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Transcendence	By : ChapterEight Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 11845 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling or any of her licensees, so I do not own Harry Potter or make any money off of this story.

Chapter List
- 13
- 14
- 15
Author's Notes: I’m sorry that this took so long, especially because previously you’d all been used to an update every week or so. I have a huge licensing exam coming up at the end of the month, and after that I will have two months or so completely free, and I plan to finish writing most of this story. That way, even when I officially start work near the beginning of October, I will hopefully have enough of this written that I can keep posting regularly until it’s done.

“This is it?” Tom eyed the dim row house and didn’t bother to mask the disdain in his voice. Just based on Walburga Black’s attitude when he’d known the older girl at Hogwarts, he had supposed her to live in a grand mansion with golden columns and gilded statues.
Narcissa’s pale cheeks flushed a bit in indignation and embarrassment. She opened her mouth as if to respond, but as soon as she met Tom’s gaze she snapped her lips closed and looked down again. Although she still showed occasional sparks of defiance, her visit to Tom’s office seemed to have scared some actual sense into her. She had only recently been able to control the lingering tremors from his prolonged use of the Cruciatus Curse, and apparently the memory of it was enough to make her think twice about provoking him further.
He was happy to follow her up the front steps in silence. Tom had never understood the need most people seemed to have to fill a silence—he was as annoyed now by purposeless talking as he had been by the chatter of the other children at the orphanage when he was boy. And he had no desire at all to talk to Narcissa Malfoy about anything. He wouldn’t have even brought her along at all, if she hadn’t assured him that only a Black could enter the house.
Tom was sure that he could have broken into the house himself, eventually, but there was no reason to put in the time and effort necessary to break ancient wards when he had a Black available, even one he could hardly stand to be around.
Other than the thick cloud of dust that enveloped them when they stepped into the narrow entrance hall, which sent them both into an undignified coughing fit, and a hideous umbrella stand that appeared to have been made from a troll’s lower leg, there was nothing of particular note on the ground floor besides a hideous portrait of an older woman. Tom barely credited it as what the previously-beautiful Walburga Black might have looked like if the intervening fifty years since their shared youth hadn’t been kind to her at all.
“WHO’S THERE?” shrieked the painted woman, her eyes rolling in her head as if she might be able to see sideways beyond the borders of her frame.
The caterwauling stopped almost immediately when Narcissa stepped into the portrait’s line of sight. “Hello, Aunt Walburga.”
“Cissy,” replied the portrait, clearly warring with itself between relief and annoyance, “how long has it been since you visited me?”
“I’m sorry, Aunt Walbur—” began her niece, but Tom did not have the patience for any such nonsense.
“It’s a portrait, not your aunt,” he interrupted harshly as he mounted the last few stairs himself. Narcissa moved out of his way immediately, and the woman in the frame looked as if she was ready to begin shrieking again until she recognized him suddenly and froze with her mouth half opened and a look of horror in her painted black eyes.
“Riddle?” she finally asked.
Tom stared back impassively, as he had resigned himself to people who used to know him reacting in exactly that way. “Do you know anything about a locket your traitor son stole from me?”
Walburga’s portrait reared backwards, as far away from him as her painted surroundings would allow her to go, but she didn’t answer. Tom could feel a sharp tingling thrumming through his being and knew that a fellow Horcrux was close by, and it was making him even more impatient than usual. He raised his wand up to the canvas, not quite touching, and cast a spell to keep the woman from leaving the frame. Of course he didn’t need to use his wand for such things, but he had found that most magical people were so inept at wandless magic that only the actual sight of a wand could properly frighten them.
Managing to keep his outward veneer of calm, he asked again, “What do you know?”
“It was you! You—you are Him!” she cried instead. “You killed my Regulus! YOU KILLED MY SON!”
The tip of his wand sizzled with magic, and the oil paint mere centimeters from Walburga Black’s face began to melt. She shrieked, more in terror than in rage, when she realized that she couldn’t leave the portrait and escape the flames.
“What. Do. You. Know?” he repeated, letting his irritation show through and barking every word. Salazar, how he hated repeating himself!
She cowered against her frame as her portrait disintegrated, eyes rolling in fear as canvas began to burn right next to her.
“KREACHER!” she finally yelled out, and for a moment Tom thought that she was calling him a creature and was disappointed at her lack of inventiveness. Then a house-elf Apparated into existence next to him and, after taking in the sight of Tom attacking the portrait, started screeching too, increasing the volume in the cramped stairwell by double at least as Walburga shouted over him, “KREACHER KNOWS SOMETHING! I KNOW HE DOES!”
Tom tilted his head to consider the distraught house-elf and raised his wand just out of reach of the canvas, and Walburga sagged in relief against the edge of her portrait. The house-elf’s bloodshot eyes looked between the portrait and Tom in absolute terror, finally focusing in on Tom’s blood-red eyes and the magical energy barely controlled beneath his false skin.
“Oh, no, no, no, no,” it cried pitifully, collapsing to its knees on a rickety step. “It’s Him! Oh, poor Master Regulus!”
“What about Regulus?” demanded Tom in a high voice, turning his full attention and his wand on the pathetic little creature. “What do you know?”
The elf’s ears flattened back against its head in agitation, little tufts of white hair sticking up at odd angles at the movement. “Kreacher knows nothing!”
“He does!” protested Walburga, eyes still darting warily between the scorched and melted parts of her portrait and the tip of Tom’s wand. “He would never tell me what secret my son swore him to keep, but I knew! A mother knows!”
Kreacher keened in pain and bent over so low that his nose pressed into the moldy carpet. “Kreacher knows nothing!”
“We don’t have any authority to force it out of him,” reminded Narcissa, her lips pressed together in extreme disapproval at Tom’s actions. “My cousin Sirius is his rightful owner.”
Oh, for Salazar’s sake, thought Tom, and he could barely suppress the desire to roll his eyes heavenward. Then, without warning, he struck.
He’d never been inside a house-elf’s mind before, and he definitely did not want to repeat the experience if he could help it. It resembled the mind of somebody who had been placed under the Imperius Curse, except that instead of the compulsion of the curse creating a sort of fog over the true mind, the house-elf’s compulsion was a part of its mind, weaved inextricably in amongst its thoughts and synapses. Still, there was nothing stopping Tom from accessing what he wanted to see, even if it was clear from the inky Dark magic suffusing the memories that the house-elf was under orders not to willingly reveal them.
A handsome face smiling down at him, full of pride… The paper-thin skin covering Lord Voldemort’s skull stretching grotesquely as he grinned, forcing another mouthful of potion down Tom’s throat… Burning! Oh, the horrible, excruciating burning that worked its way down his esophagus and to the tips of his fingers and toes… Regulus Black’s handsome face sick with panic and regret… Tom’s crippling grief as he watched his poor young master struggle against dead arms, knowing there was nothing he could do as Regulus disappeared beneath the opaque black surface of the lake… Home. He had to go home… Master Orion wasting away from grief, and his dear mistress’s tears as she too succumbed… A heavy gold locket that oozed the same terrible magic that had stolen Master Regulus’s life…
Tom staggered down a step as he wrenched himself out of the filthy mess of the house-elf’s mind. He felt the fear and pain and grief lingering in his own body like an inky black tar he couldn’t wash off his skin. It was absolutely disgusting. He hadn’t even realized that he’d raised his wand until the brilliant flash of green light lit up the dark stairwell and the house-elf crumpled at his feet and slid down a few steps until coming to rest just underneath its mistress’s portrait.
Narcissa and Walburga both looked at him in censure and not a little surprise. In Narcissa’s case, his still-open mind easily picked up that her surprise was not due to his having killed the despicable thing but rather was because he’d cast the Killing Curse completely nonverbally. He obviously couldn’t read a portrait’s mind, but from the pinched looked on Walburga’s painted face he assumed that she was just upset he’d killed her only constant companion.
He dismissed both women’s feelings as utterly unimportant and began to climb the stairs as soon as he’d regained his equilibrium. Grimmauld Place was so diffuse with Dark magic that it had seeped into the very structure of the walls themselves. Even with his innate connection to the other Horcrux, he would have had a hard time pinpointing its location in such a mess, and he was happy to confirm that, impatient or not, his decision to invade the house-elf’s mind had been the right one. He knew just which drawer in which cabinet in the first-floor drawing room to look in for his locket—well, Voldemort’s locket, as he’d stolen it after Tom had been made, but it was Tom’s locket now.
It was an ugly thing, truly, all bulk and no elegance at all. But he could feel his own familiar essence combined with his own Dark magic seeping into every molecule of gold, and he felt somehow more whole when he put the locket around his neck. The ring went a bit insane when he did it, and he thought that the Horcrux in the graveyard was probably throwing a tantrum and destroying everything around him (never mind that it didn’t stay destroyed so there was no point). He would have to deal with that later.
Grimmauld Place proved to be full of other interesting Dark artifacts as well, and Tom was perfectly happen to entertain the thought of them now that he had another precious piece of his soul secured on his person. He selected a few of the most interesting-looking texts that he knew the Malfoy library didn’t contain and stowed a couple of particularly rare items in his robes under the disapproving eye of Narcissa Malfoy, but in truth he was far too eager to interact with the locket to begin any sort of meticulous investigation into the ancient houses’s nooks and crannies, so they returned to Malfoy Manor soon after recovering his Horcrux.
He didn’t bother explaining himself to Narcissa or Lucius, who had been anxiously waiting for them to return with a stack of papers obviously meant for Tom’s eyes, before making his way to his bedroom. Lord Voldemort did not need to explain himself to anybody, and whatever Lucius needed to bring to his attention could wait until after he’d done what he needed to do.
He slid the ring off first, which caused it to erupt into such a riotous display of aggressive energy that Tom’s lips quirked up into a rare genuine smile. It landed with a heavy clink against the fine, polished ebony of his bedside table. Then it was the work of but a moment to allow himself to slide into the dizzying maze of his own mind and emerge through the oppressive darkness into the Horcrux’s.
The first thing he noticed was that he was back in the cave where the locket ought to have been safely hidden. The next thing he noticed was the soul fragment itself staring at him with wide, red eyes in a bone-white face.
“You were made here?” he asked somewhat incredulously.
Because honestly, he had never considered the cave anywhere near that important, and he was having a hard time understanding exactly what had happened in the span of four or five years to make his other self’s way of thinking so drastically different from his own. Was it just due to the creation of Hocruxes in itself?
“Yes,” replied the Horcrux, and it was difficult for Tom to look at it, because its face looked so much like his own and yet not, especially when it moved. “Which one are you?”
“The first,” informed Tom with some inexplicable well of pride and a handsome grin that his nineteen-year-old self had obviously lost.
Then he exerted the will of his own mind over the Horcrux’s, because he did not have time to cultivate a relationship with yet another version of himself and thought it was probably the case that it was weaker than the ring and wouldn’t be able to defend itself against him anyway, and he was almost never mistaken about anything. Not even when he desperately hoped he was wrong.

When he eventually met with Lucius and Mulciber later that evening, Tom had to expend a significant amount of focus in order to care about what they had to say. It wasn’t that the information they had to share was not worth his while—indeed, it was all very good information!—but rather it was that Tom was distracted by the confirmation of what he had long since suspected about his other self’s mental deterioration. He had been able to take everything he’d wanted from the locket Horcrux’s mind without much in the way of meaningful resistance.
“The other governors are embarrassed,” Mulciber was informing him, and, marshalling his unrivaled self-control, he tried to pay better attention. “This whole mess with the half-breed has exposed exactly how little power the governors can actually exert over Hogwarts, and the public is questioning what good they actually do.”
Lucius nodded his assent. “Unfortunately, I think it will do little good to attempt to give the board of governors more control or to oust Dumbledore so long as he is still the presiding member of the Wizengamot and has so much popular sway. In the past, he has been allowed to remain and make his own arguments whenever school board issues have been brought before the Wizengamot, and when Dumbledore speaks he has the ability to make people who had thought something was unreasonable suddenly see things his way.”
Tom didn’t bother to hide his scowl. When Tom had been a student, Headmaster Dippet had been easy enough for him to influence, but Dumbledore had often been able to change his mind again even after Tom had thought he’d gotten what he wanted.
“If you will allow me, My Lord,” continued Lucius, “I would suggest that we need to plan a specific series of attacks to systematically dismantle Dumbledore’s power.”
Tom liked to hear anything that had to do with stripping Dumbledore of power. The stories surrounding the attack on Draco in Care of Magical Creatures had caused an uproar in wizarding Britain, and Tom could feel that they were on the cusp of being able to mold the events into something great. They were so close to Dumbledore’s throat that he could almost taste the old warlock’s blood.
“What would you suggest?” he asked easily, because he was nothing if not perfectly aware of his own strengths and those of his followers. He mostly had strengths and no weaknesses of his own, of course, but even he had to admit that his extraordinary brilliance and power lent themselves better to ruling by force than to ruling by diplomacy, and that his captivating charisma was better suited to drawing followers into his web than to navigating the intricacies of Ministry politics.
On the other hand, Lucius Malfoy was a master at political intrigues and Ministry bureaucracy, which was one reason why Tom hadn’t disposed of him in a fit of rage yet. And undoubtedly it was how he had managed to crawl his way into Voldemort’s good graces in the first place.
“We should push forward the hearing to determine the hippogriff’s fate; it isn’t scheduled until the beginning of next month, but I think I can persuade them to have it as early as next week. Once we have a legal determination that it is in fact danger to people, I will pursue a personal injury lawsuit on behalf of my son against the giant, the headmaster, and Hogwarts itself, because as long as Dumbledore is a party to my lawsuit before the Wizengamot, he will not be allowed to participate in any related matters. It is the only way I can think of to force him not to participate in the Wizengamot hearings."
Muciber sat forward eagerly in his leather chair. “With him out of the way, I’ll persuade the other governors to submit new legislation to the Wizengamot giving the board of governors ultimate power over hiring decisions.”
“I will also convince Fudge to enact some Ministerial decrees on the subject,” added Lucius. “They likely would not be upheld if challenged, but that isn’t the point—the point is just to apply as much pressure as we can from as many different fronts as possible.”
Tom sat back in his enormous chair and allowed his wand, which had been spinning slowly atop one of his fingers, to fall neatly back into his palm.
“You have been discussing this without me,” he declared quietly. Malfoy and Mulciber’s eyes were both riveted to his wand, and he could almost hear their hearts thumping in their chests. “Why are you so worried? Surely you know that Lord Voldemort rewards followers who take the initiative to further his plans. That is why you have been making plans, is it not?”
Mulciber swallowed visibly and nodded his head, but he did not seem able to speak.
Although Tom could see Malfoy’s knuckles whitening as he clutched the arms of his chair, he managed to say in a level tone, “Of course, My Lord. We thought only of how we could use our expertise in this area to achieve your goals.”
“Yes, I thought so,” Tom replied in the same tone. To belay his deliberate calmness, he began to twirl his wand in his customary manner when contemplating whether he ought to use it. “I know that neither of you would conspire to betray me.”
He could read in their thoughts, of course, that neither of them had been acting to betray him when they’d met to discuss how to handle the Dumbledore situation. In fact, they had both been extremely eager to be able to present him with a solid plan. That is why he thought it best to outwardly praise their efforts while still implicitly encouraging their terror at the idea of what he would do to them if he thought they’d been planning anything against him. Or what he would do to them if it turned out that the advice they’d given him went awry.
After he was satisfied with the sick fear permeating both of their minds, Tom broke the deathly silence that had fallen around the room. “Richard, you must find time to thoroughly examine and catalogue the contents of Grimmauld Place. Mrs. Malfoy will have to accompany you, due to the protections on the house, but I trust that you will not allow her to interfere.”
“Yes, My Lord,” assured Mulciber immediately, although he spared a brief sideways glance in Malfoy’s direction, clearly wondering why Narcissa couldn’t handle it herself since he was already so busy with various other tasks.
“Good. Just remember that you must work quickly, in case Sirius Black decides to make use of the place and tightens the protections. Additionally,” he addressed to both of them, “it is time for you to gather any rumors or other information regarding my other self’s location.”
With that, and with a careless flick of his hand, Tom dismissed the other man, who immediately executed a perfect bow and turned to leave the room despite his tremendous curiosity. As soon as he’d gone, Tom turned his attention to Malfoy. He had considered humiliating Lucius in front of his fellow Death Eater, but ultimately he had concluded that Lucius would not be anywhere near as effective at his job if he wasn’t respected by his fellows, and furthermore a humiliated Lucius was likely not a productive Lucius. Just like a frightened Draco was not a productive Draco. These Malfoys really were a horribly sensitive lot.
“Of course I do not trust you to work with your wife, Lucius,” he told the blond man mockingly. “I barely trust that the two of you aren’t conspiring to betray me when you’re alone here at the manor, even when I know that the only thing on your mind is to fuck her.”
Lucius flushed in mingled embarrassment and anger, but he smartly did not protest what Tom had said. Although it clearly cost him dearly, he managed to mutter, “I understand, My Lord.”
“Of course you do,” said Tom, who somehow managed to keep his expression neutral and straight. “Now, I find that I need you to ensure that Draco will be able to leave the school for a visit, and the sooner the better.”
“Draco, My Lord?”
Tom began to idly twirl his wand again. “Yes. The reason for the visit is irrelevant—to go over his testimony with the barrister, for a final check of his wounds by his Healers, or whatever else you come up with, it matters not to me—but I need to see him as soon as possible.”
Lucius, clearly displeased, pursed his lips together and nonetheless attempted a neutral tone. “May I ask why, My Lord? Draco has already missed more school than he ought to have.”
“You may not,” Tom informed him harshly. “Have the visit take place on a weekend for all I care, Lucius, but I will see him.”
The apprehension and discomfort that cloaked Malfoy like a death shroud went a long way towards lightening Tom’s mood. For that reason alone, he had absolutely no intention of informing Lucius that the only reason he needed to see Draco was so that the boy could deliver a package to him. Not that he would have informed Lucius of his purpose in the absence of such entertainment value, given that the last time the older Malfoys had been directly involved in his plan to obtain one of the Horcruxes, it had been spectacularly thwarted.

As Tom removed the locket from around his neck and replaced the ring on his finger, he steeled himself for a confrontation the likes of which he had never experienced before. He could feel the malevolent rage pouring off of the ring as if it were a tangible thing in his bedroom with him, and he knew that it did not bode well for his meeting with the Horcrux.
Indeed, almost as soon as his bare feet came into contact with the long, cool grass of the Little Hangleton graveyard, the Horcrux dug his fingers into Tom’s upper arms with such force that he was sure he would have been severely bruised if it had happened outside of their minds. And if his body were more than a magical construction for no other purpose than to house his soul.
“Did you enjoy your meeting without me?” demanded the Horcrux harshly. “I suppose he’s more to your liking, since he knows more about Lord Voldemort’s plans than I do.”
Tom reached up and began to straighten the Horcrux’s clothes as if nothing at all were the matter.
“The locket?” he asked nonchalantly. “Of course not. He treated me like a child.”
That seemed to stymie the Horcrux, and he exhaled a surprised breath, although he didn’t release his death grip on Tom’s arms.
Tom allowed an exasperated expression to cross briefly over his face. “I just thought it would be better if he didn’t suddenly have two of us interrogating him. Honestly, stop being so paranoid.”
“Paranoid?” echoed the Horcrux, clearly offended. He took a step closer until their noses were a hairsbreadth from pressing together. “You. Are. Mine. You are not to be without me again.”
Internally, Tom wanted to shove his other self away and inform him that if anybody owned anyone else, then clearly he owned the Horcrux. After all, he wore the Horcrux like an ornament on his finger, not the other way around. Externally, he kept his expression the same and curled his arms around the Horcrux’s waist, leaning forward the short distance between them to press a somewhat less-than-chaste kiss to the other boy’s pursed lips.
“I don’t want to be without you, Tom.”
It was the first time he had ever called the Horcrux by name, and it apparently had a profound effect. The Horcrux smashed their lips together violently and released his arms only long enough to tangle one hand in Tom's hair and wrap the other around his hips to grab a handful of his ass. Tom allowed a moan to escape from somewhere deep inside him and opened his mouth willingly to the invasion. He had long since known what he would have to do to complete this ruse, and he had suspected even before putting the ring back on his finger that now would be the time it was expected of him. After all, the Horcrux’s anger and feelings of possession could only have led them to one result.
Their clothes were removed in a flurry of ripping fabric and dangerously imprecise Vanishing Charms, and Tom did his best to lose himself in the moment and not let his reluctance become obvious as the Horcrux’s cold hands explored his bare skin. Only after the Horcrux had released Tom’s nipple from between his teeth and forcefully shoved Tom over onto his stomach did Tom allow his mask of lust to slip off his face. He crossed his arms underneath his head and buried himself face down in them so that the Horcrux couldn’t see his expression, but he allowed his body to be manipulated further and did his best to stay relaxed and seemingly willing.
He didn’t flinch at the whisper of magic against that one part of his body that had never been touched. Not even when the Horcrux’s icy fingers pressed inside of him more roughly than he would have liked—if he’d admitted to any preference at all regarding such matters—did he allow himself to tense or struggle against the intrusion. He had long since prepared himself mentally, and what good was his body if not to submit to his own ironclad will?
If his will was that he submit his body physically to the Horcrux, well then, he would just have to hold it together until a more appropriate time to rebel.
It felt strange to have cold, long fingers forced inside of him, although the lubrication spell the Horcrux had been kind enough to provide eased the way. It couldn't protect him from the uncomfortable pain when the Horcrux added another finger and spread them apart, forcing Tom's tight muscles to stretch and give way.
"You heal almost as soon as I can stretch your ass open," informed the Horcrux, his dirty words matched only by his filthy tone. "I'm sure this will hurt you more than I'd thought, but I can't say I'm not glad--you'll have the tightest hole I've ever fucked."
He punctuated his words with a rough jab of all three fingers inside at once, and they made a horrible squelching noise as he removed them and thrust them inside again. Tom couldn't blame him for being aroused by the whole thing, as he had found such things incredibly arousing when he had taken Rastaban Lestrange and his other male lovers, but he felt very differently about it when he was the one being subjected to such treatment. He could feel the Horcrux's hard cock brushing against the back of one of his thighs, and he had to fight not to tense up.
Then one of the Horcrux’s hands gripped his hip roughly, and the other ghosted up his spine, leaving a trail of lubrication that had been heated by Tom's own body in its wake, until the fingers spread, large and cool, between his shoulder blades and shoved his upper body more firmly into the ground. Despite his valiant efforts, Tom couldn’t stay completely still, and he unfolded one of his arms and reached back blindly until he came into contact with the smooth skin and soft hair of the Horcrux’s thigh. The muscles flexed underneath his fingers as Tom felt the large, blunt head of the Horcrux’s cock get situated tightly against the cleft of his ass, not yet breaching him but pressing firmly against the natural resistance of his body. He breathed in deeply through his nose, concentrating on the sweet scent of earth and magic and death, and the feeling of the long grass tickling his nostrils and upper lip.
But he kept his eyes open. He was not weak, and he would not scrunch his eyes closed like he had seen Rastaban and his few other conquests do.
When the Horcrux finally pushed inside him, the large head popping inside and making them both groan for different reasons, it was without much fuss and with less pain than Tom had anticipated. Of course, he had experienced the excruciating, soul-wrenching, seemingly never-ending pain of being torn away from the rest of his soul and magically encapsulated in a diary, and he had purposefully burned and cut and maimed himself in the name of research, so he really ought not to have been surprised that the pain of having a dick shoved roughly up his ass was nothing he couldn’t handle.
His reluctance was all psychological, nothing more.
“Mmm, yes, it is,” the Horcrux said hoarsely as he sharply adjusted his hips, and Tom realized that he had allowed his mental barriers to fall enough that his surface thoughts were clearly readable. He slammed the gates of his mind as tightly closed as he could manage, glad that he’d realized it before the Horcrux had been able to read anything deeper and much more dangerous.
It was difficult, though, to keep his mind closed when his body burned with the dull ache of his constantly-healing muscles being stretched almost anew every time the Horcrux withdrew and slammed back in violently, or when he began to feel a frisson of pleasure from someplace inside him whenever the Horcrux roughly rubbed against it with every thrust.
Almost unconsciously, he shifted his hips to seek out more of that feeling, and a ragged moan escaped unbidden from his throat when on the next inward thrust the Horcrux seemed to connect with some magical center of pleasure that he’d never quite believed existed even when Rastaban had begged him to fuck that one spot harder, faster, more please.
The Horcrux laughed, and without being able to see his expression, Tom couldn’t tell if it was more out of delight or cruelty.
“Shut up!” demanded Tom, and the Horcrux laughed again.
But Tom didn’t have the mental wherewithal to protest again as the Horcrux let his magic radiate off of his body, and the exquisite mixture of pain and pleasure was too much for Tom to handle. Merlin, the magic… It felt like the addictive bliss he had experienced when Voldemort’s curse on the ring had interacted with his own magic, except that now the magic was physically inside of him and battering against every shred of resistance he had as the Horcrux rhythmically pounded away at his tender body.
“Yes, yesssss…” he hissed, slipping into Parseltongue quite without his own say so.
He released his own magic, partly because he wanted to and partly because he couldn’t hold it in anymore, and felt the crackle of it over his body like electricity. The Horcrux nearly screamed and came to a halt halfway inside of Tom, his entire body shivering and sparking with magic as he collapsed against Tom’s back. Tom felt the heavy cock inside of him twitch and the tight muscles of the Horcrux's thigh contract and release in an uncontrollable spasm.
Tom hissed again and pressed back against the Horcrux until the globes of his ass were pressed tightly against the Horcrux's sharp hip bones and he'd taken as much of the Horcrux's dick inside of himself as possible. Merlin, the magic felt amazing that deep in his body, and he couldn't even bring himself to feel ashamed of the way he was rutting when it felt so good. Using his hand, still wrapped around the Horcrux’s thigh, he tried to spur him on.
“Don’t stop, you idiot!”
The Horcrux groaned again and choked out, also in Parseltongue, “I won’t.”
Tom would have had something more to say, except that their mutual moans and sighs as their magic mingled over and through them was more than enough to express how he thought it felt. It hurt, but in such an exquisite way, like shocks of magical electricity stimulating his body from both the outside and within, and he couldn’t have maintained control now any more than he’d been able to maintain control when he had been writhing on the floor of the library in Malfoy Manor. The Horcrux was seemingly experiencing the same thing, because his formerly controlled movements, calculated to hurt and humiliate and possess Tom, were now erratic and calculated to do nothing more than ensure his own pleasure. Which fortunately also insured Tom’s, so he wasn’t complaining, even though under any other circumstances he probably would have felt humiliated by the way the Horcrux’s cold, clammy skin slid erotically against his own slick, hot back and the Horcrux’s balls slapped noisily against his own every time he slammed harshly inside.
In the part of his mind that could still process anything beyond their mingled pleasure and pain, he was actually horrified by the freezing cold spurt of cum deep inside of him and the Horcrux’s groan of possessive satisfaction against his ear. But then the Horcrux gripped Tom’s cock roughly with magic-sparked fingers, and he was able to fully lose himself in the combination of the cool touch and powerful energy. He allowed himself to find his own release, completely losing any semblance of control in the overload of sensations his entire body was experiencing.
He was never able to come back down to earth, as it were, before his mind was viciously invaded and he felt, for the second time in his life, the beginnings of his soul being torn away from his body.

Author's Notes: Uh oh.
As always, I appreciate reviews. They make me feel guilty that I can't update with a new chapter every day, but they also make me write more of this story when I really don't have the time.
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Transcendence