Chapter Text
Oh, Merlin, Tom had made a mistake.
A terrible, terrible mistake.
When his diary had ended up with a soul willing to write in it, Tom would have wept in delight if he had been a lesser man.
As it was, he wrote to them in a generic manner. The careful reaching out of his magic proved the new holder of his diary to be very young. Since he didn’t know of their background, the easiest way to let them keep writing was to pretend to be just an ordinary magical diary that asked for the writer's day and held small, simple conversations.
Tom needed the holder to write regularly to form a leech in their soul and - eventually - come back in existence. It didn’t matter what they wrote, as long as they did write.
So when the holder, a young girl as far as he could tell, confessed to being a writer, Tom had been excited. It almost seemed too easy.
Like any good magical diary would have done, he convinced the holder - Ginny - to use the diary to write her stories.
Tom didn’t blink a metaphorical eye when she confessed to writing fantasy stories about real people. He didn’t care, as long as there would be words written in his diary.
Although, he had paused as Ginny confessed to writing about the Dark Lord and his victorious enemy Harry Potter. Tom had been intrigued. It was rather safe to guess that he was the Dark Lord. But he had been defeated? He needed to learn more. Every story held at least a small truth and Tom was a well-versed reader, he would be able to find the truth hidden in the fiction of a little girl.
He should maybe become suspicious as Ginny was worried about others reading her stories. She would be damned if found out, she said. Of course, he promised to keep them safe from prying eyes by vanishing the ink - thinking of detailed violence and gore. It might even lift his spirits a bit to read about blood and murder, bad as it might be, written by an eleven-year-old.
But Slytherin help him-
It was so much worse than that.
They met by chance in an abandoned house that was dark and completely empty besides the bedroom they stumbled over each other.
Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter looked at each other over the bed with deep red silk sheets between them. Almost as red as the Hero’s full lips.
“Fear me, unworthy, for I am the Dark Lord!”
“I am the Boy-Who-Lived, you couldn’t kill me as a baby, you won’t be able to kill me now! I killed you and I can do it again!“
“I wasn’t killed by you, I just took a few years off to find a weapon you wouldn’t be able to withstand and I’ve found it.”
The Dark Lord threw his head back for a burst of manic laughter but our great Hero didn’t budge. He was, of course, braver than that.
“Bring it on, Voldie, I fear nothing!”
“Great last words, little Hero!”
And with an evil grin, the Dark Lord parted his black robes and revealed his fear-inspiring weapon. Harry Potter was shocked, a shiver ran down his spine.
“Oh no, it’s so big!”
“The tool for my victory was always with me, I just didn’t know how to use it. But now there is no escape for you!” With a flick of his wand, the old Dark Lord bereft the youthful Hero of all his clothes.
But our Hero would do everything to save the Wizarding World, no matter personal costs. With slender fingers he pushes back his hair - darker than tar pitch but not as sticky, it was soft to his touch, as was his skin - to reveal the scar on his forehead that was given him by the same man that wanted to give him something else now.
“Bring it on, Voldie. If you’ll try to destroy me, I will take you down with me in a fight of passion. You won’t be able to stand against my firm muscled body (but not too much, our Hero has real muscles, not magicked ones.)”
The Dark Lord blushed at the Hero’s shameless display of his perfect body and the challenge that pruned in those eyes with the colour of freshly pickled toats. Before he could gather his senses, the young man already pounced on him and engaged the older man’s tongue in a fight none of the both wanted to lose.
In their passion, they fell into the bed - although they were so busy with each other they would have probably not even noticed if it had been the floor instead.
“Surrender and I’ll show you my appreciation, defy me and you will be destroyed by my mighty weapon!”
The Hero only smirked.
“We’ll see who will be destroyed at the end of this night. You won’t be able to wreak havoc anymore when all you can think about will be me and our night of lovemaking.”
Without much more ado the Boy made his point and with one swift motion sunk down onto the Dark Lord’s impressive weapon, forcing all the air out of his lungs because he hadn’t accounted for the Hero’s reckless sense for adventure.
I need to take a break and head to dinner. Do you want me to write some more later? (:
No. He really didn’t.
Of course, dear. I’m most intrigued to read how your story will continue.
But he really needed those words.
Awesome, I’m so glad you like it!
When this is finished I have some more ideas!
Was he really this desperate?
Who was he trying to kid.
Yes. Yes, he was.
I can’t wait!