Just like life

I wrote this oneshot for Gamma Orionis's OTP Bootcamp Challenge.

In this bootcamp, we were given 50 prompts and we're encouraged to use them (all if we can) writing only about our OTP. As my subscribers know, my. OTP is HarryxVoldemort/HPTR/HPLV/HarryMort, whatever you want to call them

This is my fourth oneshot. Prompt: jagged.

Jagged = ragged notches, points, or teeth; having a harsh, uneven or rough quality

The rating is "M". Here I am, finally trying my hand at writing a light lemon. :P

Disclaimer: I don't own anything belonging to Harry Potter. I'm just sprinkling this fandom with my love! ~

"Try for some remorse" he told me that day when everything changed.

In the beginning I wondered where I would be at this point, if I hadn't.

Everyone around me has always treated me like I was beyond redemption, ever since the orphanage when mysterious forces would avenge me. In the beginning, I didn't know what was happening, but I always got punished for it. I was always told that it is my fault, that I'm vile, unnatural, a freak. That I'm beyond salvation – as if anyone ever tried to save me.

No one ever did.

Professor Dumbledore looked at me and He also saw an unnatural freak. He was the first I trusted, and I told him everything that day. I have lived to regret it.

I never imagined why being able to talk to snakes was such a sin, why punishing people who hurt me was evil. But at school, Dumbledore always treated me with reserve, always mistrusted me. I wanted to prove myself to him in all the ways, but he never gave me another chance.

From that point on, no one dared to question me, to ask things of me.

I made a name for myself; I gathered followers and I climbed the stairs to Greatness, like my ancestor before me. At the top of the stairs, I found a little innocent baby boy named Harry Potter. Just another stepping stone for me, but oh, it turned out to be a fatal one. The stair collapsed under me, and I fell into the black.

I refused to give up, and I had my enemy brought before me, to be my stepping stone again. Oh, and he was – wonderfully so. I no longer fear Harry Potter's secret weapon, I told myself. No, I never feared him. Never. It's just a saying.

Harry Potter is an annoying brat.

He's been one step ahead of me until the very end.

Dumbledore's plan turned against me, he says? The traitor Snape loved his mother, he says? Oh...they're going to pay. Even dead they will not escape mu wrath! I am a Dark Lord! I can do Necromancy rituals as easily as these fools say Quiddich! I will summon their spirits and torture them for the rest of my eternal life! How DARE they!

And then, Harry Potter asked me to try for some remorse.

I stopped and looked around at the only place I have ever called my home.

I saw the dead bodies scattered around the floor. The beautiful main staircase was destroyed. Tapestries were torn. There were many scorch marks on the walls.

"No magic in the hallways!" the caretaker used to say, chasing away amused Slytherins that were caught practicing the Tripping Jinx on Hufflepuffs.

Salazar Slytherin's portrait was empty. Even HE had left.

The sword of Gryffindor had disappeared. The Hat no longer talked. Another Founder abandoned the school.

Giants had destroyed the Ravenclaw Tower. The diadem was still burning in Fiendfire, even if there was nothing left of it. Rowena was gone.

The House Elves were fighting. Helga, the kind, loyal Helga must be crying tears of blood.

Students were fighting.

Bellatrix, beautiful, strong and insane Bellatrix was dead, killed by a housewife that was famous for her tasty food and her motherly nature. She was a Mother that I had turned into a murderer.

I look into Harry Potter's eyes. He was never good at Occlumency, and now his unguarded mind shows me the entire conversation between him and the meddling old man. I must calm down and process this alarming new information.

"Is there any point? Right now, it really is too late, Harry Potter" I told him.

"It's not too late!" he shouted at me, determined. "It never was!"

I lowered my wand and Dissaparated.

My remaining followers, always slow – were captured by the Aurors.

None of my followers returned to me.

Malfoy Manor was cold and lonely without them. I gathered my personal objects and some clothes, and I left. I looked at my arms, my white, unblemished arms, and I remembered every one I ever Marked.

I felt so empowered back then! But I was young and foolish. I marked them like cattle and I treated them like cattle and now they're dying, useless and battered, and their children are spineless worms. The Slytherin pride is gone.

Black. It's a name I will never hear again.

Andromeda and Narcissa are part of other families. I have no Cygnus, no Orion, no Alphard. Lestrange is also a name that will disappear soon. Will be forgotten.

I wanted to make a better world for Purebloods, and I wanted revenge. Somewhere along the way, I ruined them. Purebloods are nothing now, so I will release them. Maybe if I do, they will learn to fly by themselves again? Speak for themselves? Think for themselves? I hope so. The Marks sizzle…and I feel them disappear one by one.

Pureblooded Slytherins are natural leaders. They are supposed to lead this world, but after this long war, the new world belongs to Halfbloods and Mudbloods.

I wish I knew what remorse was.

I have never felt it.

I found refuge in my Father's old home, again. I'm sure Aurors will come looking for me soon, but I need some time to think about what I will do next. I have moments when I'm lucid, and moments when I feel like destroying everything in my way.

I have to make a strategy before my madness returns.

"Voldemort! I know you're here" he calls.

Harry Potter, is, as always, one step ahead of me.

"Potter" I spit his name like a curse.

"I just wanted to talk to you"

"Harry Potter, let's get one thing straight. You were never my Horcrux. I would have known it if you were. You can't stop being a Horcrux unless you're destroyed beyond repair. Obviously, you're breathing and my Killing Curse failed again. I'd also like to mention, as the expert in Dark Magic, there's no such thing as an "accidental Horcrux" – a very complicated, carefully done ritual is necessary, and I never had the time to even start it"

"Okay. Then why can I see into your mind?"

I dreaded his question because I dread the answer. Fate likes to play cruel games, doesn't it? Letting my soul mate be born fifty years after me. And Dumbledore was just as cruel as Fate, making two soul mates kill each other. All this time he manipulated the both of us so artfully that he almost succeeded.

With Harry Potter by my side, I would have been invincible. He was, always, my only weakness.

"There was a residue of magic left in your scar that connected us. Don't ask me for more, Potter. I know just as much as you do"

I lied to him, of course. Now, more than ever, I have to play the Slytherin in me to the fullest.

"I can accept that" he muttered quietly.

"You did not come here to kill me?" I had to ask. I had to be sure.

"I asked for remorse from you" he bites his lips.

"You asked for the impossible"

"Perhaps" he frowns. I frown too. What is the silly boy trying to do now?

"I have a house that you can stay in" he says. "It's got a lot of dark stuff around, and his mother would probably worship you. I'll have Kreacher work at Hogwarts from now on, so you can stay there as long as you need"

The Black home – I remember it from my youth.

"You're making a dangerous offer, Potter" I tell him.

"Maybe I am just being reckless again, but you have agreed to do something impossible for me. It's the least I can do" he says.

"Harry Potter...what's in it for you?"

He turns around, and I'm looking at his slightly hunched back.

"You told me once, or maybe it wasn't you – that we were not so different. At that time, I wanted to be so different from you! I was good, you were evil. I was Gryffindor, you were Slytherin. We were opposites! But we weren't really.

A part of me belonged in Slytherin, because I've been a Slytherin my first eleven years of life. That Slytherin part of me hid away all year, until things became deadly, until I faced you, to come out and protect me again. I escaped you many time because of that small part I always denied to have.

I don't want to deny any part of me anymore. I don't want to have people tell me what to do with my life from now on. I want to make my own decisions, and this is my first decision."

"You will keep me hidden?"

"I will have the Fidelius renewed. This time, I will be the Secret Keeper. I will tell anyone who asks that I sold the house because it brought too many bad memories. It will be unsafe for you to come out at first, but after a while, you could come out under glamors. We'll see what happens from there. Agreed?"


I take Harry Potter's hand and we Dissaparate.

It's been two years since that day.

It's been one year and six months since I first kissed him.

It's been a year since I first slept with him.

It's been three months since the world stopped looking for Voldemort and came to the conclusion that "either the bastard committed suicide or Harry Potter found him and made his transition swift and precise"

It's been two months since 30-year-old "Thomas Styles", home-schooled half-blood, moved from Townsville, Australia, to London.

It's been two days since Thomas Styles and Harry Potter have "officially" started dating – according to the Daily Prophet, Witch Weekly, Potterwatch, and oddly enough, the Quibbler. Well, the Quibbler is most accurate anyway, since we gave it a four-page long interview and we let Dennis Creevey take pictures of us in the house that Harry bought immediately after the war.

It's been a week since Thomas Styles agreed to become the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts, school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

It's been bliss.

Harry Potter is sleeping soundly in my arms, in our house. His body is marred by scars, scars that he chose not to remove. He is jagged. He wants to remember the war, always. I know he is punishing himself for everyone that he lost. I can't bring myself to say anything to him about his perpetual guilt, since I'm the source of this nightmare.

I have my old body back – apparently a lot of things can be done with "willingly given" blood – and I only did some minor alterations so they don't recognize Tom Riddle's handsome face.

My skin is smooth. I am a new man on the outside, but I know just how jagged I am on the inside. I never truly began to feel remorse until I fell in love with this beautiful, wonderful, selfless man. This man, who pierced the lost bits of my soul together, helping me with so much patience. This man, who held be through every painful realization, through every painful return, until my soul was complete.

This man who kissed me tenderly the day when the diary self returned to me and I was complete.

"Harry…" I whisper gently into his ear. What a wonderful name! I'll never grow tired of saying this name.

"Are you awake?"

"Hmm...Tom, let me sleep for ten more minutes..."

I kiss his protest away, and he kisses me back. I flip him over and I begin to pep his face with kisses. My Harry is so wonderful, he needs to be worshiped properly every morning – especially now, when my teaching will keep me away from him at least five days a week.

I kiss down his jaw and nip his neck, sucking on his collarbone, one of his very sensitive spots.

"Tom, you're very naughty today…"

He wakes up. Of course, I always have this effect on him. I get lower, kissing him, touching him until he mewls in my arms. He watches me through half-lidded eyes as I kiss the tip of his length, and take it all in.

I love him. I love pleasuring him. I always thought I would be a selfish lover, and I dreaded the moment when he would discover this and leave me, but it turned out, there was nothing to fear. He guided me through it with much gentleness and care – even if it was the first time for him, just as it was for me – and it felt great.

Harry seems to have had enough of my teasing, for he flips me on my back and straddles my hips. What can I say? I love control. I love the feeling that I can get someone like Harry to look at me like a hungry animal and at the same time – like an endless treasure. It gives me power in ways that I never imagined possible.

He always returns the favor, too, the little Gryffindor. He always prepares me slowly, patiently, to the point where I either threaten him or beg him - to make me feel as little pain as possible. As he sinks into me, I grit my teeth to adjust to the small pain in the back, and focus on his skin, his arms and his back instead. The heat is as unbearable as it was the first time. Harry makes love with the same passion and enthusiasm as he plays Quiddich. He looks at me with the same childish awe and goofy happiness – like when he catches the Snitch - every time I moan in his arms, knowing that he is the one doing this to me. He changes angles, he embraces me, he kisses me, he tells me sweet nothings. He goes faster or slower, without needing me to say anything. He knows what I like. He knows every sensitive point in my body and he plays me like a Maestro.

My precious jagged Harry.

It's been two years since I stopped wondering "what if", because I know.

If I had chosen to not feel remorse that day, I would have died.

Not by your hand, but by my own.


Author Note: So, how was it? Did you like it? Leave a review if you have the time! It keeps my muse well-fed and happy:P