970’s, being created, detailed lineage and all. As my physical form was now close in age to both Severus and Lucius, I made myself a contemporary of theirs. A history in place, I opened an account with the German branch of Gringotts with my new identity and transferred money from England into those vaults so I would have some money of my own that could not be linked directly to either the Malfoy or Snape vaults.

I acquired a new wardrobe from the top down, giving me a different look than before. A new manor, to be shared with Harry, was secured and made unplottable, and house elves were hired on to the house with instructions to move certain books and items over, but to leave others behind. The four of us moved the most sensitive magical artifacts and most valuable Dark tomes ourselves, and replaced any furniture that was being left behind.

Eventually, Riddle Manor was my home in name only, and I allowed for it to be burned to the ground, telling Severus to inform the Order that he had found my actual headquarters after decades of secret meetings in unknown locations. Lucius and I went through, creating false plans and documents for the Ministry to find, along with half completed potions and notes on certain Dark curses to be used against the Light to win the war. The house was left with a lived in feel, and I spent three nights there near the end, magically erasing Harry’s signature from the wards and from the manor, and throwing random Unforgivables around in certain rooms to give the impression of recent activity on my part.

Sure enough, Arthur Weasley led his Aurors and a few Order members over to the site and torched the entire estate down to nothing but a pile of cinders after inspecting it and finding the documents we had planted, along with several Dark magic grimoires and artifacts, none of which would be missed by me. Without Alastor Moody around, as he had been killed years ago, my duplicity was not discovered, and by the end of the evening, Riddle Manor was ablaze. Photos and a detailed story talking about the ‘success’ of the Ministry raid, and the discovery of another of my ‘evil schemes’ gave the Light hope, and gave me some room to finalize the plans for my ‘death’.

I was not concerned about the fire, nor was Harry, as our new abode, Château Énigme, was my home by then, and we had already set about working on our relationship, and defining our life together. If anything, the loss of Riddle Manor was a symbolic gesture for us—it was the complete and utter destruction of my past, and we could move forward into the future.

Three months after the blaze, the ‘final battle’ took place, but in my stead was a full genetic clone, created with samples of my hair, skin, blood, saliva, and semen to be an absolute carbon copy of me. I could control it through Legilimency, possessing the mindless drone to speak and move just like me, affecting my mannerisms while taunting Harry, Dumbledore and the others. I even went so far as to give my doppelganger my original wand so that if Ollivander were asked to verify my demise, it would be the actual brother to my lover’s wand, phoenix core and all.

By then, I had already taken the effort to acquire a different wand (blackthorn wood, 13 ½ inches, basilisk heartstring core—excellent for Dark magic and hexes) from Gregorovitch, who happened to be among my ranks as a Death Eater. After careful testing to make sure I could use the new wand as easily as my original, I had Lucius Obliviate the wand maker and placed him under Imperius to believe that he had always known me as Tamás Rejtvény and that he had sold me my wand as a child, should anyone ever ask. The professors at Drumstrang during the 1970’s had had their memories modified to remember me as a student, to cover any potential holes in my story, and since most of the wizards and witches who would have been my year and house mates were either dead or Death Eaters, it wasn’t difficult to cover my tracks with them as well.

A month after my ‘death’, Harry was, to his surprise, summoned to Hogwarts by Albus Dumbledore. The two had settled their differences and come to a sort of peace between them, and my beloved assumed it was just for tea and biscuits and to talk about what Harry would do now that the war was over. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

Unbeknownst to anyone, Albus had been ill for quite some time, and had been artificially extending his life via some Elixir of Life left to him by Nicholas Flamel, who had given the Headmaster a twenty-year supply before his death, with the promise from Dumbledore that once I was no longer a threat to the world, any remaining elixir would be destroyed and Albus would allow nature to finally take its course.

He then gave my beauty the sword of Gryffindor, as Harry was its rightful heir, along with his ever-present jar of sherbet lemons and a Pensive, for Harry’s personal use. It was then my sweet realized that the old man was telling him goodbye, and setting his affairs to rights. It hurt Harry, but he was encouraged by Albus to carry on, and to enjoy his life. Within the week of the meeting, Dumbledore was gone, having died peacefully in his sleep. Minerva decided that she was happy where she was, so the school governors named Severus the new Headmaster instead.

The night we found out, Harry joked that Gryffindor would never win the House Cup or the Quidditch Cup as long as Severus was in charge of the school, but he said it without any malice or spite.

It was soon after the Headmaster’s funeral, which was a grand affair, that I realized I was finally free. The one man who could have seen through my deceptions was gone, believing me dead and that he had served his purpose. The only people who had any idea of the truth were the three men in my life—Harry, Lucius and Severus.

Freedom soon turned to boredom, and the solution came in the form of a job offer.

I made my first public appearance as Tamás at Albus’ funeral, glamouries and accent fully in place, and spent my time at Harry’s side, leading to speculation about my role in his life and about who I was, which my pet shrugged off by telling the curious that it was his life, and his business, not theirs, and that he was happy with me. Ultimately, the true test of my new identity came not long after that when Molly and Arthur Weasley invited Harry to dinner at the Burrow, and told him to bring me along.

During the meal, Arthur talked to me about the Ministry’s effort at reaching out to creatures that had been considered Dark, like werewolves and vampires, and his desire to honor the memory of Remus Lupin by extending rights to them that had not existed before. And he was looking for a liaison to reach out to those in the wizarding world that had customarily been on the side of the Death Eaters and Voldemort, such as those deeply concerned with the purity of blood, and the power structure in place between muggleborns, half bloods and purebloods to try and ease tensions among them all.

I couldn’t have planned the moment any better myself.

By the end of the evening, I was, perversely enough, employed in the Department of International Magical Cooperation as a mediator between the United Kingdom and the Eastern European bloc of the wizarding world, including my ‘alma mater’ of Drumstrang. I had direct contact with the various groups of Dark creatures and traditional Death Eater factions to convince them to work with the English Ministry. I could influence how they worked with the British government, and could use my position to curry their favor.

As we left the Burrow, Arthur wanted contact information in order to schedule a meeting with me, so I told him to firecall by Floo, calling out Château Énigme, and that either Harry or I would answer.

His head cocked to the side, and he thought for a moment. “That’s an interesting name. Why did you choose that?”

I smiled at him and replied, “Well, Arthur, you could say that I’ve always been partial to a good riddle.” Harry had to choke back a laugh, and Minister Weasley merely nodded and clapped his hand on my shoulder, telling me we would be in touch.

Which brings me to my life these days.

With Severus in charge of Hogwarts, and my current employment, along with Lucius’ investments, which have given him controlling interest in both Witch Weekly and the Daily Prophet, it seems that our original plans could well draw closer to fruition, just in a more restrained, insidious way. I couldn’t be more pleased.

Of course, Harry is not completely oblivious to all of that, and he has made it clear that he would never support the tactics we had employed before, with rapes, tortures and murders being standard, nor would he abide by Hogwarts’ admissions standards being changed to exclude muggleborn or half blooded students. He would not stand for families being ripped apart through fear, threats and intimidation as his was in our first quest for power, and told us all in no uncertain terms that he would go against us if it came to that.

We have assured him that his presence in our lives has changed us all in a fundamental way. All three of us are Dark and still crave power, but we are no longer Evil, bent on bloodshed and wanton destruction. It is a subtle distinction, but one that is important. We are each, in our own ways, more astute and mature, and will simply work from the inside to make our campaign for control come to pass. And we are now also more content with allowing events to unfold on their own without us forcing the issue harshly.

After all, we already have the most important thing of all—Harry. And he has us as well.

Everything else is secondary.

~~*~~

“There you are, love,” said a relieved voice as the speaker walked into the room. “I’ve been all over the grounds and the manor looking for you,” he pouted slightly.

Looking up from the overstuffed chair he was seated in, book in hand, Tom chuckled at Harry’s huffy expression and closed the novel he had been reading, careful to mark his place before setting it aside, then stood and held his hand out, motioning for his Gryffindor to join him on the nearby sofa. The Slytherin lay down without a word and pulled his young consort on top of him so that Harry’s body was stretched across Tom’s, his face buried in the older wizard’s neck, lips brushing the warm skin lightly.

“And what has got you in such a state today, pet?” asked Tom as he ran his hands up and down the lithe body of his lover, squeezing the tight arse of the body above his before lacing his fingers at the small of Harry’s back.

“The usual,” sighed the Boy Who Lived. “The wizarding world and the idiots who inhabit it, along with the sycophants who run it.” Since the end of the war, Harry had declined offers to teach, play Quidditch and become an Auror or unspeakable, feeling that none of them gave him any excitement, and that any of those career paths would have been far too predictable.

Instead, his experiences had led the younger wizard on a different path that no one outside of his three lovers could have predicted. Harry Potter ended up going back for more specialized training, and became a Defense Master, lecturing and writing about the Dark Arts and how to defend against them. As opposed to a fraud like Gilderoy Lockhart, Harry’s books were almost never about his own life or battles he fought, but rather more about practical Defense and actual, hands on techniques. Severus had been so impressed with the final edition of the book, that he persuaded the newest Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher that year to adopt it as the core text of the curriculum.

What was both unique and controversial about his writings was that Harry sometimes advocated limited use of the Dark Arts if there was no other alternative, and suggested that students should be taught some Dark hexes to protect themselves, including the Avada Kedavara if need be. After all, he explained to his readers, a wizard who wants to kill you isn’t leaving you very many options. It’s either kill or be killed at that point, and if those are your only choices, then the Dark Arts become necessary for survival, because if your opponent is willing to cross that line, then you should as well if you expect to live.

He had also promoted the idea of wizards and witches learning a secondary Defense skill, such as fencing or sword work, archery, or even martial techniques, saying that leaving themselves fully dependent on a wand was a weakness, as any opponent who was truly serious about causing harm could easily disarm someone or snap their wand outright, leaving a wizard or witch completely without a means to fight back.

People in and outside of the Ministry had been willing to explore the concept of secondary Defense, but it was the encouragement of limited Dark Arts knowledge that had caused the biggest problems. Some were convinced that Harry was the next Dark Lord. Others wondered why such a sweet, devoted Gryffindor boy would say something so Slytherin. And then there were those who, much as Dolores Umbridge had all those years ago, watched his every move and tried desperately to find anything they could to discredit Harry publicly, having so far come up completely empty on all accounts.

He’d just faced another inquisition that morning, and after leaving the Ministry building, apparated back to Château Énigme, seeking out his lover.

“You know,” commented Tom blandly as he rained kisses in Harry’s hair and at his temple, “all of your problems would be easily solved if you just allowed me to hex most of these imbeciles into oblivion like I want to, particularly that simpering Weasley brat, Percy. The sooner I can send that pencil necked, uptight pillock into the level of Hell reserved for arse kissers, the happier I will be,” he grinned lightly, and his Gryffindor laughed.

“Ah, so you’ve been on the receiving end of another litany of how brilliant you are?” teased the shorter brunette as he shifted his weight and looked up, his older counterpart rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Yes,” replied Voldemort. “Even Wormtail was never as insistent and annoying. Possibly because I hexed him when he got on my nerves. I can’t do the same with Weasley and it’s driving me mad.”

A small smile crossed Harry’s features and he looked deeply into emerald eyes. “We’ve already discussed this, Tom. What you have now is a different sort of power than you had before, and it wouldn’t work to have you go around cursing everyone as you did in the past,” he explained patiently, a soothing timbre in his voice. “You had the powers of fear and intimidation before, love, but eventually people stop being scared of the monsters hiding in the closet or under the bed, and they go to sleep with the lights off without fear. Use the powers you have now, of persuasion and manipulation, to get your way,” encouraged the Boy Who Lived. “Combined, you, Severus and Lucius have the ability to shape the way people think from a very young age, and to subtly mold the world into one that you want to see. That’s a lot more of a threat than simply casting a few Unforgivables here and there. Use that to your advantage, like the Slytherins you are.”

Sighing, the older wizard looked at his beloved. “You’re right. I just listen to that right twit natter on about how clever I am and how much more effective I’ve been at my job than Crouch ever was at his, and how he can’t believe that a school like Drumstrang turned out someone like me,” he sneered, mimicking the red haired wizard’s voice, “and every single hex I ever used for torture comes to mind, and my fingers itch for my wand.”

“Tom,” murmured Harry, “He wouldn’t be Percy if he didn’t spend all his days kissing the arses of those more powerful than he is, and driving the rest of us to want to hex him. Just let it go. Besides, I’d rather talk, or not talk, about other things,” he teased, a small grind of his hips against the older wizard and a mischievous glint in his eyes serving to distract the Dark Lord and his wandering mind. Amused gazes locked and the two wizards leaned into each other, kissing deeply, tongues intertwining and tasting, both men rapidly becoming drunk on the flavor of the other. Desire began to rise in the brunette wizards, and when the pulled apart, Tom ran his fingers across Harry’s jaw and whispered, “Not here, love. This couch is fine for a number of things, but I have something else in mind entirely for us tonight. Will you indulge me?” he asked, his gaze searching his pet’s eyes for answers.

“Of course, love. Anything you want, you know that,” replied the younger man, leaning in to kiss the Slytherin’s lips once again.

Coming apart once more, Voldemort looked at his lover and, in a low sound, said, “Hold on tightly, my sweet,” and as Harry did, the Dark Lord apparated them to a room that the Gryffindor had never seen before.

Taking in his surroundings, the Boy Who Lived was stunned. They were now in a large, circular room that seemed to be at the top of a tower. Two thirds of the room was taken up by a large library and tables around one curve of the room, with a fireplace and seating area taking up the other. A large, fur lined throw was in front of the massive hearth with a gleaming platinum tea set proudly displayed on a low table in the center, in front of the impressive couch that was there. The final third of the room was a small set of stairs that led to a raised balcony surrounded entirely by a dome of windows, enabling whoever stood there to look up and out at the night sky without hindrance. Paintings and sculptures and art lined the walls and took pride of place around the room, and Harry couldn’t help but be in awe. It was gorgeous.

“Tom…” he breathed. “What is this place? It…it’s unbelievable!” exclaimed the younger wizard as he turned shocked eyes at his lover, who gave him an indulgent grin.

“This, my delicious one, is our private solarium. It was finally finished just a few hours before you got home, and it’s only for the two of us, something that we have apart from everyone else, including Severus and Lucius. I wanted something unique, that we could call our own, as they can share our bed and our home any time they choose, and we can do the same with them,” explained Voldemort. “We are the only two who can see this tower, and the wards here will only allow us in here, no one else. I hope you don’t mind, or think I was being presumptuous…” he started uneasily, but Harry cut him off.

“No! It’s incredible. And I don’t mind having something exclusive to the two of us, particularly if it has nothing to do with this,” he said, absently exposing his lightning bolt scar. “I’m sure they would understand.”

“They do,” nodded Voldemort. “I went to Lucius for information on contractors that could be trusted to do the job properly, and had Severus help with acquiring some of the books that are here, many of which are extremely rare. They know this is for us alone, and don’t mind. However, I’m not interested in discussing them at the moment. This is about us, sweet one,” smirked the Dark Lord, pulling his Gryffindor close to him and kissing him soundly.

Taking Harry by the hand, Tom walked his young lover up the small staircase to the balcony. A soft, plush mattress took center stage, surrounded by floating jasmine scented candles and covered in another fur-lined throw.

Turning towards his beau once again, the Slytherin took the Boy Who Lived into another embrace and began to divest him of his clothing as he kissed and nibbled on the warm, soft skin of the young man who had affected him so deeply. As each bit of flesh was revealed, the viridian eyes of the Dark Lord darkened in arousal, and he pushed his pet down on the bed.

“Lay back, my sweet,” he admonished lightly as he licked and teased a hot trail down the lissome body beneath his, drawing a series of delectable moans and gasps from the supine lad. Harry entwined his hands in Tom’s raven curls and arched into the sensual mouth that was making him mad with need, and he moaned again.

“Patience, love,” smirked Voldemort. “You will get what you want, pet. Just allow me the indulgence of your body first,” he murmured as he reached the hard, hot length of the Gryffindor’s arousal and stroked it lightly, eliciting even more mewls and whimpers from his lover.

“Please, Tom…” breathed Harry. “Please…”

Removing his hands and mouth from his beloved’s body, and ignoring the whine of loss he was rewarded with, Tom knelt up before the younger wizard and removed his own clothing, tossing it aside casually and pinning the other man back to the mattress, the heat from their skin making both men hiss at the contact.

“Now, what should I do with you first?” wondered the Slytherin absently as he began to tease his lover mercilessly, his questions mimicking his actions. “Should I kiss every inch of your skin until you beg me to fuck you?” he queried as his lips, teeth and tongue proceeded to do just that, the Gryffindor soon babbling incoherently in pleasure. “Or perhaps I should stroke this lovely cock of yours until you’re hard and aching for me, all that sweet elixir seeping out for me to taste,” he mused as his thumb lightly scooped the pearl at the glistening tip of Harry’s length and the Dark Lord waited for glazed emerald eyes to look up at him before he put his finger to his lips to savor the essence of the man on his bed.

“I could even take you in my mouth and make you scream,” he leered as his mouth ghosted the span of Harry’s shaft, “but I won’t. I have other plans for you, my pet.”

With that, Tom summoned a small phial of oil to him and uncorked the stopper. Coating his fingers with the viscous liquid inside, the Dark Lord set to prepare his young lover to be taken, quickly adding two, then three fingers until Harry was shuddering and begging for more, his body quivering in excitement. As he coated his erection with the remaining oil, Voldemort encouraged, “Turn over, pet. Get on your hands and knees facing the windows,” and the Gryffindor complied.

Positioning himself, the older wizard sank deeply into the body of his younger companion, grasping his hips tightly and leaning over to latch his mouth to the cord of the lad’s neck as he began to move. When a particularly thorough stroke hit his prostate, Harry saw a white light behind his eyes and his entire body wobbled as a keening moan left his throat.

At that, Tom shifted, kneeling back on his haunches and pulling Harry up off the bed and holding him up to where they were back to chest, leaving Harry’s erection free for the Slytherin to reach out and stroke in time with his thrusts, which he had slowed slightly to prolong the experience. As his fingers traced patterns on the young man’s cock, setting a rhythm of strokes and touches that served to excite his beloved, the Dark Lord began to talk, the sibilant sounds of parseltongue filling the room.

/Open your eyes, my pet,/ he commanded softly. /Look out at the night sky. Tell me what you see./

Dazed from sensation, Harry managed to open his eyes and did as Tom asked, glancing at the view before him.

/I see the horizon, far off in the distance. I see the stars in the sky, the constellations and patterns in the air. I see the grounds below us, and the world around us, some of which is ours, and some which is more than we have now,/ he replied, his words slurred from passion.

/They can all be ours. I will make them all ours, if it takes me the rest of my life to make it come to pass. I would give them all to you, just for what you have given me,/ murmured Voldemort.

/And what is that?/ wondered Harry.

/Balance, my sweet. Perspective. Before, I wanted power and control for its own sake, and would burn the world to the ground to get it. Now,/ he continued, /I would simply remake the world into one that we both could live with, and I would do it all for you. I now have a purpose for what I do, instead of simple wanton desires for power./

Harry couldn’t form a reply, and simply moaned again and bucked into the steady, firm strokes of Tom’s hand as the Slytherin continued to fuck him in a solid rhythm. He could feel himself tightening, and could feel the edge of orgasm not far off, and the hitch in Voldemort’s throat told him that his lover was close as well.

/Come for me, Harry,/ pleaded Tom, a note of desperation in his voice. /Come now, love./

Leaning back and draping his head across the Slytherin’s shoulder, the Gryffindor’s hips jerked once more and he climaxed, hissing out his companion’s name in the serpentine dialect as his seed shot out over his stomach and chest, and on the Dark Lord’s hand. Feeling his younger mate’s body tremble in orgasm set off the older wizard and he thrust one last time, releasing himself deep inside the Boy Who Lived as he pulled the lad closer and turned his head, kissing Harry deeply.

Disentangling themselves, the pair of wizards settled in for the night, a few cleaning charms taking care of any mess that remained. Candles extinguished, Voldemort lay back and took his young beau in his arms, pulling him close and planting a kiss on the lightning bolt that had connected them all those years ago.

Just before sleep came to either of them, Tom cupped Harry’s face and whispered softly in parseltongue once again. /How I adore you, my sweet. You mean the world to me, pet,/ he admitted quietly, placing a quick peck on those lush, soft lips.

Lazy, dreamy grin, and the Gryffindor responded, his voice almost inaudible at the end as he drifted off into slumber. /And I love you as well…my Lord./

The Dark Lord’s eyes widened imperceptibly at those last two words, and a smile crossed his lips. Closing his eyes, the thought occurred to him—Harry finally accepted him for who he was. His pet had never called him “my Lord” before. It pleased him on a level he hadn’t realized was possible.

And suddenly, everything he had gone through—the concession of defeat, faking his own death, the glamouries and the new identity, the tedium of his day to day job, even enduring the hangers on and fools at the Ministry, and the hypocrites of the world at large—was worth it after all.

He would bear it all, and bide his time, and when the moment was right, stake his rightful claim in the world. And he would do it all for the young man sleeping contentedly in his arms.

In that moment, Voldemort decided that yes, life really was good.

~~*~~

Thinking back now on the novel I was reading before my sweet came home to me, I am reminded of a particular passage. It says, \"Nothing can cure the soul but the senses, just as nothing can cure the senses but the soul.\"

I was never quite sure what the author meant by those words, but now, I have a good idea.

My beloved and I have gone through more together in his short lifetime than most couples ever do. We started life off as adversaries, his defeat of me as an infant setting a chain of events in motion that affected and changed the both of us in profound ways.

We were mortal enemies. We wanted to see the other dead, and both had worked tirelessly to make each other’s demise come around, with neither of us ever succeeding.

It wasn’t until we admitted that there was something more between us, and our senses came into play, that we were able to heal the various hurts and burdens that our souls were bearing, and come to an understanding between us. And that understanding helped both of us feel again, truly curing our senses, making them sharper and giving them more focus than they have had in years.

Of course, with us, nothing will ever truly be perfect. But I would not change what we have. It is honest. It is real. And it is entirely us.

Harry will never truly forgive me for the deaths of his parents, nor would I expect him to. I will probably never truly forget that he almost killed me as a child. But he has accepted that I have changed, and he has accepted me for myself, just as I have done the same for him. We are not the same men now that we were back then.

In the end, that really is enough.

I will rise again, and I will have power. But now, my actions are tempered by the love I have for the one boy who almost ended it all before it could ever begin. He completes me. He balances me out. His holly to my yew. His Gryffindor to my Slytherin. He is my counterpart, my lover, and my conscience. He is the reason that I go on.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way.

~~*~~