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Forgotten Lullaby	By : Whimsy101 Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 8824 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 7
Disclaimer: I do not own anything of the Harry Potter fandom - those belong to JKR. I make no money or profit from this story.

Chapter List
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Title: Forgotten Lullaby

Author: WhimsicalBalderdash

Beta(s): None

Fandom: Harry Potter

Rating: M

Pairing: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle(Lord Voldemort)

Genre: AU, Romance, Drama

Warnings: SLASH (M/M Sexuality), graphic violence, character death (not HP/TR). Dumbledore, Ron, Hermione bashing. Graphic physical abuse.

Summary: Harry Potter has given up. Beaten to an inch of his life during the summer before his sixth year at Hogwarts, he retreats into his mind in an effort to escape the heavy demands placed on him. There, he finds a refuge in a surprising place. There he receives and offer that he simply can't refuse. But when Dumbledore tells him that this is the dark lord attempting to manipulate and control him, will he ignore the comforting sensation of the darkness, or will he delve deeper for the answers he never wanted to face?

Notes: Currently unbeta'd, so any grammatical errors are my own, as well as any confusion on my part about specific scenes from the original books.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental. This is a work of parody, as defined by the Fair Use Doctrine. Any similarities, without satirical intent, to copyrighted characters, or individuals living or dead, are purely coincidental. This work has not been endorsed by J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, Warner Brothers, or any of the other holding copyright or license to the Harry Potter books or movie. No connection is implied or should be inferred. This is not a commercial work. The author receives no financial gain from its production or distribution. It is available without charge. This work is intended for adults only. Some of the content of this fiction is graphically violent and/or sexual. It is intended for readers age eighteen or over and anyone underage is prohibited from reading.

He ran, terrified in the dark. Limping, his legs trembling with the effort to just keep running, to keep moving away from the bright light that chased him down and threatened to burn him alive, he fought to the soothing, cooling darkness. How he wanted to stay there, to hide in the darkness and let it soothe his pains and terrors.

But the darkness lied, hadn't they told him that? They'd taught him that since the beginning. So why did the darkness hold him, embrace him and comfort him far more than the scalding light? Full lips trembled in frustrated tears as he staggered forward.

He could smell his own blood on the air, tainting his precious oxygen and he could feel the wetness on his lips with each rasping, choked breath.

Rest, rest, my love. No harm will come to you…

I can't, I can't, I can't.

Breathe, pet. I'll protect you…

He ignored the soothing call of the darkness beyond, even has his bloody hands reached for it. Subconsciously, he knew what was going on, what was happening. He was trapped in his mind, fighting against the nightmares and visions that had plagued him for years now. Two years now, since Voldemort had come back and his visions tormented him beyond sanity.

Had he finally snapped? He was panicked at the idea, tripping over his own thoughts, literally. He…he had to save the world. He had to kill Voldemort. He had to rescue the Wizarding World. Most importantly.

He had to die.

An inarticulate scream of confused, frustrated agony escaped his chest and he wiped at eyes that were streaming with tears and blood. Why was there so much blood in his mind? He didn't understand any of this. How did he get out? He glanced over his shoulder, and saw that the light had retreated for the time being.

Gasping for metallic air, he sat down in the 'middle' of wherever he was in his mind and threaded his hands into his hair. The death of his godfather was viciously taunting him, mocking him in his inadequacies and showing him just how much of a pathetic weakling he was. He couldn't save the people that he loved, never. What use was he if he was simply going to get people killed? People that followed him for whatever reason, they died all around him. He couldn't take anymore of the stains on his soul. Was that the blood that was on him?

The blood of the people he'd inadvertently led to their deaths? His parents? Cedric? Sirius? Long, slender fingers clenched into his hair tightly and another cry escaped him. He didn't understand. All of those deaths, all of the innocent people that had died in this stupid war, were his entire fault. He couldn't defeat Voldemort; he wasn't strong enough to defeat him. And now, in the end of it all, he knew the truth.

He was going to have to give his life to the Wizarding world that should have accepted him, and didn't.

The darkness swam around him, like a cool, gentle pool of water, embracing him and his burning flesh. The light had damaged him brutally in its effort to get him to do what it wanted him to. It had burned the air around him, making his lungs cinder and smoke, his skin bubble and blister from the heat, scalded the sight from his eyes. But now the darkness in his mind wrapped around him like a pair of arms, rocking him as he cried and screamed the words that he'd never be able to say outside his mind.

Poor pet…I'll protect you.

You can't. No one can. It doesn't matter at all anyways.

Of course it matters. I wouldn't be here if it didn't matter.

Who are you anyways? My conscience?

There was silence in the darkness there for a moment, and he could swear that it had pressed a kiss to his sweaty, heated temple.

If I was?

You'd be ridiculing me over my failures and stupidity. How I've killed everyone around me that matters!

You haven't…he has.

But he wouldn't have killed them if it wasn't for me…

You can't control people like pawns, my pet. People have free reign on their desires and choices. People aren't toys to put into position for whatever your goals are. Never forget that you can think for yourself.

Silence again before Harry got the intense feeling that the darkness was amused.

Well. Maybe not you.

He scoffed, but whimpered afterward because it tore up his scalded throat. Every part of him hurt and burned and smoked. The light …frightened him.

It should. It frightens me as well. There's nothing quite as painful as the light as it strives to burn away the darkness.

Isn't that why we're fighting?

Hardly, at least…for the most part. He wants everything under his control; everything must be his to position and toy with. You must have balance, no matter the cause, no matter the world. You can't have love, without indifference. You can't have water, without fire. You can't have wind without earth. So in turn, you can't have light-

Without darkness…

Correct my pet.

Again they simply sat there, Harry wrapped in the dark, rocking gently in the motions and the beat of a song that was eerily familiar. It seeped into his bones and made this 'eyes' flutter closed at the comforting sound.

What are you going to do now, pet?

I…I just want to rest. I don't want to do this anymore. Every time I open my eyes there's more death and blood and …and…and drama that happens. I can't take anymore…I'm broken and I can't even fix myself. How am I supposed to fix the world?

Will they really make you fix the world in this state?

…Yes. That's all they want.

From you?

That's all I'm good for. Weary understanding. Acceptance in his mind.

Oh, pet. That's not true…

It is! No one gives a damn! Maybe Remus but he's…

In mourning…

And he's allowed to be! They want me to be angry with him for going away to find some kind of peace after his death! I can't! His 'voice' went high and hysterical in it's understanding of the werewolf's feelings and situation. The pressure to simply get over his godfather's death was suffocating him, just as he knew that it had suffocated Moony.

Because there's nothing more you want than to do the same.

I just…I just want to rest. I'm tired…I'm so tired… His mental voice sobbed weakly and went completely limp in the cool arms that held him.

Tell me. What would you do for rest?

What do you mean? He asked softly, rubbing his cheek against a cool 'arm', the silk of the material of the darkness soothing against his heated skin.

Would you listen to your enemy? Would you be willing to agree to a truce and just listen?

Truce? Yeah, that'd happen.

He wouldn't hurt you…you couldn't hurt him. Each listening to the other. There are ways to make magically certain that both sides uphold the truce. Perhaps your enemy isn't quite your enemy. Maybe there, you'll find your rest.

This was insane, he decided as a slightly hysterical chortle escaped him. He was sitting in his mind, talking to the darkness there, his psyche covered in blood and burns and agony. Talking to the darkness that he knew, he just knew was Voldemort.

And he didn't bloody fucking care. He simply didn't care anymore.

What if I asked him to kill me? In the air, his weary question echoed harshly in it's simplicity. The need to simply give all was evident.

There was utter silence in the darkness, but they gripped him tightly, as if afraid. Why would it – he – be afraid of his question?

I would never kill you, Harry…even if you asked me to. And I'm not going to now. Rest...and help will come.
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Forgotten Lullaby