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Black Ties

When Harry Potter entered the wizarding world at eleven, he finally learned what the band on his arm meant. Every witch and wizard he met had one, just like him. He quickly learned that the mark was a way to find his soulmate. Each person in the magical community was born with his mark. Many spent their lives searching for that one person.

He watched as classmates excitedly shared their changing marks with one another. Many people were interested in his own mark, being the famous Boy-Who-Lived. Perfect strangers rudely reached out to grab his arm to examine it, hoping that his mark would react or match their own. But each time they walked away with a disappointed frown. Some left with pitying looks when they had seen the colour of his mark.

The mark was mostly a solid band around the entire left wrist, but there was always a small marking that matched each pair. It wasn't until a witch or wizard his their majority at age 17 before the mark appeared.

The mark on Harry's arm was almost always a deep angry red now. Before his fourth year, the mark's colour had been a deep grey for as long as he could remember. Now though it was consistently a red colour. Whoever had the matching mark to his own was an angry person. Every once in a while the colour would flit to a deep dirty gold, showing a small amount of happiness. It was rare and always quickly faded back to a deep red.

Marks changed colours depending on the other's mood. Red meant anger and disgust. Blue meant sadness. Green meant envy and jealousy. Yellow meant joy and happiness. Pink was love and trust. Purple represented fear. Orange meant confusion and uncertainty.

Different shades of each colour gave the person an idea of how deeply the person was feeling that emotion.

The one colour people dreaded to see upon their wrists was something in the grey scale. Grey indicated serious illness or injury. The darker the grey became, the closer to death their soulmate was. Once black, the mark spread up the survivor's arm to serve as a constant reminder of what they had lost. It really was quite cruel of the fates.

It was said that if one were to accidentally or purposefully kill their own soulmate, the black mark would spread through their bodies until it reached the heart. As punishment, the guilty one would suffer a squeezing sensation in their chest and their heart would implode. The degree of pain depended on the seriousness of the crime. Accidents were said to happen quickly and quite painlessly. Intentional murders were much more drawn out and painful. Many said that the murderer often begged for death during the whole process.

It was the 2nd of May 1998, and Harry was facing off with Voldemort in the Forbidden Forest, just the two of them. They circled each other like hunters circling their prey. They did not remove their eyes from the other, cocky red smirking at tired, determined green.

The purple ring around Voldemort's wrist caught Harry's eyes. So the man didhave a soulmate. And said soulmate was quite frightened judging by the deep purple of the ring. Glancing down as his own, the colour was also a deep purple. Harry wondered if their soulmates were present at the battle. It was entirely possible since everyone here, no matter how powerful or confident, was scared.

A quick movement from Voldemort had him jumping into action before the green Avada Kedavra could reach him once again. Casting his signature Expelliarmus, Harry strained to push the ball of green away from him. Magic splashed off the ground between them and Harry was suddenly hit with a powerful sense of wrongness. Apparently Voldemort felt it too.

They broke off their curses and looked around for the source of the feeling. Neither could pinpoint the cause of the feeling and quickly returned to their exchange of spells. Harry launched as many spells at Voldemort as he could, all blocked easily and was forced into a defensive position when dark spells came volleying back at him. Dodging what he could, he began to tire quickly. A deep blue spell connected with his shoulder and he fell back with a pained yell.

Bracing himself for more painful spells, Harry was confused when nothing came. Body weak, all he could do was loll his head sideways so he could look at Voldemort. The man stood frozen, a distracted look on his face as he stared at the mark on his arm. Harry could see it had turned a darkening grey colour.

The pain from the blue spell spread through his shuddering body. It felt like something was being sucked out of him, his very life disappearing in the air above his slack lips. Breath came out in a heavy mist and eyes grew increasingly heavy.

All energy left Harry's downed body and he couldn't imagine ever being able to get up again, let alone move. Everything was strangely cold and his slack fingers were turning blue.

Still staring at Voldemort, Harry watched as his gaze shifted to Harry, examining his dying form critically. The man took a halting step forward, head cocked in confusion. Harry could see the mark on his own arm was a mixture between purple and orange, the two colour swirling and mixing.

Voldemort took another step toward Harry. No longer having the strength, Harry let his eyes close. He remained somewhat aware of his surroundings as his head filled with cotton.

"Harry?" Voldemort's voice came from somewhere close by, much closer than before. Harry figured he was next to him now.

Cold fingers grasped his left wrist and turned it so his palm faced upwards. He felt a warm wrist brush alongside his own and a startled gasp echoed through his foggy mind. It was getting harder and harder to remain aware.

He vaguely felt his upper half being lifted into a lap, head rolling listlessly. The same cold hand came up to caress his head and place it gently against a solid shoulder.

Forcing himself to open his eyes, he found himself in Voldemort's lap, being held tightly again the rocking body.

"Oh Merlin," the man whispered in agony. Harry felt a spell hit him and a warm numbness spread through his body. "What have I done? All these years and you were the one."

Harry tried to call for Voldemort, for this hurting man, but his lips wouldn't move and his breath was coming slow and short.

"Look, Harry," Voldemort whispered achingly. He gently grasped Harry's slack wrist in his palm and laid his own alongside it. Harry's blurry vision didn't help, but he blinked slowly a couple times until he could see through the black spots dancing around his vision.

There in front of his eyes was the match to his soulmate band. The band on Voldemort's wrist was now a deep grey, showing Harry just how close to death he was. His own band was a deep blue, so dark it looked black.

The wrist dropped and Harry could no longer hold his eyes open. His breathing slowed once more and he felt himself being clutched closer to the shaking warm body.

"No, no," Voldemort begged desperately. "No, please, I'm sorry. I take it back! Don't leave me! I've been waiting for you all my life! Please..."

Voldemort watched, shattered, as the spell he'd cast against his soulmate forced him to let out his last sigh. Tears streaming down his face, he bent over and placed a soft kiss on the cold lips.

Immediately, the now-black mark around his wrist began to spread up his arm. Voldemort surrendered himself to the pain, doing what he could to not jostle his mate's cold body through the pain. The fates decided to go easy on the man, for he had murdered his soulmate, but the two of them were unaware of the bond they shared. Tom Riddle had immediately realized what he'd done and regretted it with everything he had. He had attempted at making Harry more comfortable with the numbing spell and tried his best to comfort him as his body shut down.

Voldemort lowered himself weakly, so they lay side-by-side in the dirt, holding Harry as close as he could to his trembling body. The darkness reached his chest and a curious warmth spread through him, numbing the most of the pain. With a final kiss to the scarred forehead, Voldemort closed his eyes and surrendered to the darkness.

An hour later, the two were found, Voldemort holding Harry's body tightly, dried tear tracks on his cheek. The darkness has spread up his arm and into his heart. Many immediately understood the image for what it was, but the more oblivious cheered in joy at the defeat of the darkest wizard of all time.

Some pointed out the markings, both now black, and the matching markings. The more compassionate of them settled down into mourning for the irony of the situation was not lost on them. Some simply didn't care and continued to celebrate.

Despite the outcry from the less sympathetic population, Harry James Potter and Tom Marvolo Riddle were buried together in an undisclosed location.

On their unmarked grave were carved these words.

Two lonely souls find the other even in death.

THE END

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