So! I am back!! And I bet you guys weren't expecting this.
"But author-chan, what happened to the cute twin brothers, or the cute soulmates having fun together?!!"
Well, you see, I got this idea yesterday, and I literally am now obsessed with idea of Tom becoming Harry's slave after the war. Why was I the first to think of this. It's such a good idea. I actually started crying when I got the idea. ((IF ANYBODY WANTS TO MAKE THEIR OWN STORY WITH THIS IDEA P L E A S E DO I BEG YOU I"M SO DESPERATE FOR MORE OF THIS))
So you guys get to deal with this crap. Yeah I know it sucks, and the tags suck even worse, but eeehhhh. :D
_________________________________________________________________________________________________
"Tom Riddle," the voice echoed, sounding impossibly loud in his ears.
His body tensed without permission, knowing the next words would decide his fate. Perhaps, if he were lucky, it would only be death.
He doubted it, even before the words had left the judges mouth.
"You are hereby sentenced to be Harry Potter's slave."
. . . . .
Harry stared at the letter in his hand, a confused expression adorning his face. What could the Ministry possibly want with him this time? They promised they wouldn't bother him unless it was for the utmost importance.
He frowned, rereading the words a few times, summoning him to one of the many offices they have in a couple hours, but ultimately shrugged.
'Might as well see what they want this time.'
There was nothing to gain by refusing, and they would just keep pestering him until he agreed, anyways.
Harry sighed, throwing the letter onto his desk, not sparing it a second glance. They didn't even bother telling him why he was being asked to come this time. Usually they at least grace him with why.
He sighed again, wishing he could go back to bed.
"Kreacher!" Harry called down the hall, despite that being a completely unnecessary action.
The house elf popped in the room only a second later, giving Harry a short bow. "Is Master needing something?"
"The Ministry just sent me a letter—something about compensation for the war—at two. Would you remind me when it gets close to that time?"
"Of course, Master. Would you be wanting any lunch?" Kreacher replied.
"Maybe sandwiches or something, please," Harry shrugged. "Nothing big. I'll be in the garden."
Kreacher disappeared with a quiet pop, most likely to the kitchen to start on lunch. Harry was just glad they had gotten past their differences and come to an understanding, especially since he was now living in Grimmauld Place with the house elf. Harry had refurnished a bunch of the rooms, getting rid of everything—okay, most things—dangerous, including the very loud screaming head of Walburga Black. Everything that was important to Kreacher went in the house elf's own room, where he could furnish it however he likes, as long as it's not disruptive. (Harry doesn't even know what all he has in there anymore, and he doesn't think he wants to know.)
Harry headed out back to work on his small garden, a mixture of magical and muggle plants, some for potions, others just for show, and some even for eating. One thing the Dursleys had managed to beat into him was a hobby of gardening. He liked the feel of the soil beneath his hands, the plants coming to life because of his efforts, and being able to literally taste hard work he put into them, in some cases.
(His strawberry patch was coming up nicely.)
He worked without much thought, only pausing to take a small lunch break and stretch. It was peaceful, being alone to his own thoughts. Not having to worry about a war going on, living up to people's expectations, being able to live alone and not having anybody tell him what to do. Nobody to control his every thought and action.
Even now, months after the war had ended, and even more months since Dumbledore had died, he was still finding out things about the wizarding world that everybody (especially Dumbledore) had kept from him. It was such common knowledge to every other wizard and witch alive, but he was kept in the dark so he was easier to control-
"Master Harry, sir, your meeting is in twenty minutes," Kreacher warned, effectively snapping Harry out of his thoughts.
"Hm?" Harry processed the words. "Oh! Thank you, Kreacher."
Harry headed inside, not caring that he left his tools out. He'd come back to work more soon, and there was no forecast of rain to worry about. A truly beautiful day, really.
He decided on a quick shower. He could just use a quick cleaning spell to gain the same results, but Harry likes the feeling of the water washing the dirt away. He also likes choosing hot or cold water, and being able to take one whenever he wants—something that was denied from him for his entire childhood.
. . . . .
A few minutes later, Harry is standing in one of the Ministry offices, with a rightfully confused look on his face. The lady at the desk—Ms. Holly, a young woman with a short red bob and a kind face—had handed him a thin book with no discernible cover. Before he was able to open and flip through it, the lady asked for him to take a seat.
With nothing better to do, he sat, leaving the book closed.
'It better not be for another interview,' Harry muses, already been in way too many for his liking.
The lady seemed to take that as her cue to begin explaining why he had been summoned.
As soon as she began talking, Harry wished it was for another interview, no matter how boring. Hell, he'd take Rita Skeeter over this.
"This book covers all of the basics of owning a slave, such as an overall guideline on how slaves are treated, various common punishment methods, and other-"
"Wait, hold on," Harry interrupts, really wishing he heard that wrong, "did you say slave?"
"Yes."
In all of his wonderful and eloquent speaking, and without anything else he could have possibly said, Harry blurts out, "But I don't have a slave?!"
(To be fair, shock is a hell of a drug.)
Ms. Holly doesn't seem to mind his blunder, continuing on easily with a soft smile. "Criminals are sometimes turned into slaves under special circumstances. During the slave's trial, you were chosen to be their master, since they had the greatest negative impact on your life."
"Wait, what? Hold on a second, wizards still do slavery?!" Harry questions, half standing up in his chair without realizing. Slavery is still a thing?!
"Yes. It is not a common punishment, mind you, but it has been known to happen in the past. Nothing anybody in the wizarding world would find strange, unlike muggles, who outlawed slavery a few years ago." Mrs. Holly answers, her kind voice disrupted only by what she was saying.
"I see."
Harry really doesn't. Just the thought that slavery is still a thing makes him want to be sick. Perhaps he should've expected it? Since house elves are still a thing, but they choose to serve their masters-
He continues, really still hoping he heard wrong the first time. And second time. And third time. "And you said I was chosen to own a slave..?"
(Harry cannot believe those words just came out of his mouth.)
"Yes. The trial concluded only yesterday, and you were decided as the best choice to be their master."
'Trial? Whose trial?'
Harry can't stop a frown from forming on his face. The lady seems like a nice person, but she's talking about slavery with such a light and happy face, as if it doesn't mean anything that wizards apparently still do slavery. As if it's such an everyday thing—and to them, it probably is.
And that's almost worse to think about—that slavery is such an everyday thing to them that they wouldn't bat an eye when they see it happen. Hermione would have a fit if she knew, which brings up the point that she doesn't know.
If this is common information in the wizarding world, and Hermione doesn't know, then that means this was another thing that Dumbledore hid from them. As if it would ruin the experience of living in the wizarding world, ruin Dumbledore's chances of having an obedient pawn. (To be fair, it probably would have.)
Harry's musings are interrupted by a knock at the door, to which Ms. Holly only smiles.
"Come in!"
The door opens, and two aurors that Harry doesn't recognize pop their head in. "Sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Holly, Mr. Potter."
"Oh no, you're fine! Come on in!"
The two of them start to head in, but one looks back and takes on a harsh voice, yanking on something in his hand. "Hurry it up!"
Wait, what- Oh. Oh no.
Harry's stomach drops. He's barely had enough time to wrap his head around the thought of slavery, and they're already bringing in his supposed slave-
Now that he's not distracted by their cheerful voices, Harry notices the chains one of the aurors is holding in their hand, leading to something behind them.
Soon enough, the figure follows through the door after the aurors, and it's one that Harry recognizes right away, no matter how desperately he wishes otherwise.
Tom Riddle.
Harry has the sudden overwhelming urge to leave. He's literally about to be sick. He isn't sure if it's because slavery, because Voldemort, or because a very bad mixture of the two standing right in front of him. In the end, and he isn't really sure how, Harry stays seated, and his lunch stays in his stomach, still threatening to make him ill at any moment.
He watches as the aurors yank the chain again, which Harry now realizes leads to Riddle's neck, connecting to a collar. It's a godforsaken leash. Riddle's hands are bound behind his back by more chains, and there's a literal muzzle over his mouth, made of cloth and stuffed in his mouth, effectively locking his jaw in place.
Riddle doesn't even seem to mind—or notice—the rough treatment, as if he's already used to it. Instead, he only drops to his knees when the guard nudges—pulls—him again, keeping his head hanging low, as if to avoid eye contact. He's staring at the floor like he wants to sink through it—to leave this horrid situation.
Harry can't help but stare. He hasn't seen Voldemort since the final battle months ago, and he had no desire to see him ever again, even if he did decide to leave him alive in the end.
Harry has no idea why he looks like Tom Riddle again, instead of a nose-less lizard, but he quickly decides that doesn't matter at the moment. He looks only a bit older than the diary—Harry remembers it so clearly, even after all these years—but so many things are wrong. His normally perfect hair is a disheveled mess, overgrown and covering his crimson-colored eyes. His usual posture that all but radiates power and leadership is no more, not even a spec remaining. Instead, Riddle seems like he wants nothing more than to phase through the floor, shrinking in within himself, making himself as small as possible.
And despite Riddle avoiding his gaze, Harry quickly caught sight of Riddle's blood red eyes, carefully neutral, with only a subdued acknowledgment that he can't stop whatever is going to happen. He's accepted his fate, because there's no other option.
Harry turns back to the lady, his voice distinctly toneless, only barely suppressing the storm of emotions inside of him. "I don't want a slave."
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Riddle drain of blood, becoming even more sickly pale than before, and almost shrink in on himself even more.
Before Ms. Holly can respond like she's about to, still much too joyful in Harry's opinion, he continues, realizing he probably said something wrong, "What happens if I don't accept him?"
"Oh! The slave will be handed over to authorities to be tortured painfully for a few months, before finally being left to die," Ms. Holly exclaimed, her happy tone a direct contrast with Riddle's reaction to hearing his fate out loud.
"You.. can't just do.. a death sentence..?" Harry asks warily, already scared of the answer.
"You are free to kill the slave whenever you want, since they belong to you, but that is what the judge decided will happen should you refuse the offer."
The more Harry learns of.. whatever this is, the less he likes it. "What, you would really let me just walk over there right now," Harry gestures to where Tom is sitting, pointedly not looking himself, "and let me kill him? And nobody would care?"
Even before Ms. Holly answered, Harry knew he wouldn't like the answer. He's not liking any of this.
"Of course! The slave is yours to do with as you'd like."
Instead, Harry tries a different approach, still purposely avoiding looking at Riddle. "And what's stopping him from trying to escape? Or, you know, actually listening to my orders in the first place?"
"If, at any point, you are displeased with your slave, you may return them and they will await torture and death—the same thing as if you don't accept them. You may also train and punish the slave at your discretion."
Harry hears the chains behind him shift softly, but he doesn't even glance over. He isn't sure what would do if he saw Riddle again right now, aurors looming over him, and an inescapable fate being talked about right in front of him.
(He realizes he should probably be mad at Riddle—for everything that he had done as a Dark Lord, from killing Harry's parents, dooming him to the Dursleys, and hurting so many of his friends, but he isn't. He's angry, yes, but not at Riddle. Not at the moment, when he's too livid at the thought of slavery to be mad at Riddle.)
Harry tries to focus on what Ms. Holly is saying instead, gripping the book in his hand a bit tighter. "And what's stopping him from using magic and trying to kill me, exactly?"
"Hm? Oh, the slave has had their magic bound, usable to your discretion. For instance, if you were to say 'Only expelliarmus', that would be the only spell the slave would be able to use. Or you could say 'Only Wingardium Leviosa when I am present', and they would be forced to obey. Of course, you can just say 'No magic', eliminating the possibility of them using magic in the first place."
"That's very.. specific." Harry doesn't really know what to say to that.
"Yes. That way you get the most use out of your slave, without risk of them retaliating in the process. Anything magical is fully under your control."
"Wonderful." Harry isn't sure if his voice could sound more monotone if he tried.
Ms. Holly continues, much to Harry's dissatisfaction. "One more thing." Oh thank Merlin, we're almost done. "The guidebook I gave you contains several high-quality punishment tools, as a special thanks for saving the wizarding world." Wait, hold on a moment-
Harry knows he didn't just imagine the glance she gave Riddle, still sitting behind him, still being guarded by the two aurors.
Harry intentionally doesn't ask what kind of 'punishment tools', quite sure he doesn't want to know. The thought makes him even more nauseous than he already is.
"So," Ms. Holly cocks her head to the side, "will you be accepting the slave?"
And, oh, it's time for Harry to decide. Really, his only answer should be 'no', and he's really tempted to say just that. He doesn't want anything to do with a slave, and nor does he ever want to be near Voldemort again, but...
Harry looks over to where Riddle is still kneeling, still just as pale, but now trembling uncontrollably, awaiting his fate.
Harry doesn't want a slave, but he doesn't want to be responsible for somebody's—even Voldemort's—death, especially when he has the power to stop it.
"I accept."
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
>:D
*ducks bricks*
Lemme know what you think! If you have any questions, I'll be more than happy to answer them all, because I have no life. Or rather, this entire fanfic idea is my life now.