Pairing: Tom/Harry

Characters: Tom Riddle, Harry Potter

Warning: Non-consensual

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

The boy, an orphan, just like him. He is kneeling next to the girl. The little girl who had touched his face in wonder even as her eyes closed to what would be a most final sleep. Tom makes no noise as he advances on the boy. He can almost smell the boy's fear, it leaves a tang in his mouth that makes him smile. The boy looks up and his eyes are a sharp green.

Harry Potter. In the diary he had repeated that name to himself until it almost felt natural in his mouth. It is a more common name than Tom Marvolo Riddle, it is dirt common. More akin to a peasant than a powerful wizard. Still, he can feel the boy’s power thrumming in the room. Even as the boy's fear turns to hope, he can feel the metallic bite of magic.

'Tom,' the boy breathes and he starts asking for help but Tom is not listening. Instead he is looking at the flush on Harry's cheeks and the way he is licking his lips nervously. Tom laughs, a cold, shrill laugh that does not match his sixteen-year-old body. The laugh breaks into pieces, echoing in the room. Harry is shrinking back, body easing into a defensive stance. Unfortunately for Harry, the idiot boy had left his wand unattended. It had been simple to retrieve it.

Tom can see the Gryffindor tie around Harry's neck and wonders what it would be like to wrap it around the boys throat until his eyes roll back into his head. With that thought Tom advances and Harry retreats until his back is flush against the Chamber wall. Tom stalks forward and his mouth eases into a smile. A not so very nice smile that must be making Harry nervous.

The boy, Harry, looks almost defiant. He starts yelling and Tom only keeps on advancing, leaving behind wet footprints, confirming he is real. Not a memory in a diary. Not anymore. Tom is almost surprised to find that he is aroused. He wants to bruise the boy, to break him. He who had defeated his future self. Tom would be better than Voldemort, he would kill the boy but he would break him first. Would make him beg for him to stop. He wants to taste the sweat from the boy’s neck, salty and laced with loathing.

He does not kiss the boy, only takes the struggling body and forces it to the ground. A kiss with this boy would only be a sign of weakness, of tenderness. There was no tenderness in Tom. It had died with his mother.

When he takes off his proper Slytherin tie and wraps it around the boy's mouth, Tom is grinning. The grin looks unnatural on his face, mixed with his pitiless eyes that are now bright with triumph. He had murmured a spell that made the boy's struggles useless. The boy's pants are somewhere around his ankles and he is shivering and trying to say something around the gag. Something fierce, something that would shrivel Tom. Tom can feel the moisture of the chamber floor seeping in through his robes, his knees are wet. Somehow he has undone his pants. He leans over and licks the salt from the boy’s neck and the boy shudders.

The boy tries to cry out when Tom drives into him. Nothing to prepare him. Just tight around Tom's cock. The boy is struggling again, trying to kick out and make Tom stop. That mad grin is gone and now there is only intent. Soon blood makes it slicker and it's easier to move in and out of him.

When Tom comes he does not cry out, only shudders almost helplessly. It had been so long and the last time it had been a willing Slytherin girl and not Harry Potter. Harry Potter who has become the boy, only a mere boy and not the killer of his future self. Tom smiles to himself, his teeth flashing, looking sharp.

It will be a pleasure to snap the boy's neck. Just not yet.