Chasing Harry

Chapter Five: The Sense of Falling

Harry was pushed against the wall. His back slammed on the hard stone, making him yelp with pain. Stunned, he realized only moments later that he was no longer alone. He looked down, only to find Tom Riddle in his arms. An unconscious and naked Tom Riddle.

He looked down at Tom and was instantly alarmed by what he saw. Tom's face was dangerously pale, and his fingers were tightly clutching Harry's robes. He noticed the red scratches on his arms and chest which were still bleeding slightly. To his surprise, the wounds started to close before his eyes, the blood disappearing in seconds, until none was left.

Harry blinked. The blood and all traces of Tom's injuries were gone. He was sure there had been some cuts... Harry ran his hand across Tom's arms, trying to find any sign that could possibly explain what he saw. But he found nothing. Not even scar tissue. Tom's skin was smooth under his touch.

A little too smooth for someone who was supposed to have had it tough. Harry's hand stilled when it reached Tom's shoulder. He suddenly couldn't take his eyes off his hand on the Slytherin's naked skin. For a moment, Harry felt a strange, perverse feeling come over him as he stood there, holding Tom, staring at his hand. Skin on skin. Where earlier, there had been blood.

The sound of footsteps brought Harry back to the realization that they were standing in the middle of the hall and that soon, a number of students would see the strange spectacle of him holding Tom's unclothed body in his arms. He flushed guiltily, remembering the slightly voyeuristic mood he had been in only seconds before. And with Tom unconscious, nonetheless! Hastily, he carried Tom back to his quarters and closed the door.

***

"Stop it!"

Lucius grabbed Taylor's wrist and yanked it away from the dagger's direction. Caught unaware, the dark-haired man let go of his wand, and stopped the curse he had been performing.

"Are you trying to kill him?" Lucius seethed. He glared at Taylor who merely looked at him blankly.

"I was just scaring him a little." He grinned and picked up his wand. "He has to learn to take a little pain. We want him to be strong, don't we?"

"You're endangering everything we've worked for." Lucius tossed his head, his face returning to the apathetic mask he usually wore. "The boy will need time to adjust before we take action. Just let him be until then."

Shrugging, Taylor didn't respond. He just slammed the lid of the box close and gestured towards the exit.

Silently, the two men left the cellar.

***

Harry covered Tom with a blanket, making sure that he was protected from the cold. He stood beside the bed, staring at Tom, wondering what he should do after this.

He had meant to leave as soon as he made sure that Tom was all right. But now, he felt hesitant to leave him alone, worried that whatever happened might repeat itself once more. He found Tom's clothes scattered around outside the room, inside the door from the hall. It was as if he had torn them from his body just before he opened the door and passed out. Harry wondered at the thing that possibly caused Tom to do that. But before he knew for sure, he wouldn't leave Tom alone in Hogwarts tonight.

Harry walked to the sitting room. Just as expected, he found the pot of floo powder above the fireplace. Using the floo network, he quickly informed Hermione and Ron that he wouldn't be able to join them that evening. Disappointed, they instantly demanded to know why. Not wanting to embarrass Tom, Harry just said that he was doing something really urgent for Dumbledore and that the details could wait. He sent his congratulations to Sirius through the fire instead with a promise that he would visit soon.

He returned to the bedroom and sat beside the young Slytherin. Tom was still unconscious but at least he was breathing. Harry smiled slightly at the way the boy slept. Tom was curled under the covers, much like a child, his comforter tucked under his chin. Who would've thought that Voldemort had looked so endearing in his younger years?

But then, you may be the only one who thinks so, Harry thought. He knew that majority of the students in Hogwarts were irrationally afraid of Tom because of the havoc his other self had done to the Wizarding World. And for what Tom himself had done. There were still a lot who remembered the one year of terror that the Chamber of Secrets had caused over the whole school. And they were not so ready to forgive Tom for that. Especially those who were petrified. He knew that Justin Finch-Fletchley gave the Slytherin a wide berth in the halls whenever Tom approached. So far, only Ginny and Hermione seemed to be on speaking terms with Tom among that group.

He leaned on the pillows, resting his elbow on the bed, and surveyed Tom as he slept. He looked more peaceful now, no lines of tension marring the planes of his face--his classically handsome features more evident in sleep.

It started to drizzle outside, making the temperature drop slightly.

Harry sighed and watched the scene outside the window. It was going to be a cold night. But he didn't regret his decision to stay. The circumstances surrounding Tom's attack (?) felt rather fishy. And he promised himself that he would keep an eye on Tom until he got to the bottom of the matter.

He didn't notice the hours as he waited, his eyes drowsy as it neared midnight. He tried to keep himself awake by walking around. Until, after a while, he parked himself on the large bed far away from Tom, placed his glasses on the side table, and surrendered to sleep.

***

Tom felt the cold even before he opened his eyes. It seeped through his skin, no matter how much he tried to wrap the blanket around himself for warmth. He heard the crash of the rain against the window pane. The sound permeated to his bones--surrounding him with a lingering sense of isolation.

And loneliness.

Just like so many nights in his life.

At that moment, he couldn't remember who or where he was before the sadness. He suddenly couldn't bear to be alone. He slid his hand across the sheets, stretching his arm, expecting to feel the same emptiness that hounded him to no end.

But this time, he sensed warmth.

His hand stopped, surprised.

Then, with a sudden feral need to feel, to belong, to have... he grasped for it like a man deprived. He just wanted the coldness to end. And he needed someone to end it for him.

Eyes still shut, he moved nearer, inhaling, breathing in the scent of the heat he was seeking. He could almost taste the closeness, the tangy flavor of skin taunting him, that even the slightest distance became unbearable.

His eager fingers traveled over it--this person... his companion.

He couldn't be satisfied with belonging. For, made as he was, he could never settle for less. He had to own--and this urgent craving could no longer be contained.

***

There were hands caressing him.

Harry moaned as his dreams took an abrupt erotic turn. He was being kissed, and he kissed back fervently, hungrily devouring the lips that claimed his own. His senses dimmed, heightened, and swung erratically as his dream-lover played him, leaving him wanting more with each flick of the tongue. A strange, pulsing heat traveled along his body, resting between his legs, as he threw his arms around the illusion, unwilling to let go and face reality.

His eyes fluttered open as he felt warm flesh beneath his skin. He could feel the weight of someone over him, loving him. This was no dream.

In shock, his body tensed as he looked up and stared straight into Tom's heated eyes. Harry's eyes widened as he initially panicked and stiffened underneath the Slytherin in shock. Tom started, noticing his silent response. Green eyes darkened by passion stared back at him. They bored into his, insistent, imploring. Wanting.

"Let me...?"

A gentle hand tenderly peeled his robe off, revealing a pale shoulder. Harry shivered as Tom bowed and breathed onto his skin, his lips grazing his chest, making the hairs on his skin tingle with excitement--his traitorous body bending against his will.

"Just forget..."

Hands traveled from his thighs up to his neck, touching softly, respectfully--almost reverent in behavior. Harry lost himself in the feeling as he tried to recover the last shreds of logic scattered in his mind. The rain shattered outside their silence.

"...for tonight."

Tom slowly bent forward, his eyes never leaving Harry's, locking the Gryffindor in his sensual prison. Their lips were an inch apart when he stopped, eyes drinking his fill of Harry's flushed skin. But he had played too long, and some fires were stoked too far to wait

Harry raised his head and met Tom's lips, joining them into a fiery kiss as he encircled his arms around the Slytherin. Their bodies touched as Tom swept the rest of Harry's robe off him, letting it fall to the side of the bed, ignored. Their kiss was wet, and hard, almost desperate--as if they had so little time to be together.

Harry's nails raked across Tom's back as his head arched, his hair fanning over the pillow. Black against white. He wrapped his legs over Tom's hips, wanting to be filled, to satisfy the raging hunger the Slytherin had awakened in seconds.

The temperature rose with them, in spite of the rain. They were shut in their world of passion, still in their mutual embrace, oblivious of time and all things out of their union. Mingled sweat slipped across their skin, following their rhythm. Swaying.

Dancing.

And, just as they peaked, their hands linked, slowly, fingers filling each space in between... Belonging. Having.

And for that short eternity, the void was forgotten.

***

He awoke with a sense of something missing.

Tom rubbed his eyes as he sat up and blearily looked out of the window from his bed. The rain had stopped and the sun was shining cheerily over the Hogwarts grounds, as if it offered a new day of promise. He yawned and stretched, swinging his legs to the floor as he prepared to stand.

That was when he noticed his state of undress. Though he was alone, Tom quickly covered himself with a sheet, his natural modest instincts causing a blush to spread across his cheeks. Why wasn't he wearing any clothes? He had never slept naked all his life, considering the lack of clothing a disadvantage during emergencies.

He stood from the bed and tied the sheet around his slim hips, his eyes traveling around the room to look for his missing clothes. Now where did he place them before going to bed?

Tom started as he realized that he didn't even remember going to bed. In fact, he couldn't remember anything that happened last night. All he could recall was his meeting with Dumbledore. It had been twilight then, he remembered seeing the sun set through the windows as he walked back to his rooms. But what happened after that?

A vision of greed eyes, wide with surprise, flashed through his mind. Harry? Tom shook his head. Why would he have seen Harry last night? They hadn't even talked since the other day.

He stumbled to his living room, his legs feeling slightly shaky. He felt a strange burn on his back as he looked around the room. There seemed to be nothing amiss... Aside from his clothes which were neatly folded over a chair.

Mystified, Tom walked over and took his robe. They were torn down one side, as if it had been ripped from him by a tremendous force.

He stood there, holding the ruined robe, as the memory of his attack came rushing back to him.

He remembered the pain, the strange searing pain that wouldn't leave him alone. And the blood that spilled from his skin, pooling around his feet as he screamed in agony--reliving all the pain he had gone through, magically magnified to make him suffer more.

He quickly checked his arms for signs of wounds or cuts. But there seemed to be none. In fact, he was totally spotless except for... His hands grazed his back as he stretched his arm behind him. He felt a slight burn as he touched his skin. He looked to the mirror, turning slightly as he surveyed his back's reflection.

There were three, long, and pronounced scratched on his back--shallow enough to ignore, but deep enough to draw blood.

He ran his fingers across the wounds, his brow furrowing in concentration as he tried to think. Why were these wounds present when everything else had disappeared? Even all the traces of blood were gone from him, his clothes, and the floor.

His bare feet padded across the floor as he walked back to his room. He felt unusually sleepy today, as if he had not slept during most of the night. And he could remember the reason for that. He had been having bizarre, disturbingly sexual dreams all through the night. They had felt so real, as is there really was someone with him on the bed, sharing the night with him.

He smiled to himself. It must have been his reward for the hell he had experienced just before he lost consciousness.

He placed his hands on his flat belly, rubbing the sticky skin slightly as he... Sticky!?

Tom looked down. He carefully ran his fingers over his skin. Yes, it was sticky. Sticky with...

His eyes were suddenly drawn to the tie that was carelessly thrown on his bed's headboard. It was a school tie. Striped red and gold. It lay there innocently, slightly rumpled, as if it had been unknotted with undue haste and tossed to the side.

A Gryffindor tie on his bed, his hands sticky with spunk from his skin, wide green eyes in his dreams...

He had to hold on to one of the bedposts to support himself as reality nearly knocked him over.

Harry, the rain... their wild night together... it was all real!

***

Lucius climbed out of the bed, the black silk sheets sliding over him like water. He checked the time. It was time to go home. His wife would be wondering where he was.

He was about to stand when someone grabbed his wrist.

"Where are you going so early in the morning?"

He turned, long platinum hair swinging as he faced his colleague, his rival, and his lover.

"Nowhere."

Taylor smiled, his warm brown eyes crinkling at the sides as he did. A dimple sank on the right cheek of his handsome face. Playfully, he pulled Lucius to him, sending the blond man sprawling over his tall, lithe form. Locking his pale lover in his embrace, he whispered into his hair.

"I would miss you. Don't leave me so fast."

"I have work to do." Lucius replied blankly. He pulled himself up, letting Taylor's arms fall to the bed. "The estate does not manage itself alone, as you must know."

"I have too much work as it is for you to remind me of that." Taylor frowned at Lucius who was crossing the room, naked. The blond took his robe from the dresser and quickly slipped into it, fastening the front efficiently.

"I shall be seeing my son next weekend at Hogwarts." Blue-grey eyes glanced at the bed for a moment. "Do you want to come?"

"What would I do in that stupid mudblood-infested school?" Lazily, Taylor twirled his wand, not the slightest bit uncomfortable with his naked state.

"You could see your son--"

"--who is a disaster waiting to happen," Taylor finished flatly. "No. I would rather stay here thank you."

"It's not just Gregory." Lucius ran a comb through his hair, straightening the tousled locks. "The boy. Our Lord."

White teeth flashed as Taylor's mouth widened in a smile. "Of course. Our Lord."

The irony in his tone did not go unnoticed.

"Our Lord as long as we need him." With these last words, Lucius took his cane and swept out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

As soon as he was out of the house, he stopped before he entered his car. He looked up at the imposing manor, trying to imagine the place if things had been different from the way they were now. The wind picked up, lifting strands of white-blond hair from his shoulders, letting them stray against his skin. For a second, there was a wistful look in his eyes as he thought of his son. Taylor. And their lost youth.

He shook his head, trying to clear his mind from thoughts that had never been. Everything had happened as they did. There was no way to change that.

Just like Voldemort's death.

He entered his car, the steel back in his eyes. Taylor was right. There was much work for them to do.

-TBC-