Hello all, yes this is the Harry/Voldemort fic I finally got around to doing! Also it is a song-fiction, I haven't done one of those for a while, and the song seemed good for what I wanted to write. It is rather dark, bare in mind.

I was going to do another one, song-fic that is, Welcome To My Life comparing Dudley and Harry's childhoods in a way, and how Dudley finally gets a taste of what Harry had to grow up with when he turns out to have latent magical abilities and his parents begin to hate him as well. What do you think? Oh and it goes without saying, but no stealing my idea before I can be bothered to write it.

"Closer"

Disclaimer: J.K's all of them, damn her… Song by NIN: "Closer".

Summery: HarryVoldemort::: Dark song-fic. Harry and Voldemort work out their childhood issues together. Set around Harry's 6th year. Non-cannon & no HBP. Slash, Rape, Child abuse, etc! HP/LV (main) HP/VD (rape) TMR/OCs (rape)

Rating: NC-17! SLASH! RAPE!

A/N: Song-fic… I haven't done one of those for ages huh? LOL Written alternating between Voldemort and Harry's POV. Until the last part where it reverts to a Normal POV.

XXX

Words: 5,959

Closer

Ever since I was a child I knew I was different, special, better than everyone else. Yet I wasn't treated as such. Instead I was hated, feared, persecuted. I was led to believe I was a freak, that I was evil and undeserving of love. I was told my father was so horrified at the idea of me that he abandoned both I and my mother. My mother died for me to be born. My birth was her death: I was told I killed my own mother.

I had no friends, no family, and everyone I ever met left me. When a Wizard came from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry and told me I was like him, a wizard, I knew I had been right. I wasn't evil or a freak I was special. Powerful. I was better than everyone else.

Well better than the Muggles anyway. The Purebloods I admired, I aspired to be like them, to fit in with them. No one told them I was a Half-Blood and I had no intention of doing so, so I just went through school, a Pureblood who's family had squandered their fortune. It suited me fine.

Every summer I was sent back there, to the orphanage and I hated it. In school I was admired, liked, followed. Teachers believed my every word, I got away with every thing but murder (so far) and the students apart from the Gryffindors thought I was a god. I was Tom Riddle, child prodigy; Tom Riddle, teachers pet; Tom Riddle, the perfect Slytherin. But at the orphanage nothing changed, I was still a disgusting freak, an evil git, and a bloody bastard. Nothing ever changed there unless it was for the worst.

At school I found out I was the heir of Slytherin, one of the schools founders, and that explained how I could speak Parseltongue, the ability to converse with snakes. In my eyes and those of my housemates it made me all the more special. When a Prince or a Malfoy or a Black talked about Mudbloods and Muggles and how they should be killed people listened, when I, the heir of Slytherin, talked about killing the filth and the blood traitors people listened! At the orphanage, they found out I was bisexual and it just made me a queer bastard freak. At the school I had both boys and girls, and even a few teachers, drooling and begging for my attention. At the orphanage it made me bait; worse than it had been before.

It got me teased and laughed at more than usual. It got me beaten up more than usual, and it got me raped. I was about 15, the summer before I opened the Chamber of Secrets and I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings. I was lazy, I had just taken my OWLs and gotten all O's, I had let my guard down. The orphanage boys called me a 'fag' and a 'pansy' and a 'queer' and while they kicked me, they asked if the 'freaky fag' was a virgin. I was but I didn't say that: I blanked them, tried to ignore the pain, but I couldn't fight the panic I felt when they pulled my trousers down. Four against one, they were all around seventeen or eighteen, I was fifteen going on sixteen, I was half their size and weight and I wasn't allowed to use magic to protect myself. I had let myself slack off I wasn't prepared. I screamed as the first boy thrust inside of me, at the time I vowed never to have sex if that was what it felt like. I couldn't understand why people enjoyed it, and because I didn't understand it, I feared it.

By the time all four were finished with me, I could barely move, I was going back to Hogwarts in three days time and I couldn't walk. I was scared of my acquaintances finding out, I was afraid they wouldn't respect me any more and I was afraid of losing my power over them because I couldn't fight off Muggles. But mostly, I was afraid of being gay. It made me different, at school I revelled in my differences: at the orphanage I hated it. I hated being different.

You let me violate you, you let me desecrate you
You let me penetrate you, you let me complicate you
Help me I broke apart my insides, help me I've got no
Soul to tell
Help me the only thing that works for me, help me get
Away from myself

I've always known I was different, ever since I was really young and I use to be able to turn my teachers hair blue just by being angry at him or being able to unlock my cupboard door because I was so hungry I wanted nothing more than to get out so I could find some food. I've always thought that I must be something special, magical maybe. My relatives just told me I was a freak.

They emotionally, mentally and sometimes physically abused me. I always thought I deserved it; I was after all a freak. Useless. Lazy. A burden. I was nothing. My parents had died in a car crash they told me, I survived with only a lightening shaped scar on my forehead. My relatives used to tell me regularly how everyone would be better off if I had died with my no good, worthless parents. Sometimes they used to hint that my parents deaths were my fault: I never could figure out how a fifteen month old baby could cause a car crash, unless I was crying so loud I was a distraction or something.

From the age of four, when I was barely able to see over the oven, I was forced to cook breakfast, lunch and dinner for my Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and cousin Dudley Dursley. I wasn't very good at it, I was four and had never had lessons, but whenever I burnt anything I was hit across the head with a frying pan. Sometimes my Aunt even held my hands against the cooker until I could smell my flesh burning, before she'd push me away calling me a freak. I was never allowed to cool my hands under cold water or use the first aid kit like Dudley did when he got something like a paper cut. When I was bathed, up till I was 7 years, I was either in freezing cold water, or scalding hot water: I was even forced outside sometimes and made to use the hosepipe when I was older than 8 years.

I was only allowed to eat the leftovers even though I had made all the food, and when I was allowed a bath I had to use Dudley's old bath water. If I refused I was beaten by my Uncle's belt and not allowed to wash again for two weeks usually. I had thought I was special, magical, but my relatives soon taught me I was nothing more than a slave.

When a giant came from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry I knew that I might have been slightly right. I was magical but in no way was I special. My relatives thought this made me more of a freak! Even when told of my fame, and how the Dark Lord Voldemort had killed the parents who were trying to protect me, it didn't make me feel special or powerful but guilty. Aunt Petunia had been right, it was my fault my parents were dead: it was my fault that my mother's sister and family had to be burdened with my freakishness. I thought now that I was at school I could stay there.

They sent me back every summer, the Headmaster even tried to get me to go back at the other holidays even as many times as I had said no, he still kept insisting. The students either adored me or feared and loathed me. Depending on what catastrophe had struck the Wizarding world at the time. I saved the Philosophers Stone, I was a child hero: the Chamber of Secrets opened, I was the murdering heir of Slytherin: when Voldemort regained his body, I was an insane attention seeker, and when the Death Eaters were caught at the Ministry, I was a hero again. My Godfather died, because of me.

Everyone, teachers, friends; they all tell me I'm special. I'm powerful and I'm the one who will stop Voldemort. That makes me different. I hate being different.

I want to fuck you like an animal
I want to feel you from the inside
I want to fuck you like an animal
My whole existence is flawed
You get me closer to god

When I left school first I hunted down my filthy Muggle father and grandparents. I tried to talk to them, to ask him why he had left my mother. As blinded as I was by hatred and anger, I was desperately curious. If I hadn't been so scared as a child I would have asked some of the older kids why they disliked me. I later found out it was fear: people feared me, Lord Voldemort because I was powerful and insane I suppose, people feared Tom Riddle because he was different. 'Different' means not like 'others', when there are more 'others' than there are 'different' people it's safe to gang up on those who aren't the same, who are 'different', who are special. We fear what we do not understand, after all, and because I was 'different' I was not understood. I eventually got tired of talking at my filthy father and killed the three of them, simple, easy, painless. It was more merciful than they deserved.

After that I travelled the world for a few years. I increased my knowledge of the Dark Arts, but I was far from lost in them. I still kept in regular contact with those of importance from my school days and had soon built up a larger crowd of… followers. Like at school people believed every truth, half-truth and blatant lie that fell from my poisonous tongue, and like at school they blindly followed me. They continued to worship their child prodigy, their Slytherin god, the one who got away with murder at 16 years old: they followed me, the Half-Blood into adulthood, and pledged the lives of their children to my cause as well.

Fools the lot of them, but in a way I can't fault them. Many have remained faithful, to this day, yet there are those who betray. Betrayers are dealt with swiftly and severely, especially now. Back then, it would be a round of the Cruciatus, before passing the traitor through my Inner Circle to be tortured as my servants saw fit. And then I would use the killing curse, the most unforgivable of them all. And I enjoyed it, I lived for the moment the green light would engulf their treacherous bodies and snuff out their worthless lives.

Now I live to see green eyes, the colour of an Avada Kedavra curse, glow in lust and happiness.

You can have my isolation, you can have the hate that
It brings
You can have my absence of faith, you can have my
Everything
Help me tear down my reason, help me its your sex I
Can smell
Help me you make me perfect, help me become somebody
Else

After the death of my Godfather, Sirius Black, I begged to spend the summer at Hogwarts or at The Burrow, my best friend Ron's home. The Headmaster said no, but offered to take me to the Order of the Phoenix headquarters after two weeks: the home of my deceased relative: another person I had killed. I declined.

Within days of arriving at the Dursley's home I wished I had agreed two weeks was better than six after all. The Headmaster had seen fit to explain to my relatives that my Godfather had passed away and I had inherited his fortune, the same Murdering, escaped convict of a Godfather I had used to threaten the Dursley's, into not abusing me over the summer from fourth year onwards, with. The Order members of course had to be 'helpful' and threaten my Uncle with magic if he harmed me, I was told to write to them. The first thing my Uncle did when we got to Privet Drive was to kill Hedwig, my owl.

I don't know why, I think he may have assumed they'd need my owl to write to me, or something, but whatever he was hoping for didn't happen. They owled me when I didn't owl them. My Uncle shot Pig, Ron's owl, dead as well. And every owl that followed. Severus Snape was even kind enough to borrow the Order his raven, the bird barely escaped with his life and never did get the letter to me. It was probably only something like; "hope the Muggles aren't treating you too bad, mate."

Poor oblivious, stupid Ronald Weasley. No they were treating me find, killing every owl that was unfortunate enough to get within site of their home. My Uncle was looking out for me really, Ron, Headmaster, don't worry: it was just making sure none of my fans or followers of Voldemort could accidentally Portkey me away, didn't you know? Fools! I used to love them, all of them. They had shown me kindness, trust, friendship, love, but I didn't anymore. I don't know when it changed, for some of them it was when Sirius died, for others when I died. Sometimes I think I learned to hate them the minute I met them, that I knew deep down the more I hated them the less it would hurt in the end, and yet a part of me still loved them. And a part of me still cries for them even now.

The next thing my Uncle did was to burn all my school stuff. The started a bonfire using Hedwig: they lit her on fire and poured on some petrol before throwing Dudley's hand-me-down clothes on the dead bird, followed by my school books. Of course I had to add those to the fire, my Uncle refused to touch anything remotely freakish. That objection seemed to have vanished the night of my birthday though, but I'll come to that. He took my presents from my friends and burnt them separately when they arrived, and he burnt everything in my trunk the night he burnt Hedwig. Fortunately he didn't burn my trunk: I had a hidden compartment I used to store vials of Dreamless Sleep that Madame Pomfrey, the school Medi-witch, had Professor Snape make.

I also had the Marauders Map, my Firebolt and my invisibility cloak in there. My wand was under the loose floorboard under my bed so they never got that either. I was told to keep the trunk and pretend that some freakish thing had leaked all over everything and ruined them, my Uncle even offered to go with me to buy replacements: I knew he was just trying to find out where I hid my Godfather's fortune. I, of course, didn't have the vault key but my Uncle wouldn't listen when I tried to explain that and beat me unconscious three nights in a row trying to get me to tell him where I had hidden it.

The night of my birthday was the night I lost a part of me. That part was my innocence, and the small part of me that had still hoped I was more than a weapon or a tool, the part of me that hoped for love and kindness instead of praise and fame. That part of me died the night I turned sixteen. My Uncle said it was a birthday treat for my sweet sixteen; I didn't bother pointing out that seventeen was the celebrated Wizarding age. He was nice to me, all day, it was rather disconcerting, but I had wanted to be loved for so long I didn't question it: foolish Harry, stupid Gryffindor boy! He raped me. He told me it would make him love me, and that I was beautiful, I didn't believe him of course if he had said it while I was a child I would have happily spread my legs if I thought he'd love me, or at least care for me a little. But at the time I was too old to believe such lies, I swore I wouldn't be lied to again, I wouldn't let myself be lied to.

I shouted at him, screamed that I was a freak and he would catch something from me. He just laughed and agreed. He added that I was a beautiful freak, and that beauty could make even the most worthless thing tolerable for a small amount of time. I was a thing to him, to everyone. He teased me, he spread my legs and I cried and begged him not to do it. He teased me, he asked if I was a virgin and without waiting for an answer he said of course I was, cause no one would touch a freak like me. Except him apparently, but then I suppose he thought he deserved the special powers he would get from taking my virginity, after all he had feed and clothed me for 15 years. When he remembered to at least.

When he entered me, without lube or preparation it hurt more than the Torture curse. I screamed myself raw that night. He didn't fuck me once, but instead spent over half the night slamming inside of me, his enormous body pressing me into the mattress, crushing my ribs and my lungs. I cried until my tears ran dry, I don't cry anymore not physically with tears and wet cheeks even though sometimes I feel like I am. I don't think I know how to cry, or love, or forgive, not since I died. When he finally pulled out of me I was torn and bleeding and leaking cum. He sneered at me and called me a useless freak: obviously he didn't get any of those special powers he was so hoping for.

He noticed the owls hovering outside my window and strangely didn't shot them. When he left the room I let myself relax for just a moment, and ignored the owls intending to sleep even if I was naked and in immense pain. The owls hooted, loudly and while I tried to ignore them it became too loud. I finally opened my eyes to the sight of my uncle leaning out the window with what was left of the petrol oil, and a flock of owls carrying birthday gifts dripping wet. My Uncle noticed me watching and gave me an evil smirk, far scarier than anyway Voldemort ever looked at me, before lighting a match. Before I could scream at the birds to fly away he threw the match and one of them caught fire. In a panic it flew into another, which flew at another, and so on until all the owls and my presents were alight and burning alive.

"Get rid of those ruddy birds in the morning boy, and you better hope the neighbours didn't notice anything." He ordered walking out of the room, while I lay staring in shock at the open window. I could smell the burning, putrid smell and I couldn't help but gag. I threw up what little I had eaten since school finished on the floor beside my bed. "Freak!" My Uncle shouted back through the door for good measure. I didn't cry again, I didn't know how to.

I want to fuck you like an animal

I want to feel you from the inside
I want to fuck you like an animal
My whole existence is flawed
You get me closer to god

I had heard the rumours of course; the Ministry workers were on fire with the news that Harry Potter couldn't be contacted. Even Severus Snape, my spy in the Order had let me know how the owls they sent to Potter kept disappearing, his own Raven had been injured trying to escape the boy's residence. No one could get a letter to Harry. The Ministry had borrowed out postal owls to Remus and the Weasleys to send the boy gifts and those owls had gone missing as well. Mrs. Figg hadn't seen the boy since he was brought home, and yet Dumbledore didn't seem to care. The Headmaster was rumoured to have smiled, eyes twinkling, and said that Harry was being 'very well' taken care of. Something about the way Severus described Dumbledore didn't sit well with me.

The night after the boy turned sixteen, I invaded his dreams. What I saw shocked me. Potter didn't even fight me, when I pulled him into my dream throne room; he collapsed on the floor and practically begged me to kill him, or his Uncle, or Dumbledore. He begged me to make the pain go away, and who was I to refuse such a plea. I asked him what was wrong, and I only expected him to say he was bored or he was mad at Dumbledore's incompetence because his Godfather died: instead he told me everything, every dirty little secret from his childhood, from school, from his summers and from his sixteenth birthday. I admit I had thought I had forgotten how to cry as well, but when I heard his tale so similar to my own childhood, and saw his eyes, so honest and trusting, I felt blood red tears roll down my sickly white skin. I wasn't really crying blood, they were that colour from whatever had dyed my eyes red, but when I heard about and was shown the bleeding cuts and scars and bruises, I swear I could taste blood as the tears hit my lips.

I held him close and for reasons unknown to me, I told him about my life. I told him everything and I held him and we comforted each other, even though I was slightly peeved to notice I was the only one crying. I healed every cut and bruise and used magic to heal the scars, he even allowed me to remove his trousers and apply healing salve to his torn anus, only after finding out I was raped too and had no intention of doing such an act to another. When he was healed in my dream I waited for a few minutes to make sure the healing had also affected his physical body and then I suggested he get some proper sleep and pack up his things, what was left of them.

He clung to me and begged me not to leave him and I promised I'd take him away; I promised I'd get him and keep him safe. And I did. The next night, Severus, Lucius Malfoy (who I had sprung from prison at the start of the Summer) and myself apparated as close to Harry's house as we dared. I had told Lucius and Severus as much as they needed to know and both believed me, on some level. Severus was more than unwilling but Lucius had heard the rumours from Draco, his son, about how Harry was abused and chose to believe in them, while Severus disregarded them as attention seeking.

While I had healed Harry's body in the dream, when we found him shoved into the cupboard under the stairs, he was in as bad a condition as the night before. The only consolation I had was that he hadn't been raped again; Harry said something about no 'special powers' without his virginity. I picked him up and held him close, and without needing to be told Lucius and Severus went respectively to find the fat Muggle Uncle and Harry's trunk and wand. When Dursley Senior was stunned and bound and Severus had shrunk and pocketed the almost empty school trunk, I randomly pressed a kiss to his lightening bolt scar surprised at how it didn't hurt when I didn't intend to harm the brunette teen. The young man cuddled closer to me and drifted to sleep, while Severus stared mouth open and Lucius snickered, in a Pureblood way of course.

Over the next month Harry and I became incredibly close. I was the only one allowed to touch him, apart from surprisingly Draco Malfoy. I was the only one he really spoke to, apart from Draco again and Severus, except when he was giving a Death Eater orders or punishment. He was silent a lot, but between the three of us we coaxed him from behind whatever walls he had built up. Eventually he relaxed enough in Lucius' presence too. While we got closer, I amazingly fell in love with him. I was true to my vow, for the most part. I never really did have sex: I received blowjobs from Death Eaters, mostly Bellatrix when she couldn't be persuaded otherwise. And I only fucked those I trusted, which limited me to Severus and Lucius. And Harry now. While I had taken both of the older men throughout our friendship, I had never loved them or saw a need to have sex with them. I had sex, to release frustrations and anger usually, and both the other two enjoyed a good, hard fuck as much as I did.

I wasn't too sure Harry would though. Nor was I sure he would want me to be inside of him or on top of him, and I sure as hell wasn't letting anyone fuck me.

Through every forest, above the trees
Within my stomach, scraped off my knees
I drink the honey inside your hive
You are the reason I stay alive

I was the Wizarding Worlds saviour, I was their Chosen One, I was meant to save everyone from the cruel and evil Voldemort. But when it came down to it, and I needed saving from a Muggle no less, a person I was supposed to protect from Voldemort, it was the Dark Lord himself who saved me. He came in like a hero, someone I was supposed to be, and rescued me. He took me with him and he took care of me: between the two Malfoy men, Snape and himself they saved what was left of me. While the 'good' part of me had died I still had a hell of a lot of 'bad' going to waste inside of me. And they helped me use that to my full advantage.

Don't get me wrong I could still care about things, like my new familiar for example. Draco had gotten me a rattlesnake as a late birthday present when we finally overcame our differences. I cared about Draco too, and his father and Voldemort and Snape as well I guess. I mean, I'd miss them if they were killed. While I care about the four of them, only two have any chance of touching me, even a pat on the shoulder is enough to have me burning with rage.

Voldemort of course, and Draco, we found out quite by accident. Lucius saw fit to inform Draco about my current condition, and the young blond in a moment of stupidity and arrogance insisted on seeing me at my worst so he could boast about it for the next school year. I of course lost my temper. Strange how I can do that around Wizards and other Muggles, but not my relatives, do accidental magic I mean. I blew up several mirrors and potion vials, and other glass or crystal nick-knacks in the room Voldemort gave me. I don't think I have ever seen Voldemort so scared, or Draco. The blond ended up flying across the room and probably would have gone out the shattered window if his father hadn't have used a summoning charm in time.

In a stupid fit of anger he stormed up to the bed where I had sat up fully and punched me. The second his fist hit my face, instead of getting angrier like I would have done had someone so much as accidentally brushed against me, my anger completely deflated and I laughed. I hadn't laughed since before Sirius died. I think Draco was about ready to cry when he realized what he had done, he stammered and apologized so much he almost forgot to breathe. I told him it was ok and that if he was around the next day I wouldn't mind playing a game of one-on-one Quidditch with him: to see if he could win on his own turf so to speak.

He nodded and backed out of the room along with Lucius, who was shaking as much as his son. Snape and Voldemort followed them. I almost expected to hear Voldemort scream 'Crucio', but the man must have been more shocked than Draco was because he dismissed them without a curse.

Draco and I got closer the longer we spent together, as did Voldemort and I. I knew he loved me, but I didn't love him, I already told you I didn't know how to love anymore. Just because someone rescued me for once instead of waited to be rescued didn't mean I was suddenly going to understand the meaning of life and find my true love and a happily ever after. Reality doesn't work that way, and while I cared greatly for him, I wasn't sure whether I could bear to feel the weight of any man pushing me down into a mattress. That wasn't to say I didn't want to have sex, I was desperate to know if it always felt like that or if it was just because I didn't want it. Draco was more than happy to lie on his back for me.

He talked me through it, making sure I didn't hurt him and that it was pleasurable for both of us. And it was, pleasurable that is. We both enjoyed it so much it became a regular occurrence throughout our 6th year at Hogwarts. While Voldemort loved me, he wanted me to be happy more than he wanted to force me to be with him. Of course Draco knew that I didn't love him either, and he didn't love me, but the sex was good and I wasn't the one being pinned anywhere. Draco understood not to push me up against a wall or wrap his arms around me from behind, when he wanted to seduce me he made sure to pull me towards him, not push himself towards me.

Everyone at school knew something bad had happened to me, especially when Dumbledore was arrested one morning after the Christmas holidays ended. Aunt Petunia had finally owned up to some of the abuse, as had Dudley; the rest had been extracted using Veritaserum. With the two of them punished and Uncle Vernon dead by my hand, the 'good' part of me, or some of that part, was coming alive again. By the next summer, I was finally ready to face my worst fear. Draco and I were still together, casually of course but I was finally able to realize I could love. And that I did, in fact, love Lord Voldemort.

I want to fuck you like an animal
I want to feel you from the inside
I want to fuck you like an animal
My whole existence is flawed
You get me closer to god

Voldemort had waited an entire year to claim his Harry, and when the boy was finally beneath him, he expected slow and loving, comforting, tender and sweet. Instead Harry hadn't allowed him to keep the pace he had set, the young brunette raised his hips as Voldemort entered him, his fingernails digging into the Dark Lords hips as he urged the elder man to move within him. With a groan Voldemort obeyed and pulled out only to slam back in faster than he intended to.

Harry gasped, and fearing he had hurt the teen Voldemort tried to pull out. Harry wrapped his legs firmly around the Dark Lords waist, ankles locked at the base of his spine, not allowing the elder man to leave him. Harry raised his hips again, and raked his nails up Voldemort's back. With a gasp of pleasure bordering on pain, Voldemort pulled out as far as Harry's grip on his waist allowed and slammed back inside the teens arse.

Harry threw his head back and moaned loudly, and Voldemort smirked at the site. The boy was sin, personified: a beautiful work of art by the devil himself, designed to tempt those unable to resist towards the downward spiral into Hell. The noises the teen made and the way his arse clenched around Voldemort's shaft convinced the man that Harry Potter was temptation, a serpent (speaker) sent to lead those who were blinded by his beauty into damnation. But Voldemort was already damned, and he was a serpent speaker too, and the way he figured things, that made Harry his: sin, afterlife, and demon.

Harry grunted as Voldemort struck the spot within him that made Draco cry out so prettily. As his prostate was hit again, Harry let out a cry of his own. Voldemort, sensing his young love was close, wrapped a hand around the teenager's shaft and began to pump it in time with his own thrusts. Harry arched his back as Voldemort sped up his thrusting, letting out a wail as he came. Voldemort followed soon after, calling Harry's name with a choked cry as he emptied himself within his love.

He rolled off of Harry and lay beside the boy as they both panted. The elder brunette raised his hand to his lips and licked the cum off of his fingers. "Yummy, a true delicacy," he declared.

Harry laughed and rolled onto his side, curling into the embraced of the feared Dark Lord Voldemort. Harry knew that he was nothing special, he didn't believe anyone when they tried to tell him he was, but when Voldemort was inside of him or just close to him, he felt like a God. Closing his eyes he fell asleep surrounded by love and warmth and kindness.

Voldemort slipped into sleep once he was sure his love was settled, and after placing a chaste kiss to the boy's forehead and whispering; "I love you". Tom Riddle had always been 'different', the Dark Lord has always been better than everyone else; but when he was with Harry, he felt like he was special. As he slept, a smile formed on his lips, and deep within him, Tom Marvolo Riddle let go of his demons and his hatred and fear and held onto the love he had for Harry.

Harry in turn held Voldemort closer and as he revelled in the love he was freely offered, with nothing expected in return. He found the love he once felt for his friends and held onto it along with the love he felt for Voldemort. As he let go of the anger and the bitterness, tears formed and slid unnoticed down his cheeks for the first time in over a year.

And while the two long-suffering souls finally found peace and freedom with each other, the soul of Vernon Dursley was being tortured for eternity by the one who had created and loved the snake speakers. While evil and cruel, the Devil took care of his own, a trait he shared with both of the lovers.

The End

All right so I couldn't resist getting in one last dig at Vernon Dursley, I really hate that character, even in the books.

Also the ending was suppose to be slightly darker when I envisioned it in my sick and twisted mind, but I think Tom and Harry deserve a happy ever after for once, cause the rest of their life was no fairytale. It was suppose to be 'just sex' but a little feeling between them, but I like that they found love with each other. They are just to similar don't you think?

Come on cannon! Harry, ditch the Horcrux quest and shag Voldemort:)

Please review if you enjoyed it… If you hadn't you wouldn't have read all the way to the end, so really you should just review! Thanks, see you.