Smoke

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Smoke

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Tom enjoys watching Harry smoke.

The raven-haired boy takes the cigarette between his dirty fingers and rolls it around for a couple moments before he lights the end with his blue lighter. He doesn't put it in his mouth immediately; he watches for a short while as the embers breed on the end, allowing a few to collect on his pant's leg. Often times the cinders burn small holes through the stained denim and lick Harry's porcelain skin, but Harry has learned to deal with that, has learned that it's not really pain after awhile, it's pleasure.

When Harry finally takes the burning rod into his mouth he sighs gently, inhaling the smoke into his lungs, letting the smoke percolate in his esophagus. He closes his eyes as Tom does when he releases into Harry's hands. Harry exhales moments later, his eyes clear and focused. He used to cough a lot when he first started smoking, but Tom taught him how to hold the smoke down in the pit of his stomach. Tom taught him everything he knows about smoking, something Tom refuses to let Harry forget.

Tom remembers when Harry came to him after Tom killed his annoying Mudblood friend and her red-haired boyfriend. He remembers how Harry crawled on the blood-soaked ground, his left leg broken and his glasses askew. He remembers Harry's initial surprise at seeing Tom standing there as Harry had seen him five years prior in the Chamber. Harry had expected his other form, his form with red eyes, but Tom prefers the feeling of real skin, prefers to feel the pain and pleasure of skin on skin.

Harry had pleaded for mercy from Tom, pleaded for Tom not to take his life. Tom had laughed at this; how pathetic it was that the magical world's savior gave up in the moment of truth. Harry had struggled towards Tom, his hands leaving a trail of blood behind him, and Tom had snickered at the sight. Tom looked at him then, looked at the Boy Who Gave Up, and felt a deep resentment. His anger at the boy almost over took him. Tom had wanted to kill Harry right there, wanted to watch the boy bleed to death as he held him under the Imperious.

But Tom didn't kill Harry that day.

Tom picked Harry up in his arms and brought Harry to his bedchamber. Harry moaned for mercy, and Tom listened and placed him on the bed. The Slytherin grabbed his lighter from the side of his bed and held it up to Harry's face. "I could burn you right here," Tom whispered as he dragged the flame close to Harry's scar. Harry made no movement, body barely functioning. "I could burn you and watch you consumed by the flames and I would feel no remorse. I could... but I'm not going to."

Bending over, Tom grabbed a box of cigarettes from the floor. He pulled the flap of the box back, grabbed the last cigarette, and lit it. He shoved it in Harry's mouth, holding the cigarette there as the boy grimaced and coughed while his virgin lungs were cast into a gray shadow. Harry started to choke, and Tom watched as his murky green eyes flashed in fear. Tom pulled the cigarette out and plunged it in his own mouth, inhaling deeply.

"You will live tonight, Potter," he said as his hand traced Harry's face. Harry flinched slightly at the touch and Tom shook his head in disgust. "You will live and learn to desire me. You are mine now, Harry Potter. You are mine."

Tom sat on the green linens of his bed next to Harry's blistered body. After placing the cigarette on the wood floor and smothering it with his foot, he opened the boy's mouth and kissed him roughly. Harry's torn body went rigid. Tom's hands traveled up and down Harry's back, the Boy Who Gave Up moaning in a mixture of anguish and startling gratification. Tom ripped Harry's glasses off and threw them to the floor, smashing the frames.

"You're mine, Potter," he growled as he kissed Harry's mouth again. "You're mine."

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Five years later, it is still Tom who lights the cigarettes.

Tom runs the cigarette over Harry's arms, arms that carry scars from a knife that Harry purchased five years ago and burn marks from cigarettes past. The cigarette's embers dance on Harry's arm, nipping gently at the skin until they pierce the fragile epidermis. Harry doesn't flinch when Tom does this; Tom has taught Harry to love the feeling of his flesh being devoured by the embers, and Harry learned all too well.

"Tell me, Harry..." Tom murmurs as he puts the cigarette into his own mouth and inhales while watching red marks appear on Harry's skin as the embers burn his fleshy tissue. "Tell me why you never smoked before you came here."

"Somebody told me once that smoking can kill you," Harry says as he begins kissing Tom's neck. Tom inhales again, and pulls Harry up to his lips. He moves the cigarette from his mouth and puts it in the silver and green ashtray that lies on the bedside drawer. Harry pulls Tom down on top of him, extinguishing the last of the embers on his arms. Tom kisses Harry hungrily and puts his hands under Harry's shirt, fumbling with the buckle on Harry's belt.

Harry has learned to not struggle when Tom takes his body. In the beginning, Harry used to thrash about while Tom grasped his arms and raked his nails so hard into Harry that he drew heinous amounts of blood. But then Harry learned to stop struggling and suddenly it wasn't so bad; in fact, Harry began to enjoy himself. He would moan as Tom invaded his mouth with his tongue and arch his back as Tom touched him. He now knows that being a willing slave to Tom is better than fighting. Tom taught Harry not to fight anymore, something Harry is thankful for, because he is so tired of fighting.

"You are mine!" Tom cries as he finishes. Harry slumps to the side from exhaustion, arms badly blistered from the combination of the Tom's cigarette and the scars on his arms from so long ago. Harry never finishes, and Harry never pretends to. Harry has learned that trying to finish only gets him in trouble, and he doesn't want to be in trouble with Tom Riddle.

Harry smokes after Tom finishes with him. He lights up a new cigarette and watches Tom get dressed in his clothes. Harry inhales deeply, the smoke resting in his throat until he opens his mouth into an oblong circle. The smoke retreats from the deep recesses of Harry's mouth and fills the room in a toxic mist.

"Smoking can kill you," Tom teases as he watches the boy exhale. "Isn't that what you told me?"

Harry shakes his head. "You can kill me, Tom. You've taught me that smoke can't."