Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Prick Thee to Thy Bone	By : Snowway32 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Voldemort Views: 4185 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, this is merely a work of fiction created for my own amusement. I gain no money from it.

Chapter List
- 1-Prologue: To You, Polaris
- 2-Chapter 1: Blistering Eclipse
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- 2
It feels like forever since I have done this, I think I'm almost forgotten. Haha, I have returned from my three year sabbatical! Well, sort of. Anyways, I'm not going to prattle too much here, Honeys. I've decided to come back to my fanfiction pieces and write my most beloved stories. We'll start over on a new fandom as well.
This story is a little dark, so please heed the warnings below:
Pairing: Lord Voldemort x Harry Potter x Tom Marvolo Riddle [Diadem!Horcrux]
Yes, this is a threesome pairing, though it also a slow building fic as Harry is still in his first year. I'm writing him with his own twisted psyche. This won't be a story focused only revenge. Sorry if that is what you are looking for. I'm more of an author that focuses on the psychological aspect of my characters than the dialog. I also adore playing with the twisted minds.
Anyways, please note the warnings: M/M/M Slash pairing, Lemon Content in the future, Violence, Sadism [not sure if it'll be pared with Masochism either], Possessive!Voldemort, Slytherin!Harry, Horcrux Materialization and light Elements of Shota (though, any true sexual situations will only be after Harry is at least 15 – 16 ).
§...§ [Denotes the use of Parseltongue]
So, I think I'll leave this for now. Please do not read if any of the tags upset you. I have already placed the warning before, thus you are reading at your own risk.
Other than that; please enjoy:
Prologue: To You, Polaris…
Black. Cold. Ice. Fevered Darkness. Sensation was seemingly impossible when shrouded in the existence of a Horcrux. Completely encompassing the shard of Tom Marvolo Riddle's soul captured at the youthful age of twenty-seven; time had long since ceased moving. He was always drifting listlessly in a void of nothingness, a semi-conscious state precariously balanced on the edge of sensationless thoughts.
How long had he been here? How many nights, months, years had he spent curled contentedly within the bejewelled vessel anchoring his soul? How many decades had it been since a single placating touch had whispered sweetly across his flesh?
The shard could not remember.
No. It was useless to remember.
A Horcrux did not need to feel, nor taste or think for itself. It was merely a stopper in death…a bridge to immortality.
Alas, every so often, he would stir. Grimacing in distaste at the greedy little fingertips that soiled his vessel's pristine surface, intense blue sapphires glinted ominously black in the light of several flickering torches. The highly polished silver, imbued with coils of dark magic; shimmered wickedly enough to enrapture curious little minds all too eager to part with portions of their magic. Yet, they never lingered long enough to rouse him. Always, always, retreating fearfully from the overwhelming touch of his twisted soul.
That was until now.
He felt it at first, as if time had suddenly jolted back into being. Soft, gentle and small fingers were trailing curious patterns over coiled silver. A heady, burning, awareness flowing ceaselessly in the wake of tentative caresses as it resonated deeply within the very constructs of the ancient diadem.
It was short but blindingly intense. A few milliseconds of mutually touching souls, dark magic and innocent intent. Spiralling together in a much deeper, sensual, parody of a kiss; a steady but live heartbeat was set aflutter in tandem to the shard's own racing pulse. Allowing for the slumbering entity to slowly uncurl itself from the restrictive confines of its vessel, a freezing whisper of white frost soon followed the stone floor.
Experiencing an oddly freeing sensation, the Horcrux unconsciously drew its strength from the diadem's core, twisting his mind into full wakefulness and blindly reaching out to the one rousing him from decades of delirious sleep. It was both gentle, cold and jarringly painful. Yet, at the same time, it was warm and blissfully welcome. Effortlessly slicing through years and years of immense self-control and dark loneliness, this sweet experience seemed to forge an unbreakable kinship.
§Yesssss….ssssweet….sssssoul…..curioussss….little….ssssssoul….§ The shard cooed quietly, his newly awakened consciousness shuddering in delight at the insatiable yearning that was stirred within him. He wanted to claim this child, to possess it and make it his. He wanted it. No, he needed it. He needed this soothing gentleness… To break it… Mould it… Love it… Shatter it… To twine it and watch as they spiralled in a blasphemous dance where no one could tell where he began and the other ended.
Yessss, this soul; his littlesoul that was so much younger in innocence than any first-year, pressing against him with such cloying need. He could tell the child was barely over eleven, perhaps his innocence made him even younger than that. He was untouched by humanity's darkness and greed, not a single indication of selfish hedonism children often displayed. Yet, deep down, the boy vibrated with a magnificent hatred for the world. There was a desperate need to belong so dark that bitter sorrow already curled a possessive claw into a black little heart.
It was like looking into a mirror of Tom Marvolo Riddle's soul at age six, a perfect duplicate of the vulnerable helplessness that had nearly broken him in the orphanage. Echoing the desperation that gave rise to his inherent sadism, he had risen above the ashes of his ruination as the vengeful snake he was today. Even now, he still remorselessly sought to poison all those daring enough to feast upon the carcass of his dereliction.
§So precioussss…§ He crooned; allowing bloodied, crimson eyes, to flutter open for the first time in forty-or-so some years. Materialising in the form of a full coloured spectre on a bed of snowy white frost, the Room of Hidden Things darkened instinctively at his presence as he stood at an imposing hundred-and-eighty-three centimeter frame behind an equally small child.
The boy looked no more than eight, even when his robes denoted him as an undeniable first year. Yet, he never once seemed to shy away from the spectre's dark presence behind him. He was utterly entranced by the shimmering diadem in his hands, almost as if he himself had just discovered the entire world.
Silently, soothingly, they felt it. It was a touching of two complimentary personalities, a Polaris of intimacies and open acceptance.
The boy smiled joyously for the first time in many years.
With hair as black as midnight, impish curls fell haphazardly across a pale, lightning marred, forehead as stray strands feathered playfully across rounded cheeks. Stubbornly yet insistently defying the laws of gravity, the dark locks carefully framed round rimmed spectacles and shielded the child's vulnerability from the world.
§Beautiful…§ Tom Riddle hissed appreciatively, eagerly tasting the hint of despair that lingered upon his tongue. He could tell the boy suffered, probably viciously at the hands of those meant to protect him. It was truly idiotic, he thought. How could anyone not see the glimmering gem that was before them? No matter, a sly smirk curled the corner of pale lips as it ignited an insatiable avarice in the depths of crimson orbs.
§Sssuch a rarity, sssweet child. Where did you come from?§ The words slipped from his lips in an awed prayer. He was not expecting his question would be answered, however. He was the only one capable of understanding parseltongue, after all. Yet, he still hoped the unknown tongue would coax the little one into turning around to face him.
§I-I'm sssory, I —.§ Frozen in absolute surprise when a small hundred-and-thirty-eight centimetre frame whirled around to stare up at him with awe, a hiss of pure delight rolled eagerly from within as glowing Avada Kedavra green orbs locked curiously with crimson red. They were utterly breathtaking, he mused. Reflecting the perfect match to his favourite curse. The dark entity nearly stumbled in shock, however, when a breathy whisper of parseltongue drifted between lush, petal, pink lips.
§I didn't mean to disssturb you, sssir. I-I jusssst wanted to find a place to hide. And…and then I found thisss pretty crown. I—.§
§Diadem, child.§ He corrected automatically. Gracefully falling to his knee in front of his new found treasure; long, spidery, fingertips reached out to brush across a sweetly flushed cheek. He was gazing deeply into the depths of green eyes, swiftly analysing and cataloguing the multitude of emotions reflected there. He could not help but smile at the inherent warmth swiftly speeding towards him.
He did not care if he was carving icy fear into the child's heated core, or startling him with such a cold touch. In fact, he revelled in the slight shivers he could produce. He had found exactly what he had been looking for, a companion to stand by his side.
§Husssh, young one. I ssshall never harm you.§ He vowed.
Waiting patiently for distressed breaths to ease under his caress, he briefly pondered the beauty of the complex puzzle before him. The spectre was not the main soul, merely a piece of the whole. Yet, he had been stirred to life so vividly that his consciousness was completely clear. Just what sort of power did this young one possess?
§Hmm…tell me. What'sss your name, little one?§
§H-H-Ha-Harry Potter§ The nervous stutter was not missed by the older wizard, an amused glint of teeth glimmering beneath the transparency of his form as he ignored the snowy surface he stood upon. It wasn't cold, yet he knew his presence must be somewhat unsettling for a first year. Elegantly folding long legs beneath him to lower his imposing height, he beckoned the child to join him without hesitation.
§I sssee. Hello, Harry Potter.§
§You may call me Marvolo. Tell me, just how did you end up in the Room of Hidden Things?§ And just like that, Harry seated himself on a surprisingly soft surface as he unconsciously leaned into the warm familiarity the spectre gave off. Absently curling his arms around raised knees, he smiled happily as he remained unafraid of the misty, ghost-like, entity. He felt warm, dark and safe instead…almost as if the older wizard would forever protect him.
Shivering softly as he was forced to tell of the furious and cruel chase his housemates had lead him on, curious green eyes lingered interestedly on several towering pillars that littered the cathedral-like room. Small, first year, fingers were trailing absently over the ancient headdress Marvolo called a diadem. His attention completely captivated by the soft, gentle pulses that still flickered periodically beneath his fingertips.
Completely unaware of the shivers his unintentional touches provoked, vivid crimson eyes stared intently at the small form sitting so openly beside him. The very air seemed to roil with rising electricity, a dark and heady protective magic surging forth from within the Horcrux as it shamelessly reached out to claim the sweet innocence coiled so sinfully around him.
There was a brief but notable warmth skittering across the child's skin, whispering of an ancient binding ritual of souls strong enough to suffocate any and all protests from the light-oriented objects around them. Marvolo had already decided Harry Potter was his. He absolutely refused to give him up, not even in a quest to gain a body or more freedom for himself.
Yes, he had many other plans for this child.
A sinister smile bloomed openly across hauntingly beautiful features; prompting long, spidery fingers to card tenderly through temptingly soft, messy, black curls. This child would be no one but his.
...
Harry James Potter always knew he was different, had always known. Even in the beautiful and eccentric world of witchcraft and wizardry he recently discovered, there was something fundamentally wrong with his psychological makeup. No matter how many times he had been dragged off to church by his relatives to cleanse his 'soul' of the devil or preached to by vile, disgusting, priests that he was looming on the precipice of a fire and brimstone hell. He simply did not know how to be 'normal'.
Whether it was because he yearned to have someone understand him or because he was simply a demon in the flesh of a human, fate had already branded him cruel enough so no form of child-like wonder ever touched his heart. Thus, he had grown up in a household where he was systematically belittled, cast aside and punished to live in dark, dank, cupboard under the stairs. No one had ever had the decency to instill within him any form of psychological empathy, sympathy or how to emulate the core emotions of humanity.
With the Dursley's so desperate to stamp out his magic at a young age, they had unwittingly nurtured an emotionally apathetic child that took great pleasure in tearing the wings from butterflies and mounting them on the walls of his cupboard. Not to mention, gleefully tormenting his spoiled, pig of a cousin with vivid night terrors when he tried to bully him.
It had been during the long, tedious, hours trapped in his cupboard that Harry had first come to know the soothing warmth thrumming magnetically beneath his skin. His power had become his only escape during those times, a small beacon of hope in the eternal darkness. No one was yet to know he had been able to actively mould his magic to his will since he was seven. They could never prove it was him that simultaneously broke the bones of his bullies at school or conjured the violent poltergeist that was bound to the Dursley's home for an entire month after his eleventh birthday.
He still smiled at the memory of his aunt's hysterical screams the morning it tried to drown her in the bathtub. Even his uncle had become too fearful to approach his cupboard since then. Why they ever thought they had the right to punish him for accepting his rightful attendance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Harry would never understand.
Their minds were idiotically stupid. He had already shown them, brutally, several times that he would never be the obedient little slave they thought to mould throughout his childhood. It only served them right that they were now afraid of him, especially after he had learnt the truth. Those disgusting maggots had concealed his rightful heritage from him out of spite, a slight he would never, ever, forgive. His suffering would be repaid in full, one day.
Yet, even here at Hogwarts, Harry learnt he was not normal. No one else seemed to be able to control their magic without a wand like he could, nor did they understand how he never reacted when his parents' deaths were brought up as callous taunts. He felt absolutely no attachment when he thought of them, perhaps there was a small twinge of curiosity blooming in him at what it would have been like to grow up in a 'normal' wizarding family. Yet, it wasn't the emotion he was supposed to have been feeling.
The sorting hat had told him quite conspiratorially: 'You have a truly curious and extraordinary mind, Mr Potter. Even those desperate to influence the power you will one day wield; you have the capacity to stand by your ideals without compromise. I can already tell your path to greatness.'
'There was one other just like you sorted beneath my brim many decades ago. A complex child with a view on the world very similar to yours. So better be — SLYTHERIN.'
That was the day Harry Potter learned Slytherins were the supposed harbingers of evil. They were snakes in the grass, seen as a threat to the rest of humanity. Yet, why he was now ostracized by the self-righteous pricks of Gryffindor, instinctively feared by Hufflepuffs or even snubbed by the supposedly superior Raveclaws; Harry had no idea.
This was supposed to be a school of magic, a place of learning. Reality was never written in black and white. There was no such thing as good and evil or right and wrong, it was all subjective to the individual. So why this incessant need for group mentality? What was it that drove them to act like shameless cockroaches swarming with no thought? Even his own house, supposedly superior in intellect and ambition, was no different.
The Ancient and Noble House of Salazar Slytherin was far too preoccupied by a single event that happened a decade ago to this day. What did it mean that he supposedly vanquished the Dark Lord with a rebounding Killing Curse? It seemed terribly stupid to him, he was more interested in the magic it took kill an individual with one spell. Just how did it work? Did it hurt the person on the receiving end or was it a quick and painless death?
If it was, he was suitably satisfied his parents had not suffered.
'It's too complicated to understand,' Harry bemoaned irritably, his movements fluid and graceful as he slipped away from the Room of Hidden Things. The last few hours he spent in the company of Marvolo, were undoubtedly the best of his school year so far. The older man came to mean a great deal to Harry in a surprisingly short amount of time, especially since he never really trusted anyone before.
It was like the spectre truly understood Harry, not the person the world wanted him to be or the supposed hero. But the small, vindictive, child that liked pulling the wings off butterflies and watching them squirm as learned everything he could about curious curses and jinxes only explored in sixth year textbooks.
With passing time however, it was getting closer and closer to the end of the Halloween Feast. Harry had been very reluctant to leave his new friend behind. When he told Marvolo he didn't want to go, the red eyed wizard had merely smiled at him before pointing towards a beautiful onyx jewellery box settled on the table before them.
'Pick it up, Harry.' Carved from a wood that bordered just shy of black, the prominent rectangular lid moved and swirled together in the shape of two beautiful serpents as they coiled together around a large black opal. The warded lock; in the shape of a cobra head, had hissed at him curiously before abruptly sprouting fangs and sinking into his flesh.
'Place the diadem inside, Harry.' Marvolo urged as the lock retracted and clicked open with a creak. Revealing an opulent black, velvet, surface within. 'It acts as an anchor for my soul. If you always keep my vessel with you, I can protect and stay by your side.'
'You will never have to be alone again.' With the box warded against thievery and turned partially invisible by enchantments, Marvolo had explained that the blood he offered the guardian ward acted as a binding tether to his magical signature. Now, only he or Marvolo himself would be able to open it.
After hearing that no one would be able to take his friend away from him, it was an exuberant eleven-year-old that raced all too excitedly through the halls of Hogwarts. Clutched protectively against his chest was a warm jewellery box as he practically skipped his way to the dungeons.
With a very special wand clutched in his right hand for protection; vibrant green eyes flicked restlessly through the torch lit passageways as he traipsed the twisted labyrinth hidden beneath the school. The castle was strangely empty for being so close to curfew, he thought. Even though he was undeterred, he still slipped inside the common room quiet as a snake.
How odd, though. The remaining students seemed to be having another feast in the common room. Several of the upper years were glaring at him as he walked past, no doubt hating the fact that he managed to hide himself away from their attempts to curse him. But he mostly ignored their unwanted scrutiny, deeming them far too beneath his notice. He only briefly listened to the furious whispers echoing through the room, something concerning a troll in the first floor girl's bathroom that some Gryffindors tried but failed to subdue.
He snickered quietly, cold fingertips curling more securely around the warmth of his friend's hidden vessel as he felt Marvolo's distinctive magical aura hum in agreement with him. With nothing more to say to his housemates, Harry quietly walked towards the dorm room he shared with Blaise Zabini as he settled himself on his bed.
Absently closing the dark, emerald green, hangings around him; the large four-poster bed dipped softly beneath him as a well-practiced movement placed his glasses on the bedside table next to him. Slipping exhaustedly beneath the warm sheets, the small first-year settled his beloved jewellery box next to him on the pillow as he decided being different wasn't so bad.
If he had been normal, he would never have met Marvolo. Nor would he ever have learnt what it felt like to be content in the presence of another.
'Good night, Marvolo.' He whispered quietly. Giggling softly in delight when an answering 'Sweet dreams, Little Serpent' echoed through his mind.
Thank you so much for reading, please leave me a review or comment of what you thought. I would really appreciate it. Other than that, I'll probably be updating sometime soon.
Yours Always
Chocolate Carnival
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Prick Thee to Thy Bone