Disclaimer: Oh... was I supposed to say: not mine?

AN- Hello, my lovely lords and ladies. So... this is it... the big one, the one where Tommy throws away his inhibitions (wait I thought Harry did that!) and professes his undying love and adoration towards his one and and only true soulmate there is on this dry desolate war zone known as planet earth. (I heard wedding bells in the air, folks)

The one... the only!

Petter Pettigrew

I can hear all your minds right now: WTF! No I have not lost my mind, and NO (!) that will NEVER (I REPEAT: NEEEEVVVVEEERRRR) happen. Because that's just icky. I mean really who writes that. I mean if we want to go literally here, Voldemort (as a snake) and Pettigrew as a rat... how do you think that marriage would turn out. And that's ANOTHER thing! Tom can do SO much better! He may have an inferiority complex with purebloods but that DOES NOT MEAN he should undervalue himself.

REVEIW if you agree :)

Harry's dreams were filled with memories. Memories that took two forms; brilliant flashes that cut across his minds eye highlighted the past few hours. Whispers flooded every crevice, curling and settling themselves in the corners of his brain, and embedding their snares inside all the bungalows available. Soft wraiths whispering secrets into his ears, their lips like wispy black smoke.

"You're not welcome."

"...not welcome...not welcome..."

"Odgen...from the Ministry of Magic... serious breaking of wizarding law... your son Morfin, are you Marvolo Gaunt..."

"Private property... right to defend himself... busybodies... mudbloods... intruders..."

"Morfin has broken wizarding law." spoke Odgen, "and has been summoned-"

"Morfin has been summoned!" shrieked Marvolo in a high falsetto madly.

"-for a hearing, at the Min-"

"Summons!" shrieked Marvolo his voice blasting through three octaves, "Do you know who your talking to! You filthy Mudblood!"

A flicker of fear passed across Odgen's face, "Mr. Gaunt," he began waveringly.

"EXACTLY!" Marvolo hissed, his eyes sparkling with a mad sort of pleasure, before viciously shoving his hand toward Odgen, nearly taking the other's eye out.

"Se this? Do you SEE THIS?! Centuries! Centuries I tell you it's been in our family!" Gaunt let out a high pitched giggle that detracted from the seriousness of the moment, "That's how far we go back! And we've been pure all the way, too. PUREBLOODS! Nothing else! Peverell coat of arms engraved on it," Marvolo panted, continuing to shove the ring toward the other.

Once again the wraiths converged. The scene changing, becoming more grotesque and confusing.

A girl with lank hair cowering in the corner while another stood above her; cursing.

"Idiot girl! Disgusting Squib!"

And still another lay curled in a decrepit molding chair, hands curled possessively around an adder whispering to it.

"Hissy hissy little snakey, slither on the floor, you be good to Morfin, or he'll nail you to the door."

It was only then that Harry started, and began to regard the decrepit man with a heightened amount of wariness. Parseltongue. Harry's eyes instantly flashed around the hovel, and to the dead snake nailed to the door. Bile rose in his throat; these were his relatives, people who, by extension, had received the same gift he'd been given (albeit by birth); Slytherin would have been ashamed, Harry was ashamed.

"She watches him father, Merope watches that disgusting muggle Tom Riddle, likes looking at him," the boy leered at his sister, "in the garden watches him go past, hanging out the window for a glimpse."

Morfin's eyes were cruel, and his body gave off the aura of offness, it was a stink that surrounded him, a putrid sickly sweet smell that spoke of someone truly disturbed. The aura seemed to permeate the hovel and make Harry's hair stand on end. Matted with filth, the boy clearly took after his father Mr. Gaunt, and both appeared perfectly content terrorizing their sister and daughter respectively.

"My daughter- pureblooded descendant of Salzar Slytherin- pandering after a filthy, dirt-veined MUGGLE!" he roared, insults flying.

"Disgusting SQUIB!"

"Filthy muggle."

"Didn't look so pretty after I was done with him!"

"Blood traitor!"

"No daughter of mine!"

For a few blissful moments Harry was allowed room for contemplation. To think.

Marvolo Gaunt. The name seemed ignited something in Harry, a memory he had long wished to forget.

Tom Marvolo Riddle

I Am Lord Voldemort

A coincidence?

In his world there was no such thing.

These... these people (depending on how loosely you used the word) were Riddle's family. And closely related family if Harry was judging by the Muggle man he'd seen before. The muggle man who was nearly a carbon copy of Tom Marvolo Riddle himself. The girl Harry had seen in the kitchen, was... she was.

"Lord Voldemort's mother." The Dark Lord was a halfblood, an heir of Slytherin, the first in a line that had claimed to have been pure for over a thousand years. Clearly they hadn't been squeamish about inbreeding if the Gaunt families features and... rather curious behaviors were any indication. It was a miracle Tom was even somewhat sane.

It was a dark room.

A room filled with the sort of silence only a large amount of terror could cause. No bated breaths, no nervous swallowing, not even the soft rustle of robes. Every figure was held stock still.

"Do you doubt me, Abraxas?"

It was a man. Seated on a throne of ebony, and entangled in a large green serpent.

Nagini, Harry's mind supplied. It was Voldemort. The Dark Lord of a previous time sat before him, looking remarkably reminiscent to the one he'd met at the Ministry. Dark onyx black hair, sculpted aristocratic pale features, and deep blue eyes which appeared to be flecked with red. Long spidery fingers caresses Nagini's scales, drawing a delighted hiss from the creature. Several Death Eaters shuddered almost imperceptibly.

"No my lord, I merely question your... claim to the position you hold."

One would have heard a pin drop in the silence that followed. It was stifling.

The Dark Lord displayed no reaction.

"Then I would assume, Abraxas- oh please forgive me for assuming." Voldemort's eyes glittered, "That you would propose a suitable... alternative."

Abraxas Malfoy was the picture of innocence.

"An alternative to yourself my lord? Never, I could never even consider the idea of being so bold. I myself would never dine to believe anything less of my lord, however some of the new recruits do not share the same assurances that the Inner Circle has been acquainted with."

"Then you wish for a demonstration." Voldemort concluded softly, stroking his companion with relish.

"Only if it would please, my lord." Abraxas was calm as ever, his head bent in submission, but Voldemort didn't need to see the man's eyes to witness the gleam of triumph concealed in their depths.

"Your assistance would be freely given then, Abraxas." It wasn't really a question. Malfoy had instituted this- no choice was provided.

"Of course my lord, any help I can provide would be given most willingly."

A cruel smile twisted the Dark Lord's lips.

"Then step forward, dear Abraxas." Voldemort's voice had taken on a faint hissing quality that seemed to endear him to his serpent familiar.

The room full of cloaked figures appeared to be leaning forward in anticipation of what was to come.

Malfoy stepped forward, closer to his lord.

And was felled with a minute movement of Tom Riddle's yew wand.

Not a flash of light escaped it, and Malfoy was pinned to the stone floor; eagle spread. With the yew instrument in hand Tom proceeded to give the Malfoy a cursory run down; a soft black glow began to emanate from the wand making it no easier to see in the pitch black darkness.

Finally the Dark Lord turned to his followers a vicious smile twisting his handsome features,

"You wished for a demonstration, correct."

It was only several minutes later, Harry realized what Voldemort had been doing, after the man had reached inside the Malfoy Patriarch's chest. After his body had glowed in a near invisible heat, and excluded a particular flavor in his magic that only Tom excluded that Harry understood.

It was like a vacuum, an encompassing hole that drained the oxygen from the large chamber, and stripped every breath from every lung.

A Horcrux. He felt the realization deep in his chest, and all disbelief he had previously felt was removed. No doubt left in the Gryffindor's mind; this was Dark Magic. Soul Magic, and nothing like it had felt the heat on its cracked tomes for over half a millennium.

There was a building. A building in a city that Harry was able to recognize as London, however this was a London far before his time. As the young Gryffindor observed his surroundings inside the Headmaster's memory, the boy came to realize that this was London; in the peak of the Jazz Age. Women walked all around him with bobbed hair and the men in sports gear; Harry could almost feel the speakeasies taking the money right out of his pocket.

The gate said: Stockwell Orphanage, and it was a grim square building which was surrounded by high railings. There were children outside, playing on the hard concrete inside the gate, and as Harry stepped forward, he recognized one.

"Billy!" a young girl shrieked, "I saw him, I saw him do it!" She was running toward another boy about her age, perhaps nine years old, pigtails flying, red in the face.

The boy in question, Billy, was curled up next to a tree; sobbing and pressing his face into a small stuffed rabbit. "Wh-wh-who, Betty?"

"It was that Riddle boy!" Betty exclaimed shrilly, eyes darting around conspicuously, "I know he did it, I know it!"

Billy, face still buried in the toy said piteously, "How do you know? I fou-found him... h-han-hanging from the-" the child's lip trembled, and more tears filled his already red eyes.

"Rafters." Betty finished for him in a whisper.

Billy sobbed harder, snot dripping down onto the bunny, "Tom never l-liked Chubbs- h-hated him, Betty! Said-said he pooped ever-everywhere and b-bite him."

"He's a sociopath!" exclaimed Betty definitively.

Her companion with Chubbs the rabbit was confused, "sio-scio- what's a socia-"

Betty sniffed, "I heard Mrs. Cole talking about it earlier. She said that Tom's possessed you know, said she's going to call the priest over again, said he'd set him straight. Said if it wasn't the devil making Tom the way he is, then he's sick in the head." she said as if every word coming from Mrs. Cole's mouth was sacred, then drew herself up importantly, "I looked it up, in the dictionary, and it's sociopath, Billy." the girl added admonishingly.

"Sociopath means: a person with a psychopathic personality whose behavior is antisocial, often criminal, and who lacks a sense of moral responsibility or social conscience."

For the first time Billy looked up, squinting the little girl.

"Well what does that mean?"

It was burning. The air around him was on fire, and the masses situated between Harry and the fire weren't far better off either. They were in the midst of battle, a war was waging around him. People were falling at the hands of Blasting and Cutting Curses all around him, while Harry just stood there. Unable to help either side, and unable to prevent another loss of life.

With the chaos around him, Harry saw the world without the usual gold tint that memories seemed to contain, instead everything was painted red. It might have been because the people around him seemed to be using the world for bonfire kindling.

Harry wanted to say that it was poetic in nature. That every time one side took a life, their opponent took one of their own. That the red mist that covered his own vision belied on the certain victory of one army over the other.

Real life didn't work that way.

There was nothing poetic about the stench of blood that hung in the air, the smell of burning bodies that were still aware enough to feel the pain as flames licked their skin and mottled it with blisters.

But in the center of the madness was a single figure. A man sheathed in a black cloak, wielding a yew wand with all the fierceness of a Hungarian Horntail attacking its prey. His adversaries never stood a chance.

It was with a jolt of recognition Harry viewed the buildings before him; the orphanage, the very place Tom Riddle grew up was burning to the ground. And around it was a massacre of both Muggles and wizards alike each felled by blows from the two sides.

Voldemort at the forefront of his attack, leading the way; his yew wand like a whip. Standing contrary to him were two people Harry had never seen before. Aurors he assumed. They were all around him, battling their way through a sea of Death Eaters that never seemed to end. Struggling to save not only themselves but the Muggles who were entrapped in the ruins of the orphanage. And as the scene closed before him, with the orphanage going down to its last burning embers, Harry contemplated that no one seemed much too worried about magical secrecy.

"Please, my lord I beg of you." Desperate voices.

"My dear, Severus one should not grow so attached to those of... lesser birth."

"My lord, I-" Severus' voice was starting to crack from stress.

"Is there something you wish to tell me?" Voldemort's voice was silky.

"She's not a Mudblood, my lord!" Snape stammered out, eyes darting quickly around the room.

The Dark Lord rose, dropping Nagini unceremoniously onto his throne.

"Explain."

Snape finally seemed to regain his composure.

"Should I be able to prove she isn't of lesser blood descent would it be acceptable for you to spare her?"

The Dark Lord was amused, this child was trying to negotiate when he had nothing to bargain with. Lily Potter would never join him, the girl had grown up mocked and humiliated by those purebloods at her school. Why would she have ever given into them now that she was considered worthy of their attention.

"Of course Severus, should it prove possible I would always choose the preservation of wizarding-and witch kind. Should Mrs. Lily Potter provide me with the option I would gladly spare her life." Voldemort looked at his servant speculatively.

"Perhaps you deserve some leniency after providing the intel of the... prophecy to me, it was only through your endeavors Severus that I was able to arrange this visit to the Potter family. Though I do confess myself curious Severus... do you wish to bestow the same leniency upon Mr. James Potter?"

For the first time during their meeting Snape met his eyes.

"That will not be necessary, my lord."

A courtroom. A stone floor. A Minister. A jury of executioners. A long line of people waiting for their death sentence.

"Madam Bellatrix Lestrange, charged on the torture and murder of Frank and Alice Longbottom. Do you deny these crimes."

The woman he was addressing was the not Bellatrix Lestrange that Harry knew. She held herself with dignity and contempt addressed at her surroundings, there was less madness in her eyes. Some was still there but nothing to the degree Harry knew would emerge in the next few years. This was pre-Azkaban Bella, the one who had just tortured and murdered Neville's parents with her husband before killing them.

It was with pride she addressed them.

"No, I do not."

The man in charge seemed to start, as if her words were something unexpected, but then continued without pause.

"Then on the charges of murder of torture with the use of the Unforgivable Curses we find you, Bellatrix Lestrange guilty and sentence you to a life term in prison for every unforgivable cast."

A slam of the gavel. No lawyers, no jury, no evidence, no witness for the defense, no prosecution.

Guilty by admission.

That was how it went. Every single Death Eater that Harry saw sentenced went with the Aurors to the Dementors with quiet dignity and pride. Not a single one was afraid to die for their lord.

"I want you, Harry."

Harry jolted up, eyes flying open, trying to dispel the wraiths that had invaded his sleep, and to get rid of the memories he'd endured.

Before him sat a man he'd been waiting to see.

"I want you at my side."

"Is that an offer?"

Before him sat the Minister for Magic, encased in a black robes that were tighter fitting than the ones normally seen on people. The Dark Lord was set for battle.

"Would you accept one?" By this point Harry wasn't sure if Voldemort was toying with him or if it was the other way around.

Tom sat before him, questioning him. Questioning his morals, his ethics, what he was willing to do.

"What do you want from me?" it seemed like a redundant question.

Tom Riddle stared at him. It was a simple question, one that demanded a simple response. This was no time for speeches, Tom knew that Harry didn't need or want one because he'd been forced to listen through far too many and had probably given quite a few of his own.

"I want you at my side."

Harry looked at him. Testing.

"You want the Boy-Who-Lived to stand by you?"

But Tom was no fool, laying there in front of him. In Sirius' old bedroom, the walls littered with pictures of muggle girls in bikinis, was perfectly content on the chaise, twirling his elegant yew wand between long pianists fingers.

"Harry, Harry, Harry," the man spoke chidingly, "Here I sit, extending to you a life line while you tread water in shark infested waters. Would questioning my motives truly be in your best interest?"

"That would depend, Tom." enjoying the way Riddle's eyes lit softly with rage," On whether my 'best interests' are in the forefront of your mind."

"My dear, Mr. Potter you are on dangerous ground, you should be thanking me on bended knee for this offer." Tom gestured toward himself as if showing Harry the ground where he should be kneeling at exclaiming his thanks.

Harry smiled, rising from his position on the bed towards Tom, moving gracefully. Then he knelt at the chaise, at Tom's feet.

"Is this what you wanted, Tom? Me kneeling before you, taking you up on that bargain, and staying here, at your feet as a Death Eater?"

Dark eyes watched him, the emotions shining through somewhere between shock and pleasure and wariness.

"Yes." A single word, said with so much sincerity it left both of them reeling.

From his position on the floor, Harry leaned in, emerald eyes observing the other boldly.

"You're lying." Reaching up a hand Harry snaked it through Tom's hair, jerking his face viciously closer.

"You HATE this! You don't want me at your feet, kissing your robes like those other sycophant trash. You want a challenge, someone who will push you and then push you harder. You don't want someone to play with... you've had that for far too long, it's tiresome. Boring. You don't want someone so easily won over to the dark by a few of your tricks and a few cunning words. You, want a challenge."

Finally... FINALLY Tom reacted. Shoving backwards at him, with a strength Harry wouldn't have expected. Pinned against the wall, with Tom's wand at his throat in a death grip. No more games.

"You've thought too highly of yourself, Harry. If you are correct, and it's a challenge I want, what makes you worthy of my attention?"

For the first time since seeing Tom, Harry smiled.

And spoke, "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches, born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies..." he stopped.

Looked into Tom's blue eyes, "Finish it," the man ordered. There was need in the other's face, tightening the edges of his countenance and pushing his aristocratic features into harsh relief. Desperation was an emotion Harry was quite familiar with.

Wand at his throat, the emerald boy leaned in close, "No." he whispered.

Insurmountable rage spilled over, the kind of anger that's had fifteen years to brew up inside a person.

"Crucio!"

Knives pierced him. White hot pokers stabbed through skin and muscle and bone. Sinewy tendons were being methodically dissected with blades coated in salt. In the same instant he was both being roasted alive with a spit inside and having his frostbitten body suck in arctic water. It immersed him, going down his throat, his nose and into Harry's lungs; drowning. He'd never imagined it to be so painful.

When it all stopped Harry was acutely aware of just how easily one could go insane from such treatment. Having such an intimate experience with that spell was not something he would wish upon anyone. Those sort of relationships were abusive at best.

Opening his eyes, the Gryffindor found he'd changed positions, though the situation had not changed. Apparently Voldemort had felt the wall to be too comfortable for Harry, and had transferred him to the floor instead.

"That hurt. I don't take kindly to people hurting me any longer."

Tom's eyes glittered. They didn't stay that way for very long.

Harry's hand shot forward, going past the other's resistance, and gripping Tom's throat. In a matter of seconds their positions were reversed. But this time it was with magic that the other was held down, Tom's wrists pinned to his sides, body trembling and anger rolling off in waves with the need to be free.

That same iciness was filling him, the kind he'd felt after Bella had killed Sirius, nothing like the righteous anger he'd felt at Luna's tormentors.

A pinprick of light lit his wand, and he spun it in his fingers, twirling the enchanted piece of wood just as the Minister had been doing moments before.

"Do you remember what I did to Bella at the Ministry, Tom?" it was no question.

"Then you know I can hurt you, I can and I will. Isn't that the way you operate? An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. You hurt me, I should get even. Make you hurt in return." he placed twin hands on either side of his captive's head, and leaned down until Harry's lips brushed up against Tom's ear.

"You asked what made me special, why I deserved a place at your side instead of at your feet. I'm surprised the conclusion didn't reach you, Tom. You're a smart boy, playing dumb doesn't suit you."

The Minister thrashed, a single hand breaking the bonds that held it and gripping his wrist.

"I can kill you. That, is why I'm special. I'm the one with the power the Dark Lord knows not. Would you really kill me? The single person who could stand against you; toe to toe, we're equals, Tom. Compatable, and volatile. I could kill you... you could kill me. I'm a Gryffindor danger attracts me."

A smile curled around the Dark Lord's lips, "You're nothing other than a Slytherin, Harry. A little serpent just coming into adulthood. But you're right, child. What's life without a little danger."

It was in that moment he broke his bonds, and was set free.

(And Harry opened emerald green eyes that were shining with triumph)

AN- so my lovely lords and ladies I cannot tell you how many times I've rewritten this chapter, scrapping ideas and staring into my 6th Harry Potter book like a maniac. Hurridly flipping through pages trying to find the appropriate inspiration, I was up til two thirty last night trying to find the write words to make this flow. But finally I got it in the end, I hope you enjoy reading this just as much as I enjoyed writing it.

P.S. The Voldemort and Harry conversation took place in his mind, just wanted to clarify that.

P.S.S. My sister's probably going to kill me, so if I don't update in the next... well EVER you peoples know who did it! (She wants me to watch some trailer for some horror film, and said she wasn't leaving until I swore on my life I would watch it. I told her to shut up and go away. She said I was cranky. I said and I quote, "FINE I"l watch it as soon as I post this chapter!" end quote

Your friend in time,

*Kasamira