Summary: Lord Voldemort has found something that he would like much more than to kill Harry Potter: he wants complete possession of the boy- mind, body, and spirit. Dumbledore's dead, Sirius is dead- Harry has no one. How is he going to be able to keep away from the Dark Lord, and does he even want to?
Warning: This will be slash, between Riddle(Voldemort) and Harry, so be wary.
Disclaimer: I own nothing.
Author's note: I know I should be working on WHTM, but I decided to come up with this, instead. What Have You Done Now is a wonderful song by Within Temptation, and I think it fits Harry and Riddle quite well. I've finally got a computer, but no internet, so I've got quite a bit of time on my hands, and if you've got a bit of free time yourself, and you would like to beta, send me an e-mail through the link on my userpage. I would forever be in your debt! Also a note: I will try to update once a week, usually on Wednesdays, and if I can, that is when I'll be replying to loverly reviews. But in the meantime, take a seat, relax, and enjoy What Have You Done Now.
Would you mind if I hurt you?
Understand that I need to...
Wish I had the other choices
Than to harm the ones I love...
What have you done now?
-Within Temptation
Harry ignored the incessant chatter and mindless noise around him, focusing on the toast that he buttered liberally and then
spread strawberry jam on. Breakfast was not something he particularly looked forward to, but his year, it was unbearable.
Taking a bit out of the bread, he glanced over at Ron and Hermione as they sucked each other's faces and groaned with
disdain as they continued their snogfest. "Hello!" he wanted to say, "I'm still here!" but he refrained- they weren't worth it.
Setting down the half-finished toast with ill-concealed disgust, Harry pushed away from the Gryffindor table, getting up.
"Harry?" Ron looked up from Hermione's death lock on his neck, his lips swollen and crimson, concern etched on his flushed
freckled face.
"I'll be in the common room," Harry remarked absentmindedly as he stalked out of the Great Hall, oblivious to the motion Ron
made to get up before Hermione latched on to the redhead, bringing his neck down once again.
"Nine holy hells," Harry murmured to himself, sighing and pulling around his bed curtains. He flounced on to the burgundy
comforter, his hands knotted behind his head. "Don't they ever stop?" he mused to himself, frowning. Sliding his wand from his
pajama pocket, he muttered a silencing charm and set in to do as he inevitably did every night: dream.
"Potter," a voice called, rousing Harry's consciousness and he pried his emerald eyes open, blinking his vision free of the
groggy blurs. "Doesn't seem like you'll be getting a whole lot of sleep tonight."
"I haven't slept well most of my life," he commented dryly, "thanks to you." He was in darkness, surrounded by it. He could
only see himself, while the voice remained invisible, but he had problems figuring out just who it was.
"Of course," the voice acknowledged, a chuckle following, "of course. And your friends?" the voice inquired politely, as if
striking up casual conversation between to close people.
"At each other, as always," Harry sighed, carding a hand through his own ebony locks. "Let's end this charade, Tom. I grow
tired of it."
Full out peals of laughter followed Harry's blunt statement. As if a veil had been lighted, bright blinding light flashed and Harry
was left standing in a room dredged in Slytherin green and silver, a large canopy bed encompassing one corner. Elaborately
embellished Victorian styled knick knacks were strewn tastefully about, lending an aristocratic Gothic air to the chamber.
Glancing to a velvet high-backed oversized chair, Harry met the image of Tom Marvolo Riddle, the Dark Lord, in the same form
he remembered from the diary in second year.
"Face lift, Tom?" Harry inquired, pulling up another chair that was simpler than Riddle's, which suited Harry just fine, " I have
to admit you look loads better. That whole snake thing you had going on wasn't doing you any favors."
"Why thank you, Harry." Riddle replied graciously, ignoring the biting sarcasm, "I think this look suits me far better as well."
Tom leered as Harry, as if the dark wizard wanted to say more.
Slightly annoyed, Harry quirked his eyebrow. "Something you'd like to say, Tom?"
The ex-Slytherin's eyes smoldered with an emotion Harry didn't recognize. He hid his puzzlement, waiting for the older man to speak.
"I grow tired of charades as well, Harry Potter. I am exhausted of trying to kill you. Dumbledore is dead; your friends have deserted you. You have no one left."
"I would have people left if you didn't off them all," Harry pointed out, anger making his eyes flash.
"Perhaps I made mistakes in the past, Harry, but I've found something I'd like much better than you kill you," Voldemort murmured, pulling himself up from the throne-like
chaise, his garnet eyes boring in to Harry's mind like power drills.
"And what is that?" Harry fought to keep his speech eloquent, drawing upon his nearly Slytherin side to form an emotionless mask.
"You, Harry Potter. I want you."
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