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Jonquils and Lightning	By : Lomonaaeren Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Tom Views: 4139 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am making no money from this story.

Chapter List
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Chapter Five—Matchless in Magnificence
“I can’t wait to see what you do with your wand.”
Harry rolled his eyes and turned to face Gaunt across the field he’d chosen. It used to be a place that Dorea ran her horses, but she’d sold several of them and moved the rest to a smaller pasture not long after Harry arrived in Godric’s Hollow. It still had a sturdy fence around it, which made it an easy boundary for Harry to place wards along. Gaunt raised an eyebrow as he watched Harry’s wand flick again and again.
“Why are you doing that?”
“I don’t want our spells to hit any spectators.”
“There aren’t any.” Gaunt was shedding his robes, carefully folding them and casting a spell that made them hover in midair instead of touching the grass. Harry snorted. Gaunt gave him a faint smile. “It’s all right to admire me, you know.”
“Jonquil does enough of that for a whole village. And there might be people coming along once the duel begins. I don’t want them hurt.”
Gaunt seemed to decide he could consider this and give it his approbation. He drew his wand, which Harry blinked at. It wasn’t yew, although Harry couldn’t immediately identify the dark wood. “What’s the matter?” Gaunt added.
“The other version of you had a yew wand.”
“The symbol of resurrection,” Gaunt said, and dipped his head a little. “For your sake, I’m glad that I don’t have one. I think I’m enough of a resurrection of bad memories for you.”
“One would think that you’d be glad to distress me,” Harry muttered, turning his head back and forth so that the muscles in his neck would loosen and his arms were gentle and relaxed.
“I don’t want to hurt you, Harry. If you think I do, then you don’t understand me yet.”
Harry froze, his eyes trained on Gaunt’s face. The smile there should have looked mocking, but it didn’t. Gaunt went on watching him with a fainter version of the smile as he scraped his foot on the dirt and cleared a small place that he evidently thought would make a better pad to launch himself from.
“You want to stop me, though,” Harry said. “You want to pay me back for the insults that I gave you, like the slap.”
“You’re doing that kind of thing because you don’t understand me or why I came here.” Gaunt’s voice was calm and patient in the way that made all the flesh between Harry’s shoulder blades feel as if it was standing on end. “Once you understand, then you’ll give in and come with me.”
Those words shocked Harry as if someone had plopped the sun into his eyes, and he took a step further back and shook his head. “You’ll never understand anything but war and conquest, Gaunt. I’m more than that.” And he unleashed enough of his magic that he could overpower Gaunt early in the duel, without using enough to kill him.
Gaunt’s eyes widened and he stared at the air as it became silver-edged and shimmering. Harry gave him a mocking smile and swept his wand in a long motion that made the air begin to spiral about him.
“The duel will begin when you count three,” Harry said.
*
Tom had heard of such things before—such spells that would make the air itself turn to knives—but most of the time, it required an elemental mage or someone to prepare the area beforehand. Harry fell into neither category.
But Tom had no doubt that if he reached out, the knives would slice through his hands as easily as material blades.
He sighed and put away the temptation to close with Harry, lay hands on his skin again, and lay him down in the grass while Harry was still struggling with the pleasure. He had to do something else right now if he wanted to impress him.
He closed his eyes and cast the spell that he had only seen once, in a grimoire he regretfully hadn’t been able to remove from Hogwarts’s library. In a second, a ghostly image of a phoenix hovered above him. Its beak opened and it sang a shrill, mournful note.
Tom opened his eyes again and watched Harry gape at him. He smiled. “One, two, three,” he chanted, and sent the phoenix streaking at Harry with a simple motion of his wand hand.
Harry leaped into the air to meet it.
And everything seemed to slow and change. The air around the phoenix turned that fugitive silver Tom had seen before, and the knives sprang to cut at its wings. At the same moment, Harry said softly, “Dimidius.”
His wand touched the phoenix’s ghostly head, and sheared straight through.
Tom stared as he watched his phoenix rip in half. For a second, it held onto life, or what life an image had, struggling madly, ripples running through its feathers. Then it became nothing but motes of light that trailed to the grass and nearly set it on fire.
Harry landed.
The knives turned and flung themselves at Tom.
Tom dropped into a crouch and raised a shield of pure fire without a word. The cleansing flames, flames of sacrifice, melted most of the knives before they could get through. Those that could fell as harmless lumps of already liquid metal at Tom’s feet.
There was one blade that did strike him in the thigh. Tom grimaced and bent down to heal it.
“Voco.”
Tom screamed and grabbed at his ears as a sudden, resounding call seemed to split his head in half. The echo chattered in his hearing, and he could feel cold sweat breaking out all over his body. The scream went on and on, his name, over and over, and he could tell how easy it would be to go mad with it endlessly repeating in his ears.
Tom forced his mind to work past that, though. He forced himself to picture the call as just another illusion, just a manifestation of Harry’s voice, and he barked Silencio! at the inside of his head.
The screams stopped. Tom dropped to his knees and bowed his head, because he could hear something whistling along, and with his luck, it was going to be at just head height.
The curse did go over him, another long-edged blade that looked like a flaming sword. Tom started to sit up, and the flames came snarling down towards him. Harry was flexing the spell like a whip.
Tom had never seen or heard of such a thing, but then, he hadn’t heard of that spell that made his name repeat in his head, either. He met the fire with a burst of water that made sizzling steam escape into the air and let Tom dodge behind it towards the edge of the fence.
A low growl behind him made him turn. Harry had Transfigured something, maybe a piece of wood from the old barn nearby, into a massive black dog. It crouched low and showed Tom its teeth, then sprang without flinching.
Tom used a simple Blasting Curse to hurl the dog from him. It slammed into the fence post and began to whimper as it bled. Tom raised a spiky shield behind him to slow it down and turned to face Harry again.
Who wasn’t there.
Disillusionment Charm? Tom shifted his feet slowly forwards, wondering if he could listen hard enough to detect any slight sound Harry made. With someone so battle-ready, it wasn’t likely, but he did want to try. Any slight advantage he could gain—
A tiny ripping noise, to his right. Tom turned in a tight circle, hand on his wand, tongue curling around curses.
And then something hit him on the back of the head. Tom staggered to his knees, blinded by the ringing pain and the certainty that he was about to lose the duel.
Harry dodged around in front of him. Tom made out the charm changing color a minute too late, but he could at least hurt his enemy. He muttered a curse that he had learned from a Dark book his mother’s ancestors had left behind in the Gaunt shack.
Harry shrieked as it wound about his feet, a serpent made of blue fire that burned its way through all defenses. Tom healed the wound on the back of his head with a gasp, watching as Harry struggled to shed the snake. Nobody could control that spell except the Gaunts, and Tom would already have used it except that he’d wanted the duel to continue a bit longer, to let them have the chance to impress each other.
Now he knew better. If Harry got in his way, he would simply play to win.
Harry turned his head and hissed between his teeth. It took Tom a second to realize the words were Parseltongue.
“Let go of me and return to your master.”
And the snake did exactly that, leaving Tom to gape in what felt like stupid astonishment at Harry. Harry, who was shaking his hair back, panting, and casting a numbing spell on his singed ankle, his Disillusionment Charm disrupted.
“If you could command it to do that,” Tom whispered, “why didn’t you do it right away?”
“Because some people have better things to do with their time.”
“Bollocks,” Tom said softly, bending down to pick up the fire-serpent without taking his eyes from Harry. “You didn’t want to show off your talent in front of me. You knew I’d find you more interesting if I knew you were a Parselmouth.”
“What,” Harry said, and there was a grim set to his eyes and a thing that wasn’t a smile on his lips. “I wasn’t interesting enough already?”
Before Tom could reply, Harry snapped a flailing chain made of ice at him, and the battle resumed.
*
I honestly don’t know if I can defeat him.
Harry limped backwards in a circle, favoring his left leg, where one of Tom’s conjurations had bitten him. Tom looked the worse for wear, too, with blood still running from the blow Harry had given him on the back of the head and the cut the knife had made in his thigh. Harry was a little surprised that hadn’t healed yet, but he hadn’t given Tom much time to cast healing spells, and his violent motions might have torn it further open anyway.
Most of the time, Harry fought as quickly and as dirtily as he could. The object was to end the duel or the battle as soon as possible, and give himself time to recover or move on to the next opponent.
But he’d been dueling Tom for almost fifteen minutes, and neither of them was ready to give up yet. Tom might beat him by sheer luck or persistence.
And I can’t believe that I’m calling him Tom. As if I was his friend.
“You have to tell me how you became a Parselmouth.”
“No, I fucking don’t.”
Tom sighed and rolled his eyes hard enough that Harry’s own twitched in sympathy. “The words expressing obligation are just a saying, Harry. I only meant that I thought no one outside my mother’s family had the talent, and here you are.”
“In another world.”
“So there might be many Parselmouths here?”
Tom sounded hilariously disappointed. Harry grinned at him and began drawing his magic close to his body, getting ready to cast the kind of spell he normally didn’t use in battle situations because it would disable him if he got it wrong. “What’s the matter, Tommy? Sad that you won’t be the most gifted one around?”
“Exitium!”
Harry swirled aside from the curse, which filled the air between them with horrific green light. It wasn’t the Killing Curse, but it was the spell closest to it outside the Unforgivables. The Destruction Curse lived up to its name, and simply destroyed everything in its path.
“Well,” Harry said, as he watched the spell condense into a furious sphere and blaze out of existence, “I suppose it’s nice to realize that you didn’t want me to survive.”
Tom stared at him. “I thought you would resist it.”
“My turn,” Harry said, and called up as much magic as he could and forced it out of his skin, at the same time as he dipped his wand to the level he could take advantage of it. “Glacies!”
The ice that raced out of him coiled around Tom in crystal walls, and in seconds only his head was free. Tom’s eyes bulged at him, and he tried to raise his wand. He couldn’t. It was caught down by his side, part of the ice. Harry thought about Summoning it, but that would break the ice, and Tom might manage to do something with it before it flew over to him.
“I win.” Harry waited for a second, but Tom didn’t speak any words of yielding. Harry snorted and rolled his eyes. “Are you proud enough to insist that you won, in spite of all the evidence to the contrary?”
“No,” Tom said slowly. He ignored the way that his chin jarred against the ice. “Just wondering why you didn’t do that in the first place, when you had the power to.”
“Because I wanted to convince you to back the fuck off,” Harry said. He watched Tom’s eyes, but he couldn’t read the way they changed, if it was surprise or something else. Well, he had been fooled by the diary shade the first time he met him, too. Harry was going to hang onto his senses this time. “If I’d just imprisoned you, then you would have demanded a rematch and probably always suspected you were stronger. I wanted to show you that you weren’t.”
“And you think that would make me desire you less?”
Harry started. The word desire was whispered as softly as if Tom really felt it. But a second later, Harry shook his head. “You’ve always been the master of the mind-fuck. I suppose that’s a trait that doesn’t really change from world to world.”
“Seriously, Harry. What were you trying to accomplish by showing me your power?”
“To make you back off!”
“Why would it? Because I need someone powerful if I’m going to change things in my world, and even if I gave up that ambition, I would want you because you’re powerful and magnificent and you shine.”
Harry shook his head sharply. That was sounding too much like some of the things people had said to him before he left his first world, where his magic had made ripples of distortion in the air. “Do you know how I opened the portal to come to this world?”
“You’ll tell me?”
Tom sounded delighted. Harry paused, but he hoped this story would do the trick where the duel hadn’t. “I didn’t seek out an Oracle or anything like that. I wanted a place where I could find some peace, which I couldn’t in a dimension with everyone staring at me with stars in their eyes. Hear that, Tom? The way you admire me isn’t special.”
“What I can offer you is.”
Harry gave up in disgust. He obviously wasn’t going to be able to convince Tom by taunting him about how smitten he was with Harry. “Anyway. I found a world. I learned the way to open the portal. And it’s open, and I can go back through it whenever I want.”
For the first time in the conversation, Tom frowned. “But how could you do that? The Oracle keeps mine open only because of the blood I spilled.”
Harry glared at him. “Yes, there’s a price. I used my magic to keep it open.”
Tom didn’t take long to work it out. “You sacrificed part of your magic?”
“Yes. I ripped it away. That should teach you, Tom, how powerful I was before, and how much power doesn’t impress me. There’s no way…”
Harry’s voice trailed off. Tom was looking at him as if Harry was treacle tart and he wanted to swallow every last bite.
“Let my hands go.”
“Not until you promise not to do anything to Jonquil that she doesn’t actually want.”
“Easily promised, then! I swear by my life and my hope of immortality.”
Harry paused, but he honestly couldn’t think of anything Tom Riddle—Gaunt, whoever he was—would hold more sacred than that. He nodded and shattered the ice with a glare. He didn’t need his wand to destroy things.
That was one reason he hated what he had become.
Before he could retreat, Tom was next to him, and he reached out and grasped hold of Harry’s arm, firmly, with both hands.
Harry went to his knees. The pleasure tearing through him was unreal. He could feel his skin flushing, his cock hardening, his breath quickening. He turned his head and leaned his forehead against Tom’s arm without thinking. The sensation intensified. Harry found his hips straining forwards in little aborted thrusts.
“Easily promised,” Tom whispered into his ear, and Harry tossed his head back at the sensation of the breath on his earlobe, “because I don’t intend to offer her anything at all.”
His grip on Harry’s arm remained firm as he maneuvered Harry to lie flat on his back, and slid a hand under his shirt. Harry writhed. Casually, Tom unbuttoned his shirt and eased it back, bending down to blow hot air over Harry’s chest.
Harry spread his legs and arched up. He wanted—this felt so good—he wanted to bring the same pleasure to—
Tom Riddle.
Harry broke away with a shout and a twist of his legs. Tom sighed as he sat back on the grass and watched him. “How long do you intend to deny it and run away?” he asked.
Harry buttoned his shirt back up, fingers shaking, and didn’t answer. He grabbed his wand and stalked out of the pasture. It felt like Tom—Gaunt—had won, despite all the care that he’d taken to prevent that.
“I swear by my life and my hope of immortality,” Gaunt’s soft voice said from behind him, “you’ll be mine.”
Harry shot a Stinging Hex over his shoulder and reveled in the yelp, even if he knew it was mostly because Gaunt had been unprepared. He didn’t stop walking until he was in his bedroom in Dorea and Charlus’s house again, and then he pressed his forehead against the wall and waited for his shaky breathing to stop.
This is insane. But I’ll resist it. I’ll rip it away just like I did the rest.
I don’t want him.
*
Moodysavage: Yes, as Tom mentioned in a previous chapter, Dumbledore is Minister in his world. Right now, the 'war" is actually skirmishes, with Tom testing his power in random attacks conducted by his followers on people not allied with him. And he does want Harry to push it over the brink into true war.
LadyEdgecombe: Thank you! And Harry is affected by that magic, too, even if he keeps insisting that he isn't.
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Jonquils and Lightning