harry.exe has stopped working ━ hp x tmr | lv

23

This is what happens when you blood adopt someone. It's highly dangerous and turns both party's obsessive. Hundreds of Wizards and Witches have died this way. It's why the ministry had banned it in the first place and made it an act of dark magic. 

It is also the reason Harry had known it was his Sirius in the first place and vice versa. They have a deep connection and it is beautiful, remarkable, truly breathtaking, but it is also poison, a dark unknown and greed like no other. 

Killing for each other is one thing but… killing each other is another. 

Harry doesn't dwell on his thoughts. He just let's himself enjoy the moment; closes his eyes and hides in the crook of Sirius's neck. The smell of something metallic is stronger there and Harry falls asleep breathing it in. 

He dreams of building a bridge over a small river. Dreams of long black hair and skeleton-like hands. Dreams of a heavy weight settling across his shoulders and a voice whispering right beside his ear. 'You are mine, ma… and I am…'

Harry does not wake up with a start. He wakes up with the slow flutter of his lashes and then with a quiet yawn. He blinks a few times and only then registers that he's in the private room alone. With a pout, Harry makes his way out of the room and walks up and down several corridors, peering into several other rooms.

He finds a few men playing chess who point him up the corridor and down the stairs. Harry believes he's met them in his past life. He's just always been bad at remembering names and connecting them to faces. 

"Thanks," says Harry, closing the door behind him. He barely catches the men's chorus of, "of course, Little Lord," and nearly trips.

'Great,' Harry snarks internally, 'everyone seems to know me but I don't know anyone. Typical.'

At the bottom of the stairs, Harry bumps into Fenrir Greyback who takes one sniff at him, looks at the shard of the philosopher’s stone hanging from his neck and shakes his head in disbelief. "Chaos," the man mutters going up the stairs, "utter chaos." 

Harry doesn't ask for clarification.

Partly because he knows and partly because he doesn't want to initiate conversation with the other man. 

Despite popular belief, Harry knows how it looks. He's wearing the shard, telling everyone where his alliance stands, where he belongs. But he's also walking around completely cloaked in Sirius's scent. Which, by the way, anyone with a magically sensitive nose can smell. 

Oh well.

That's future Harry’s problem.

Present Harry just wants some much needed treacle tart. He's earned it after that good nap from earlier. Blissfully ignorant of the consequences he's just made by ignoring his problems, Harry steps into the kitchen with light steps and a dreamy smile. 

He's met with the sight of Tom sitting at a small, circular table drinking tea. The first few buttons of his shirt are undone and his sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, showing off his veiny, muscled arms. 

Harry would have noticed his slightly dishevelled appearance and the obviously dead body covered with a dark blanket in the far corner of the room if, IF, there wasn't a full tray of warm treacle tart on the table obviously made just for him. 

"Tom," Harry breathes out, enthralled, "you shouldnt have." He grins almost wolfishly as he takes a seat beside Tom, effectively blocking out his view of the dead body. 

Tom's eyebrow twitches. He places his teacup onto the table and visibly straightens. "Harry," he says, "do not call me by that name." 

"Well, I'm not calling you Voldermort," Harry quips, sticking a spoon into the tray of treacle tart. He brings it back around to him mouth and completely falls in love with the sweet, creamy and lucious taste all over again. "I could call you Timothy?" He teases, licking the spoon. "Or Toby? Tia? Tabitha?" 

Tom closes his eyes and his chest strains with the movement of a deep breath. Harry watches fascinated at how Tom's knuckles turn white and how the air around him sparks with electricity. Whe he opens his eyes, it's like thousand of glaciers smashing against each other and creating a whirlpool of emotions. 

"Marvolo," Tom insits, leaning closer to Harry. He lifts his hand to cradle the side of his head, warm and gentle. "I could kill you for your cheek," he murmurs, delighted when Harry's breath hitches between them.

Harry leans into the touch like a cat, not the least bit afraid. His spoon drops onto the table with a loud clatter. "Mhhm," he hums, "I know, Tom."

Something in the air snaps. Tom moves like a deadly cobra, strong and swift. He wraps a hand tightly around Harry's neck and squeezes, gazing at him with wild, red eyes full of deadly fury. 

Tom breathes in deeply. "You smell like a dog," he idly comments, like he's not about to twist his hand and snap Harry's neck like a twig. 

Harry laughs, though it's more of a splutter of coughs. His lips twist into a impish smile, wide and full of teeth and his green eyes alight with amusement. The hand on his neck tightens even more and Harry relishes in the feeling, wraps his own hands around Tom's and just… settles there -- like it's a common occurance that he gets strangled. 

Tom's other hand settles onto Harry’s cheek and his thumb softly, tenderly swipes across his bottom lip, effectively smearing the dried blood from earlier. Tom brings it around to his mouth to lick at, his fiery gaze never once leaving Harry’s. 

For a moment, Tom looks utterly blissful, and then he leans down to lick a long, wet stripe across Harry's cheek. 

He pulls back with a satisfied smirk and only when he sees Harry starting to flutter his pretty eyes closed, only then, does he retreat his hand. "Others would have begged for their lives," Tom says over Harry's gasps and coughs. 

Harry laughs, quiet and soft and slightly hysterical. He holds a hand over his neck, it's tender to the touch, already bruising black and purple. He sighs, all gooey and dreamy. "Oh please, if you had really wanted to kill me," he sighs even dreamier, lowering his voice to a dramatic whisper, "you wouldn't have chocked me." 

Harry shrugs a shoulder, nonchalant. He stands to his feet and carefully stands between Tom's legs. "That's fine," Harry says, looping his arms around Tom's broad shoulders, "you can do whatever you want, Tom. After all, I am your horcrux, aren't I?"

Tom swipes a tongue over his lips hungrily. His eyes are dark as he wraps his arms around Harry's waist. His voice is overly soft as he speaks, "My clever little horcrux. Are you manipulating me?"

"Just a little," Harry says, hiding a smile into Tom's wavy hair. He smells fresh, like grass after heavy rainfall, but also like spilt ink over parchment and new books. "But only because you're manipulating me too." 

1810 words//unedited

first things first. i am alive. i know. very shocked, we all are. second of all.... i was super fucking high when i wrote this. like. high me wrote this and then barely sober me went over it and was like, "ykw?? they want trash? they'll get some trash." and then i posted this emotional roller coaster of a chapter.

anyways--

as we all know, I am a shitty narrator and i should be sorry for this mess??? but i can't muster enough energy to be. so.

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harry: *does something dumb and dangerous*
cissa&bella: IT'S THE BLACK BLOOD I TELL YA
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tom: *chokes harry*
harry: oh yh this is real fuuuuun
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sirius: *does the thing*
harry: *does the thing back*
the readers: *very confused noises*
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high me: post it
sober me: it's really shit tho
high me: okay and?
sober me: .... u rite u rite amma post it
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tom: u smell like a dog
harry: haha... about that...
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harry: I'm the furthest thing from depressed. i mean, look at me. do you think a depressed person would just let themselves be choked like this? nooooo
+++++

thanks a bunch for all the wonderful comments and votes~~~~ also a lot of you are very confused why the snake in the very first chapter said that they were leaving for brazil 🤣🤣🤣 just go and read the first book oml

[side note: these relationships are so toxic oml]