It's Just Revenge, Darling by DearClara

Chapter 12

Absolute and total horror. That's what Tom felt. How was it even possible? Not only should a human Horcrux not even be in the realm of possibility; how did it survive the time travel? And who did it belong to? Tom? Or the Voldemort of the future?

Tom was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't feel Hadrian wake up. Not until a soft hand on his cheek startled him so much that he jumped.

"Hey," Hadrian said in concern, "Are you ok?"

"I honestly don't know," Was the only thing that Tom could say.

Hadrian rolled over onto his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows, so he was looking at Tom, "What's going on? Talk to me."

Tom sighed and ran a hand over his face, "I think I worked out the connection you shared with the Voldemort of your time."

Hadrian frowned, "What do you mean?"

Tom swallowed, "I think I know why he could send you visions and why the Diary thought you could be absorbed. And I don't know how you're going to feel about it."

Hadrian sat up fully now; he was still naked, which Tom was trying very hard not to focus on, "Tell me."

Tom took a deep breath, "Do you know what a Horcrux is?" At Hadrian's blank look, Tom sighed and stood up, walking over to his trunk where his copy of Secrets of the Darkest Arts was hidden. Tom opened it up to the page on Horcruxes and, with some trepidation, handed it over.

Tom watched with bated breath as Hadrian began reading, watching as his face twisted with disgust the further he read. He must have gotten to the instructions on how to make one because Hadrian snapped the book shut and threw it away like it had burnt him.

"That's fucking disgusting, Tom. Why would you show me that?" Sudden understanding lit up in Hadrian's eyes, "No," he breathed, "Tell me you didn't."

Tom didn't even have to answer, the look on his face was answer enough, and Hadrian groaned, "The fucking Diary is a Horcrux? Why, Tom? Why would you do something like that?"

"Because I don't want to die," Tom replied softly.

Hadrian looked at him incredulously, "You're 16, Tom. Wizards can live till they're 200."

"Yes, well, wizards don't live in a London Orphanage in the middle of a muggle war!" Tom spat, trying to force down the memories of air raid sirens and bomb shelters, the screams of terrified children and the smell of burning bodies.

"Hey," Hadrian's soft voice floated through his subconscious, "Come back to me."

"Sorry," Tom whispered as he focused again, looking down at Hadrian, who was cupping his cheek softly.

"It's alright," Hadrian said, guiding Tom back to the bed before taking a deep breath, "Ok. I understand the desire. But really, Tom," Hadrian waved a vaguely disgusted hand at Secrets of the Darkest Arts , "This? Surely there was something else."