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Because We Are Snakes	By : Setsuna24 Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Voldemort Views: 44500 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 19
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any recognizable characters or materials I make no money from this story and its just written for fun

Chapter List
- 19
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Because We Are Snakes – The Secrets We Keep, The Lies We Tell

The week began as weeks tend to do and Monday was dragging itself by like a dying legless hobo, much too slow for Harry’s liking. In all honesty he just wanted Thursday to come along so he could kill the pink bitch. He had decided Thursday was a day far enough away from his last detention with Umbridge that he would not immediately be pointed as the most likely suspect from her disappearance and likely untimely death. In a way, the days going by so slowly, was both a blessing and a curse. A curse because he really, really, wanted it to be the day in which he decided he would kill the High Inquisitor and a blessing because he had still not decided which method of torture and slow painful death he would employ once he had her where he wanted her.

Right now, as he sat in History of Magic, the favored method seemed to be death by evisceration with an olive fork. That’s how slow he wanted her death to be, how long he wanted to stretch her suffering. He had even dug out his collection of mild Healing Draughts and Blood Replenishers, in anticipation of healing her just enough to make her last longer without healing her enough for her to try and escape. Not that she would be able to escape from the place he was going to imprison her at, only he could get in and out of there… well… him and Voldemort, but he doubted the Dark Lord would sweep into Hogwarts like an avenging dark night in shitty armor to save the hateful excuse of a woman.

Leaving History of Magic, he was still so deeply submerged into sweet visions of gory retribution, that a crazy cackle worthy of the Mad Hatter escaped his lips before he could even control it. Hermione, thankfully, had elbowed him on the side hard enough to cut it off before it went on full force.

“Cut it out Harry, your evil madness is showing.” She had said in a hissed whisper… as if his so called ‘evil madness’ was some kind of dirty underwear he had to hide. Then again, it might not be dirty underwear but he did have to hide those particular inclinations and non-sociably acceptable tendencies of his.

Ron, was looking at him in wide-eyed confusion and a bit of fear, and the Slytherins –Malfoy most notably- were suddenly looking very weary of him.

He disguised his little faux pas by saying “Sorry about that. I was thinking about how Malfoy would look if I shaved his head and eyebrows, maybe I’ll get the twins in on this.” loud enough for the retreating crowd of snakes to still hear his explanation. Malfoy, extremely disturbed at the idea, held onto his head and beat a hasty retreat, the Malfoy heir had still not figured out how to react to his new non-understanding of Harry Potter it seemed. Harry was positively amused by it because even though he knew Malfoy really wanted to retaliate in some verbal vitriolic way, he just didn’t know if that would be the best course of action at this point… which it wasn’t.

“Ha! I would pay my last Galleon to see that mate!” Ron was chuckling while enjoying the mental image.

Harry was just thinking that Ron didn’t have a Galleon to pay to begin with so that wasn’t really much encouragement to make that particular thought into a reality. Besides, over half of fifth year Slytherin and most of fifth year Gryffindor had hear him say such a thing out loud, he wasn’t stupid enough to do something where so many witnesses would be able to name him culprit.

Besides, he had a dream of dragging Malfoy up and down the dungeon hallways by his pretty white-blond hair… and having to wait for it to grow back if he ever got pissed off enough to go ahead and punish the boy in such a way, well, that simply wouldn’t do.

No, Malfoy was keeping his hair, in case Harry decided he wanted to drag him up and down the floor by it.

They came to the stairs which would lead them close to the Entrance Hall, he licked his lips as he had begun to do periodically every time he changed locations so he could know who was about and who was coming closer before he even saw them… or they him. It was a survival sort of thing, after all, it was good to know who was in a room before they managed to realize you were entering it. It gave you a chance for strategically retreat if need be and was very helpful if you were trying to avoid people.

That was how he knew Dumbledore would be ten feet directly in front of him once he turned the corner into the Entrance Hall. He was talking to someone, the other person was quiet so he could not figure out who it was from their voice. Harry took a deep breath he covered with a fake need to sneeze and licked his lips again to ascertain who else was in the Hall with Dumbledore.

‘Hmm. Patchouli, some kind of large bird, peppermint? No, that’s not it, some kind of mint though. Darkness and blood. Sex, oh yes, that is definitely the scent of sex… someone got lucky within the last two hours. Let’s see, there is dragon hide and expensive leather, sandalwood, musk, lily of the valley? Strange, I’m sure this is definitely a man so it must be a man who likes to preen a lot; it’s a rather feminine scent even if it’s hidden so deeply under the patchouli.’

All in all, the smell had been somewhat alluring, though not as bad as Snape had been. He was glad he took the time to acclimate to his fully developed scent glands though. Merlin only knew what could happen when he found scents he liked with how twitchy his reactions had been lately. Then again, Dumbledore’s disgusting stench could do a lot to kill a bloke’s desire to pretty much anything.

‘Blegh.’

They finally reached the corner and turned into the Hall, Dumbledore was talking to Mr. Malfoy.

‘Interesting. The things scents do tell… you learn so much about a person.’

Dumbledore looked in their direction as they appeared followed by the other Gryffindor fifth years on their way to Herbology and Harry counted the seconds.

‘Five.’

‘Four.’

‘Three.’

‘Two.’

‘One.’

“Should we take this discussion to my office Mr. Malfoy? I rather think this is not the place.”

‘Like clockwork.’ Harry thought. Dumbledore was getting so predictable in his running away every time Harry entered the room he was at.

He continued his walk to Herbology indulging Ron in meaningless Quidditch talk.

Monday continued to drag on like a horse on its last breath.

Night eventually came and he settled himself on his four porter bed, hoping against hope for a night with no weird dreams for a change.

He really should stop hoping, it never led to anything productive or plausible.

The nightmare began much like it always did. It was exactly the same one he had after the Third Task… or at least, it started that way.

---

Faukes lay knocked out near the corpse of the basilisk after it had been hit by the snakes tail while it thrashed blinded and Harry had a fang protruding from his person. Ginny was still on the cold floor in the process of being drained and Tom stood over her imperiously. Harry knew he had to save Ginny, he simply could not come back without her alive. All his efforts to have a place in the Wizarding World would come crumbling down around him if he didn’t present himself as the savior they all wanted and losing Ginny, his best friend’s little sister, would crush the image in the mind of the Wizarding World at large. He didn’t want that, he knew he was not the perfect golden boy they thought him and in all honesty he would never be, but he did not want a repeat of the way they had treated him all year while thinking him the Heir of Slytherin. He had to be the golden boy, he had to be the Savior he knew he was not but could damn well pretend to be, and to keep his image he had to come back with Ginny… alive.
“I can’t let you kill her.” He had said, to which Tom’s answer had been a very cutting “So you let yourself die for her?”
“Why?” Tom had asked. “You are dying Harry and all for people who only care about you while you fit the perfectly squared box they have made for you.”
“Because I have nothing else. I don’t want to remain with my relatives if at all possible and if I am to leave as soon as I can I can’t have people making a target out of me. I must be what they need me to be so that I find acceptance and can live in peace.”
“Peace! Acceptance! Where has that acceptance been all year when they judged you for possessing a skill they don’t approve of simply because they don’t understand?”
Harry had no answer, anything he said would have sounded hollow and fake. He didn’t want to lie to Tom.
“You are dying Harry… and all for nothing. What does it matter if the blood traitor dies?”
He almost considered giving up, honestly, if he died what did he care if Ginny survived? But then, Faukes awoke and he knew he could not say to Tom the things he wanted to. At least in his death he wanted to be remembered as the good person he was not. He had no idea how much the familiar connection between a phoenix and his bonded allowed then to communicate and it scared him because Faukes was coming and he would know what Harry had done. He didn’t know if the fire bird could tell Dumbledore that in the end Harry had died without even attempting to save the girl and defeat the memory of the Dark Lord.
So he acted in a purely selfish way, motivated by his need to be loved, and with his mind fading from the poison dragged himself toward the diary and plunged the Basilisk fang into it.
Tom looked at him, his face etched the image of betrayal, and instantly Harry regretted his actions. Regretted ending the life of the one being who had truly listened to him in all his life. He had wanted acceptance and had forgotten that was exactly what Tom had given him when all others had deserted him. Tom had been his friend, even if he had turned out to be a shade of his enemy. With the older boy he had been the closest he had ever come to being completely honest. During the weeks he had spent with the diary, Harry had begun to develop warm feelings he had never had the chance to name for the boy who only existed as ink and memories on a tattered book.

The dream changed.

Harry trembled, sweating on his bed, and had a pained look on his face as he moved his head from side to side in denial.

“I can’t let you kill her.”

“So you let yourself die for her?”

“Why?” “You are dying Harry and all for people who only care about you while you fit the perfectly squared box they have made for you.”

“Because I have nothing else…”

“Peace! Acceptance!...”

“You are dying Harry… and all for nothing…”

Faukes awoke and he knew he could not say to Tom the things he wanted to.

**STUPIFY!** He hissed at the bird with a weak voice once its swooping form was turned away from him. He hoped the parseltongue would disguise his voice enough for Dumbledore to think it was Tom casting the spell if the old man was truly able to connect his mind to that of the phoenix and see what it saw.

So he acted in a purely selfish way, motivated by his need to be loved, and with his mind fading from the poison dragged himself toward the diary and pulled it close to him in a possessive and protective embrace. His mind rushing through memories for a solution to this predicament until he found one. A memory he had only seen once of Tom reading the Slytherin Family Grimoire. The bold calligraphy at the top of the page read Anima Captum –Captured Soul- in slanted parselscript. Tom’s memory in the diary was so real, so alive, to Harry it was like a living being. Almost like a living soul, so he was sure this had to work. The memory had to be alive enough, self aware enough, for the rite to mistake it as such… it just had to.

The Soul Trapping rite was used as a way to keep your dead enemies as a trophy, giving the soul a solid form that could be put on display if the captor wanted to. It did not allow the soul to pass to the otherworld, for obvious reasons, and the footnote he had read over Memory Tom’s shoulder hinted that there was a way to reverse it.

If there was a way to reverse it, then perhaps there could be a way to anchor the soul to a permanent body, and if there was a way Harry was determined to find it.

In less of a second he had a plausible course of action in his mind, though he had never attempted the spells from that book and had only read the page once, he was confident he could pull it off. If was a gamble… he was a lucky Potter… it would work.

For a person in the brink of death he sure acted fast, hopefully someone would come find him and save him before he completely kicked the bucket. He was sure Dumbledore would not let his precious Savior die so early in the game.

First, he had to kill the body to liberate the soul… or in this case, the host to liberate the memory.

With a shaking hand he took the diary and set it in front of himself and plunged the Basilisk fang into it.

Tom looked at him, his face etched the image of betrayal, Harry did not regret his actions.

“You are Mine.” He said looking into Tom’s dark chocolate eyes. “I will not let anyone else have you, not even Dumbledore… not even Death.”

Tom understood, Harry knew he did as hope shone in his dark eyes and his fading body gave a firm nod of acceptance of whatever Harry had come up with.

He was not ending the life of the one being who had truly listened to him in all his life. He had wanted acceptance and for a moment had forgotten that was exactly what Tom had given him when all others had deserted him. Tom had been his friend, even if he had turned out to be a shade of his enemy. With the older boy he had been the closest he had ever come to being completely honest. During the weeks he had spent with the diary, Harry had begun to develop warm feelings he had never had the chance to name for the boy who only existed as ink and memories on a tattered book. Tom was his, Harry decided, and he would keep him forever.

Harry took a small knife from a holster at his left calf and paid the blood sacrifice with his own blood as he made a long cut on his thigh with shaking and weakening hands.

He chanted the words with his failing, gasping breath.

**Anima tenebris, anima hostes mei, a sanguine adiuro vos. Tua mortem signum de victoriae et tua anima mea memini.** he could barely hold his wand with both hands much less keep them steady enough for the correct movements, but as he recited the parseltongue equivalent of the latin phrases he forced his mind to recite also the English meaning to keep his awareness long enough to finish the incantation. ‘Dark Soul, soul of my enemy, by blood I bind thee. Your death be sign of my victory and your soul be my keepsake.’

The dripping ink from the dying diary, the black ash of Tom’s disappearing form, and a glowing and pulsing mass of darkness from within the diary all floated before him and mixed in the air as they shrank to form a perfectly smooth black sphere the size of one of the marbles Dudley used to play with when they were eight. A Dark soul as Dark can be, solid and contained for Harry to keep until the moment was right.

He turned on his back with what was left of his strength and using the small knife he pierced his own torso, right under the lowest of his left ribs. Harry placed the dark marble on the wound and pushed it in with as much strength as he could gather even as he screamed in pain. He pushed the marble with his index finger until it rested safely behind his ribs, where no one would ever suspect he would be hiding Tom Marvolo Riddle’s memory made solid.

“You are mine.” He gasped and coughed, blood coming out of his mouth. “Forever.”

As darkness took him, Harry wished that he would truly survive. That Tom had truly understood, and that maybe soon they could see each other again, soon, when he was free of his golden cage and his heavy gilded chains.

---

‘NO!’

Harry woke up frantically grasping at his pounding head. He was in a right state of panic as he got off the bed and into some pants and made his way out of the room under his cloak in the middle of the night.

‘No, no, no, no, NO!’

He ran, down stairs and through corridors until he reached Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.

‘No, no, no. This can’t be happening, not now. Merlin! Why is this happening now?!’

He hissed the command to open and called for stairs. The hidden entrance closed behind him with another hiss.

‘That is not what happened. It’s not how it happened! It’s not! It’s not! It’s not!’

He called for light and green-fired torches lighted themselves on the way down, illuminating the tunnel.

‘Tom Riddle is dead! Tom Riddle is dead! I killed him, I killed him, I killed him. That is the truth. I must believe it so completely it can even stand questioning under Veritacerum. Tom Riddle is dead and I killed him.’

He ran to the massive door and hissed for it to open, Harry paced back and forth as the stone snake made its way around the locking system.

‘I am a hero; I saved Ginny and killed the memory of Tom Riddle and his basilisk. This is the truth I must believe with every fiver of my being.’

He entered the main Hall of the chamber and made his way to the statue of Salazar Slytherin.

‘Tom Riddle is dead.’

‘Tom Riddle is dead.’

‘I killed him.’

Harry reached the ear of the statue and pressed on its side, a stone door revealing the stone steps leading up into the head opened.

‘Damn my stubborn nature! Damn my stubborn mind which refuses to let the fake memory settle over the real one! Tom Riddle is dead; I can’t afford to believe anything but this.’

Harry went into the Slytherin library and took the potion’s Grimoire from where it rested between the spells and the rituals Grimoires. He finally made it to Salazar Slytherin’s potions lab and set to search for the forbidden potion contained within the Grimoire, the Memory Distortion Draught, a potion strong enough to thwart Veritacerum and even bypass Legilimency.

He brewed the potion that night, and as the sun began to peek on the horizon he went through every minute detail of the lie people would see about the events in the Chamber were they to look into his mind, the lie he would naturally tell if he was asked about that day.

With the details firmly in his mind, Harry drank to potion and fell onto the cold stone floor holding his head.

Tom Riddle was dead; he killed him that night and saved Ginny. He regretted taking a life even if it was the memory of the evil Lord Voldemort, but he did his Gryffindor duty and with bravery in his heart had put his life on the line to save his best friend’s sister. He was a good boy, he was a caring boy, he was a true Gryffindor… he was a Savior.

As the lie took hold and settled in his mind, a pounding pain assaulted his head.

It was worth it.

The lie set seemingly into place over the truth and morphed every memory of it into what Harry wanted it to be.

Tom Riddle was dead.

And Harry had killed him.
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Because We Are Snakes