Full Summary: The sensation of touch is one that is taken for granted, but for those who are trapped in a harsh war, the act of taction is can result in the revelation of one's own true face; quite literally. When Harry's connection to Voldemort through his scar becomes even more powerful, he begins to have dreams of a man he does not recognize, yet these dreams still bring upon the pain of Lord Voldemort. In his search for the remaining horcruxes, Harry has an accident that will alter his life forever; because now when the Dark Lord touches him, Tom Riddle surfaces on his skin.

Explanations: Okay, so pretty much, to spoil a bit, but not too much, whenever Harry and Voldemort touch skin to skin, Voldemort no longer looks like the snake-like being of the 4th and 5th movies, but Tom Riddle, a normal man. THIS TOM RIDDLE IS NOT THE ONE FROM THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS. He looks like Ralph Fiennes, adult Voldemort's actor.

No, this won't be right away slash, but IT IS SLASH between Voldemort and Harry, so if you don't like that, leave.

I got the inspiration for this randomly after seeing the Order of the Phoenix, and yes, this story is Half Blood Prince compliant. Harry WILL be searching for the horcruxes and it won't just be about him and Moldy Voldie.

And if you think that Harry and Voldemort together is an impossible task to actually accomplish with both of them in complete character and almost complete canon (lol), then think again. I may butcher Rowling's heterosexual wizarding population, but these characters will not be OOC, and if they are I trust you to tell me. I can't stand OOC Voldemort.

Okays! Off to the story!


And I'd give up forever to touch you
Cause I know that you feel me somehow
You're the closest to heaven that I'll ever be
And I don't want to go home right now

And all I can taste is this moment
And all I can breathe is your life
Cause sooner or later it's over
I just don't want to miss you tonight

And I don't want the world to see me
Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

And you can't fight the tears that ain't coming
Or the moment of truth in your lies
When everything seems like the movies
Yeah you bleed just to know your alive

And I don't want the world to see me
Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

I don't want the world to see me
Cause I don't think that they'd understand
When everything's made to be broken
I just want you to know who I am

I just want you to know who I am
I just want you to know who I am
I just want you to know who I am
I just want you to know who I am

-Goo Goo Dolls – Iris


Featherlight Taction

Chapter 1- Dreams

Another restless night of sleep. Another myriad of haunting faces and echoing screams. Harry's mental connection with Voldemort was one he never got used to, but it was at least something he'd come to accept over the years. At 17, he'd had endless nights harassed with visions of torture and death. Those nights he would wake up screaming, or sometimes even talking as if he were the serpentine monster who ruled his sleep. Other nights, as time wore on, Harry found himself involuntarily traipsing into less violent arenas of the Dark Lord's psyche. Oftentimes now, Harry would watch through the man's eyes merely as he sat in his chair or had simple conversations.

Regardless of the simplicity of some of these mental intrusions, Harry still loathed every bit of the contact. His scar would burn maliciously against his skull as he awoke, and he found himself wondering how Voldemort could be so careless as to allow Harry to intrude upon his world every night. Surely the villain didn't want him to observe every action the merciless Lord took during the hours of darkness.

And it was no exaggeration to say "every". Harry cringed at memories that passed behind his eyelids and he sat up in bed. Harry had wondered offhandedly once if the reptilian body Voldemort possessed was completely human. Hell, he was missing a nose, so who knew what else he'd been deprived of. However, much to Harry's discomfort, he'd seen on numerous occasions that a nose was the only thing that Tom Riddle did not possess; and sickeningly, those visions were just as violent as his muggle torture sessions.

Harry shook off the thoughts of his visions and rose from his bed at Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place. Slowly dragging his weary feet towards the bathroom, he couldn't help but give an embarrassing start as Kreacher, the house elf of the most "noble house of Black", let out a sharp cough at Harry's appearance in the hall.

"Filthy half-blood, tarnishing Mistress' floors," the elf gritted out from his jagged teeth before he spoke more loudly. "Potter, Master, walks in the house."

"Thanks for the narration, Kreacher," Harry retorted tiredly.

Kreacher simply twitched his obtuse head and continued his polishing of the banister. Harry rolled his eyes. He had no clue as to why Kreacher, a house elf who would rather die than clean anything other than Sirius' mother's portrait, was polishing something, but he decided to let it pass. At least an inch of the house would be cleaner.

He continued about his morning ritual; washing up, joining Ron and Hermione for breakfast, and dressing for the day's research.

Ever since they'd started searching for the horcruxes, Harry had found his nose buried in more books than adventures. Hermione had admonished him to fully read up on horcruxes before pursuing them. At first, he'd been utterly devoid of all desire to study--seeing as he'd already left school—so he set off against the witch's protests and recklessly sought the first horcrux.

However, the mission did not end out as intended. Instead of gloriously crushing the artifact and a shred of Voldemort's soul along with it, Harry had been laid up in Saint Mungo's for a week as numerous medi-witches and wizards tried valiantly to remove the humongous, unidentifiable blobs that had sprouted from Harry's skin as soon as he'd touched the horcrux. He still had small, freckled, white scars dancing over his pale flesh from that.

Needless to say, he decided to listen to Hermione's suggestion, not knowing that doing so would land him in the library of Grimmauld Place for ten hours a day. With the exception of visits from the surviving members of the order; such as Remus, Tonks, and Moody; Harry found himself caught in a daily schedule of monotonous eating, reading, and sleeping. Lately, sleeping had been the most eventful part of the day.

He'd tried to sleep as little as possible now, burying his nose in books that Hermione threw at him as an excuse not to close his eyes and see through Tom Riddle's once more. The dreams succeeded only in giving him worse cabin fever than he already had. In seeing the man he most wanted to kill, aside from Severus Snape, who was also quite high on his death-list, Harry only grew more angry and impatient to destroy the horcruxes and vanquish the most feared wizard on the planet.

Ron hadn't said much to Harry as of late, still processing the fact that they had not returned to Hogwarts that year. Though it was simple to Harry and Hermione that they no longer needed to attend Hogwarts—at least for the time being--, Ron had a much more difficult time accepting the change. Hogwarts had been a safe house of sorts, blocking off small sections of reality so that they could handle the uprising of dark times. Now that they were not there, the world's reality had hit them all full force, making them realize that life was not as simple as living anymore. No, they now had to really fight, or else death would jump at them from the nearest dark alleyway.

Ron had never been skilled at hiding his emotions, and this was no different. His façade had changed. He'd become much more quiet and reserved, speaking in a contemplative hush that was not characteristic of the usually energetic read-head. Though Hermione and Harry had been worried, they sympathized, knowing that their friend just didn't hide his fear as well as they did.

After all, fear ran their lives. They didn't admit it, but the air in the house, the streets, the world… it was all rank with fear. Now that Voldemort's return was fully believed by one and all, an unsettling chill had drifted over wizards and muggles alike. The adults that Harry had once regarded as mentors were either dead or had shifted into a position beside him, equal in their fear and anxiety.

Harry, Ron, and Hermione hadn't stopped training. They'd practiced spells diligently, but none of them could be so proud or naïve as to say that they had mastered any sort of magic. They were skilled, but not nearly as much as they should be. They were knowledgeable, but only from experience. They were brave, but to the point of idiocy in certain circumstances.

Harry, in one slight, pensive moment, had even considered Snape's opinions of him when he was a student. The man had been right about his dedication and intelligence. Harry really had been a fool. He'd come to be able to at least admit that much to himself as the cruel reality of his life set around him, but his venom for both Snape and his own faults would quickly drench any such admissions.

Harry sighed and flipped through another few pages of the worn book on the table in front of it.

"You've actually got to read the pages, Harry," Hermione chided as she observed Harry's mindless actions.

Harry grunted in response and glanced over at Ron, who was simply observing the small interaction silently as he ate a piece of bread. Harry looked back down at his book again and sighed, mentally this time. He'd been hoping for Ron to spark up and comment on Hermione's statement, saying something about how hard it was to concentrate on these bloody books. It was unnerving seeing Ron so passive, to the point of where it made Harry more nervous than he already was. He felt separated from his best friend, like Ron understood something he didn't, and Harry desperately wanted to know what he was missing.

Hermione rolled her eyes at Harry and sat her book aside with a thump, a small smile etching its way into her strong features. "Well I suppose we have read quite a bit today," she said playfully. It was remarkable how she still had the ability to be playful. "So why don't we play a game of exploding snap or something? Fred and George left some things from their shop here, didn't they?"

Harry and Ron looked at her with mild surprise. It was rare these days to have Hermione, or any of them for that matter, suggest something fun or unproductive. They were always working with no time for rest or play.

So, naturally, the boys were more than ready to find the products the Weasley twins had left behind.

They didn't play for long. Just a few games of wizard's chess and gobstones. But it was enough just to smile for a few hours before they returned to the seriousness of their studies.

It was late into the night before Harry gave up his war with his heavy eyelids. His companions had already resigned themselves to their rooms, fast asleep and unafraid of visions to haunt their minds. The raven-haired wizard trudged his way to his room, lying down regretfully on his bed and succumbing to the seductive darkness that was sleep.


A figure was leaning in the frame of a door. Harry strained his eyes to make them out. He tried to call to them, but the person did not seem to hear him. Slowly, he edged towards them, suddenly growing fearful and drawing his wand.

His emerald eyes narrowed as the face became clear. It was one he did not recognize. Yet, it had a familiar essence about it.

It was a man, with high cheekbones and mesmerizing, dark eyes. He wasn't looking at Harry, as if the boy wasn't even in the room with him. His very short and gleaming hair was as dark as his eyes. He was by no means classic in looks, but a regal handsomeness emanated from him.

He turned, and Harry woke up, his scar burning.


Harry poked at his eggs with his fork absentmindedly as he struggled to recall the face of the man from his dream the previous night. It was faded and Harry had lost the sense of familiarity with it since he had awoken. He remembered recognizing it, if only a little, while he was asleep, but now as he looked back at the dark eyes and solemn expression, he could no longer recognize anything about it.

The man was a complete stranger to him. But, if he'd never known him, how in the world could he see him so clearly in his dreams?

Harry shook his head. Apparently, it was a sudden movement, because it startled Ron into the point of knocking over his juice. His friend gazed at him inquisitively, as did Hermione, and Harry felt annoyed at himself for thinking too strongly. He knew they'd have questions now, and he hated talking about his dreams.

"I just had an odd dream last night," Harry said, sipping at the water in his glass.

"Another vision?" Hermione asked worriedly, knitting her eyebrows together in a maternal gesture.

Harry had the strange urge to chuckle. "No. I have those all the time. This was different."

"Different how?" Ron inquired softly, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chairs.

"Well, it wasn't like a vision. It was more like a dream," Harry replied, trying to think of how to describe it. "There was a man. I didn't recognize him."

"A man?" Ron repeated, looking bemused, "Well that doesn't sound like anything much. Was he doing anything?"

Harry shook his head. "No. Nothing. He was just… standing there, looking into space."

"Well I don't know why your mind is all boggled over it, then," Hermione stated, easing up. "Sounds just like a normal dream. Maybe you were just recalling someone you'd seen on the street or something. It happens all the time."

"I don't know. He seemed familiar."

"I thought you didn't recognize him?" Hermione answered, picking up the three's dishes and heading for the sink.

"I don't now. It was just for a moment," Harry said, adjusting his glasses. "Something just seemed familiar about him, that's all. And I never have dreams. Do you think it might be someone Voldemort wanted me to see? Maybe this man's a death eater or something."

"Possibly," Hermione agreed, "But you shouldn't linger over it, Harry. Especially if You-Know… Voldemort wants you to. For now, it doesn't affect us. If you have the dream again, then we'll tell Lupin."

Harry nodded and stood, waving his hand through the air as if throwing the dream into the rubbish bin. "let's get to the library then," he murmured. "The sooner the better. We've got to get through these books or we'll read through the whole bloody war."


Terribly short chapter. Sorry about that. I was just introducing Harry and them again. Setting up, you know. The next chapters'll be longer.

But for now, I leave you with this intro of sorts.

Yay for Ralph Fiennes!


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