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A Wholeness of His Own	By : Camorgan Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Voldemort Views: 6591 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 4
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, and I do not make profit from this work.

Chapter List
- 1-A Wholeness of His Own
- 2-Connection
- 1
- 2
A Wholeness of His Own

Rating: M/Explicit

Pairing: Harry Potter and Voldemort/ Tom Riddle Jr.

Warnings: Voldemort sympathy, language, explicit slash, large age gap, brief romance with a snaky Voldemort (until his body is restored to its true form).

Summary: At the end of Voldemort's life, his soul split and mangled, living his life in the cell that Grindelwald died in, Harry returns to find closure at last and confront the man that had taken so much of his life away. He expects a remorseless monster, no different than before, but finds instead a broken, shattered man, lost to hallucinations and violent seizures, living on a thin thread of life. Harry is clutched by pity and frees Voldemort, bringing him to his home to nurse to heath. Voldemort and Harry begin a journey to put the broken pieces of Voldemort's soul back together. Voldemort finds that he is more human than he thought, and perhaps love really is the greatest power of all.

A/N: So, I know I already have a Harry/Tom story, but this idea is so drastically different, and it's been tugging at my fingers, so here you go.

"You sure you wanna do this, mate? Just 'cause he's locked up don't mean he ain't dangerous." Harry Potter turned to the guard of Nurmengard, his face set in stony determination. He was here for a reason, he wouldn't leave without carrying through with it.

"I'm sure." He replied stiffly, following the guard up an endless set of narrow, dim stairs. It was freezing and damp on the top floor of the prison. He imagined that Azkaban would feel downright inviting compared to the desolation of Nurmengard prison.

Before him stood a thick stone wall, thin cracks showing where the "door" was. There was no way to get in, and no way to get out. You couldn't take any chances with dark lords.

"I'm gonna have to lock you in with 'im." The guard said gloomily, handing Harry a small stone with an indent the size of his thumb. "Rub your thumb along that when you need to come out." Harry nodded once, setting his eyes on the door in resolve. The guard gave him a look mixed between pity and disbelief and stepped forward to the door.

It slid in slightly at his touch, creating a grating noise of stone upon stone as it did so. Taking a deep breath, Harry pushed the door in further, entering the cell. The door swung shut behind him with finality and shadowed the cell in oppressive darkness. The windowless room gave Harry a sense of dread claustrophobia. Anti-magic enchantments snuffed out his magic, leaving Harry with a feeling of helplessness. He was locked in a room with Voldemort, powerless.

Of course, so was he, Harry reasoned, and indeed, Voldemort didn't make for an intimidating presence. In fact, it took Harry a moment to see him. He little more than a skeletal glow in the corner, folded into himself. When his gaze lifted, his eyes were not the vivid scarlet of Harry's nightmares. His stare was pale pink, clouded over and unable to focus clearly on the other man in the room.

Harry waited for the anger, the fear, the overwhelming hatred to bloom in his chest. None of those came. Instead, a sharp shard of pity was being shoved into his heart. This man…this was no Voldemort. This was not the same man who had killed his parents, or who had risen in the graveyard.

This man was broken, and he was dying. Harry struggled with himself, he knew it really was Voldemort before him. This man had ruined his entire life. He had taken so much away from Harry. Why should he care if he was locked up and rotting away?

He didn't know why, but he did. In any case, he knew he couldn't leave him here to die. No one deserved that.

"Potter…" A thin, raspy voice broke Harry of his thoughts. He blinked, Voldemort's emaciated form coming back into focus. His face was contorted with pain, an almost…pleading look in his eyes.

"Kill…me." It was like a dagger to his chest. Harry watched in horror as the man's eyes rolled into the back of head. His body seized, the thin limbs curling even further into themselves as his entire body shook violently. He was gasping for breath, foam dripping down his chin.

Harry was at his side without a second thought, his hands hovering uncertainly over him before finally settling over his shoulders firmly. The expected searing pain did not come, but Harry would consider that later. He turned Voldemort's frighteningly light body on his side, swallowing thickly when red tinted foam dripped to the floor.

He had to get him out of here. With magic repressed in the cell, he had no choice but to lift him into his arms. It was disturbingly easy, his body nothing but bones and skin at this point. He held him tightly, trying to control the shudders that still racked his body. He rubbed his thumb along the stone, pressing up against the wall next to the door.

When the door swung open, he pushed it open further with his foot and swung into the other room, catching the side of the guard's face with his elbow. He went down with a grunt. Harry drew his wand hastily, leveling it at the guard.

"Obliviate."

Apparating with an indisposed Voldemort in his arms was tricky, if only because Harry was frightened he would splinch his head off. He managed to apparate into his home safely, however.

It was uncanny, for lack of a better word, to be tucking Lord Voldemort into his spare bed. He laid his long, spidery limbs out on the bed. He stepped back slightly, and stared. Gods, what was he doing? He had spent most of his life either running away from, or trying to kill, this man. And here he was, committing a felony and tucking the greatest dark lord in history into his bed.

Didn't matter, though. He couldn't just let him die. With this resolve he started to work. He started with cleaning him, replacing his dirty shreds of clothing with soft grey cotton pants and a white T-shirt, which he had to spell to fit his thin, but taller frame. It was utterly strange to see him in muggle clothing, and more so, Harry's muggle clothing.

He left to make him some light soup, and when he returned he was surprised to see his eyes were open and disoriented. They slid over to Harry, and in a disturbingly human gesture, his forehead creased in confusion. Harry pulled a chair over and sat down, offering him a spoonful of soup as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Those pale pink eyes looked down at the soup, and then back up at Harry slowly. Harry set his face and held his gaze, holding out the soup expectantly. He opened his mouth without a word, and so Harry Potter fed the Dark Lord.

"So, let me know if I have this straight. You strolled into Nurmengard to visit the Dark Lord, felt sorry for him, and then kidnapped him so you could nurse him back to health in your own home?" Severus' voice was rising to an incredulous yell now and Harry was briefly impressed with the amount of emotion he was showing. He rubbed the back of neck sheepishly.

"I know it sounds crazy…"

"It sounds crazy, Potter?" Severus' tone was lowered now, and he had a distinctly dangerous set to his face.

"Hey, come off it. Can't you call me Harry?" The potion master looked at him dryly.

"I won't do it." He clipped, standing up with a flourish of robes. Harry jumped after him, catching his wrist.

"Please, look, I know this is insane. And there's a distinct possibility that he will strangle me in my sleep, but…you should see him, Severus. He is not the same man. He's….he's dying and I think that if I help him, I can, I dunno, change him."

"Are you even listening to yourself, Potter? Change him? He might be weak and pathetic now, but I can assure you, he is exactly the same man."

"Maybe he will be at first, but I have…a theory. If you sit down, I'll explain it to you. If you still think I'm crazy you can leave, but let me talk, please." Severus looked as if he was struggling, but he finally sighed and sat down once more.

"Do me a favor and pour me some whiskey at least. The bloody Dark Lord is right next door to me, for Merlin's sake." The younger man obliged, handing Severus his drink and taking a seat near him. Severus took a generous pull and then gestured with his hand.

"Alright, go on then." He said, his tone resigned.

"Okay, well, first off, Voldemort wasn't always like this. Something made him this way. It's not surprising, really, considering his childhood. He was raised in a fithy, horrible muggle orphanage, so he's been set up to hate muggles from the very beginning. I saw Dumbledore's first memory of him, when he was eleven in the orphanage. He wasn't an evil child, he was a hurt child who clung to his magic as a way to escape and cope with the torment he was facing at that orphanage."

"Have you considered the fact that he might be inherently evil? Some people are." Harry shook his head, trailing his fingers of the rim of his whiskey.

"I don't think so. I think it was situational evil. It started in that orphanage, an as he got older, well, he wasn't really evil, Severus. He was misguided, and it all went downhill after he opened the chamber. After that he seemed to…fall apart, loose himself, bit by bit. Dumbledore called them horcruxes. He split his soul up." Harry shuddered lightly.

"And you think you can help him put his soul back together?" Severus asked slowly, training his dark eyes on Harry. The younger man nodded, and then looked conflicted.

"Maybe. I don't know. But I have to try. I feel…connected to him. Like…" Severus' eyes darkened and his mouth pulled tight.

"Like there's a piece of him inside you." He stated. Harry turned his eyes to him slowly.

"Yeah…how…" Severus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers wearily.

"I do wish the headmaster would tell you these things." Harry sat up straighter, a strange mix of alarm and excitement on his face.

"He did mention something like that in my second year. He told me I was a parselmouth because some of Voldemort stayed with me after he tried to kill me as a baby. That isn't…that can't be a…a…"

"Horcrux? It most certainly is. Or I should say, you are." Harry's eyes widened, and he slumped back into his chair.

"Seven, then." He muttered.

"Seven?" Severus asked incredulously. He shook his head.

"No, it's not possible. If he's split his soul into seven parts, there's no going back. You have to feel remorse to get those pieces back and at this point he's barely a human being. He isn't capable of remorse."

"Maybe he used to be…" Harry said softly.

"Maybe, but not now. Have you ever seen any evidence we was capable of feeling anything? That man is a monster."

"He asked me to kill him." Harry stated, looking at Severus. "In the cell, I came inside and he asked me to kill him. Do you think the Voldemort we knew would ever willingly give into death? That cell has changed him, and maybe I can keep changing him."

Severus was silent for a long moment and then he sighed deeply.

"I'll bring the potions in the morning. Keep him fed and warm until then." The younger man looked at him in surprise and sudden, overwhelming gratitude.

"Thank you, Severus." The potion's master glared at him half-heartedly.

"Don't thank me, just make sure you're right." He snapped, disapparating with a swirl of black robes.

He was asleep when Harry came to check on him. He was looking only slightly better than when he had found him. He was still pale as a ghost and painfully thin. His seizures had lessened, but there were times he wasn't quite all there. He had dreadful nightmares, but right now he looked peaceful. And then his eyes fluttered open. He stared at the ceiling as he spoke quietly.

"Are you enjoying this, Potter? Tending the wound before you cruelly rub salt into it?"

"That's not what I'm doing."

"Then what are you doing? Why didn't you just kill me when you had the chance?"

"Because I don't want to kill you. I want to help you." There was a strange, strangled noise and Harry realized it was a bitter sort of laugh.

"This is the greatest irony."

"Yes, it probably is."
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A Wholeness of His Own