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Harry always remembered that their marriage contract was limited to just five years. Just five years?When the "kind mentor" announced to the Hero the Order's decision to conclude a peace treaty, which involved cementing this peace through a marriage between the Lord and the Chosen One, he was ready to beg on his knees for a reduction in the contract's duration. In fact, the director himself did not expect this contract to last long. If both newlyweds were to die about a month after the wedding, ultimately, what difference did it make how long the contract would be valid on paper?However, the director's plans did not succeed. Today, Dumbledore is in Nurmengard, in a cell adjacent to Grindelwald. And Harry cannot believe that the term of their contract has come to an end.Yes, at the beginning of their life together, it was not easy for them. They had to, if not show kindness and understanding to each other, at least try to find a compromise that would prevent the destruction of the recently repaired Malfoy Manor.After a year, they finally learned to be in the same room without pointing their wands at each other. Nevertheless, the unexpected shift from ignoring each other to a closer relationship happened swiftly. Harry never regretted that it happened, even if someone claimed that falling in love with an enemy was abnormal.Yet this very enemy, in the first year of their adjustment, did much more than anyone else. He explained everything regarding the Family and Family responsibilities, hired teachers for Harry, made him undergo medical examinations, and even, like a caring hen, monitored his diet.Yes, this was all due to the terms of the contract, but by the end of that year, Harry found himself increasingly catching Tom's gaze and feeling subtle touches that made his insides tighten. This was not out of fear or disgust, but from sweet anticipation.Just this morning, Tom had tenderly kissed his sleepy husband and promised to return as soon as possible from another long business trip. As Minister of Magic of Great Britain, he was forced to deal with the consequences of his predecessors' actions, and there were quite a few of them.Tom was not supposed to return for another three days. And this little detail gave Harry the confidence that the term of their contract did not matter much. Perhaps they would just need to sign new papers, and that would be the end of it. But everything crumbles when a goblin comes to their—Tom's—home to announce the conclusion of the contract. And that Harry must leave Malfoy Manor immediately.Harry barely had time to object when he was snapped away to the house on Grimmauld Place.He cannot believe that Tom did this to him. That he did not even say goodbye in person, leaving everything to the goblins. In a nervous rush, he grabs a box of potions, but it slips from his trembling hands and falls to the floor. The potions scatter, covering the cold floor, and Harry drops to his knees, hoping to collect enough to get back to his home. His home?Trembling and dusted with potion powder, his hands freeze when it finally dawns on Harry that the contract is indeed over. Malfoy Manor is no longer his home. Tom is no longer his husband. And now they are not obligated to each other anymore. They are just two people who once crossed paths.Kreacher's creaky voice quietly urges his master to get off the cold floor, trying to comfort his lord. But it only reminds him of yet another condition of the contract."Master Harry, why are you like this? You know that access to the manor is now closed for you. Master Harry..."Harry does not hear. In his ears, only his heart is pounding, and there is the sound of his own inhuman wail, like the cry of a beaten animal. He cannot see. His eyes are blurred with tears.Harry breaks down, pressing against the floor. And he does not even hear how his world is cracking apart.***When he comes to, he finds himself not lying on the cold floor next to the fireplace but comfortably settled in a soft bed.The first thing he realizes is that he is in Grimmauld Place. Harry clearly remembers helping to renovate Ron and Hermione's guest room. The second thing is that he is still not alone.Hope spreads its wings in his soul, only to burn out completely the next second."Harry?" Hermione says, rising from the chair where she had been waiting for him to wake up.Not him.Potter squints his eyes, turns over, burying his face in the bed as his slightly grown hair brushes against his cheeks, completely blocking his view. Mio exhales heavily next to him, running a gentle hand over his head."Harry," she whispers softly."You were right, as always," he hoarsely exhales, slowly turning to his side to avoid disturbing her hand on his head."This time I would have liked to be wrong," she continues quietly, as if speaking louder would make them be heard and thrown out of their little refuge into a reality they are not ready for. "But maybe...""Maybe not.""Harry...""Mio," he interrupts her, feeling his eyes burning from the impending tears. "No one could enter the manor without his permission," he bursts out with a trembling voice. "No one could act without his orders."Blinking, he feels hot tears streaming down his cheeks. There are no thoughts, no emotions. Silence and emptiness, but it touches him how all his being is drowning in sobs, curling up into a ball, just to not be touched, just to not be hurt."How did you know?" he asks, calming down after a while, feeling a gentle foreign hand continuing to stroke his hair."Kreacher," she simply replies in a whisper, worn out from the emotions.Harry inhales, swallowing and feeling a lump rise in his throat. He is considered one of the strongest wizards, but right now he cannot even lift a hand."I don't know what to do," he states emotionlessly. Because this is the loudest truth. Because he truly does not know. He has no strength for anything, no emotions, only hot tears and a weak body. He has only now. No tomorrow, and yesterday has too much pain to return to."We are here," Hermione assures, taking his limp hand. "You're not alone, Harry. Ron and I will always be on your side. You know that."Mio herself is on the verge of tears, realizing that she can do nothing. She cannot help in any way except to be there for as long as it is needed. The witch leans down, pulling him into her embrace. Potter wipes his tears, hugging her back."I just wanted..." he doesn’t finish."I know, Harry. I know," she squeezes him in her arms.Silence envelops them, allowing them to remain in this state for a little while longer. Allowing them to forget about reality for a few moments."Thank you, Mio," the wizard whispers, not breaking their silence.***"Are you sure?" Hermione asks again, standing by the fireplace and preparing to leave at the request of her friend when they returned to Grimmauld."Yes, I'll really be fine, Mio," he says tiredly, leaning his hip against the table opposite the fireplace. "Go, everything will be alright.""Okay," she exhales, adjusting the strap of her bag. "But if...""I'll write. Right away."Granger smiles with just her lips, nods, and fixes her hair, gathered in a bun; she turns to the fireplace, taking the potions."Goodbye, Harry," she says, glancing back for a moment to bid him farewell. He just waves to her.Potter closes his eyes at the flash of green light, exhaling tension and dropping his shoulders, no longer trying to keep them straight. Before Hermione, he tried to hold himself together, even believed it himself, but now in the silence, he feels only emptiness.So he jumps nervously when the fireplace lights up again with a flash of green light. So much so that he does not even open his eyes when someone enters. So he speaks his friend's name, thinking it is her."Hermione..."But does not finish when he is pulled into an embrace, and a familiar scent hits his weary consciousness. The wizard recognizes him not by the embrace, not by the cold medallion that knocks against his chest with movement, and not by anything else. No. The smell. He recognizes it by the smell.The emotions that had been dormant all this time explode in his soul. Thoughts bounce around like bouncy balls, hitting the walls of his skull.It's him. Why is he here? Why only now? Where has he been? Did he know? Did he not know?Harry tries to push away with weak hands. While his brain opts for a negative development of events.He didn’t come then. He didn’t want to. He’s not here because of me. He’s here by mistake."Harry," someone says near his ear, finally causing him to open his eyes and look into a similarly weary face with slightly furrowed brows and pressed lips.Perhaps Harry is truly a weak wizard because that is enough for him to fall back into that embrace once more. Let it be glamor. Let it be deception. Let it be some unknown benefit to him. Let it. Just give him a couple of minutes. A couple of minutes to hold this person in his arms.Fingers grip the fabric of the coat.Just a couple of minutes.***Harry sits on their bed, wrapped up after a bath. He feels better. Without those intrusive thoughts that worsened his condition even further."The goblin was fired," Tom says, sitting down next to him and pulling his husband back."He was just doing his job," the wizard mutters, bowing his head.Riddle only exhales heavily, not removing his hands."Yes, which consisted of bringing you a new marriage contract while I was gone so you could think about my proposal.""You were supposed to come back in three days.""You knew I would return in three days. I was supposed to come back in the evening."Harry smiles slightly, feeling the long-awaited calm without the oppressive knowledge of his falsehood. No, everything is truly fine now. A new marriage contract is signed, friends are warned, access is unlocked, and the side of his person warms him. Everything is settled, even the pressure in his chest after the prolonged stress does not bother him as much now.Except for one more thing."Tom, is the goblin alive?"In response, there is only silence."Tom!"
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Last year, on this momentous day, he returned home holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers, which brought a warm smile to his face. This year, however, in his hands is only a dying cigarette, burning his fingers, and an unbearable pain that he persistently ignores.- Riddle, it seems you’re not planning to continue your life, - Dolokhov says with displeasure, frowning and giving his face a clear expression of dissatisfaction.There is an opinion that after a person leaves this world, the surrounding reality continues to exist as it did before, and nothing changes. For most people, this day will simply be another unremarkable day.- Where did you get that? - Tom smirks crookedly, trying to fake a semblance of a smile.- I don’t even know, - Dolokhov replies with an uncertain tone. - Should I list them in alphabetical order or by numbers?Riddle merely shrugs indifferently, paying no particular attention to the physical pain that rolls through his body like a powerful wave. Physical pain or emotional – there is no difference here. It’s just pain. Pain that no longer releases him, no matter how hard he tries to hide his true feelings behind a mask of indifference.- A healthy sleep and proper nutrition? Does that mean anything to you? Tom, you seem to be striving for death, not realizing what you're doing, - Antonin continues with insistence, meeting him with a penetrating gaze. - You know he wouldn’t want this...- Shut up, - Tom sharply interrupts him, changing his deceptively relaxed gaze to a sharp one, causing chills to run down the spine of the accustomed Dolokhov.- Tom...- Not a word, - he pronounces, emphasizing each syllable with clear contempt.- If Harry were here...- But he’s not here! - Riddle doesn’t raise his voice, but his words sound as if they could be deafening. Rage and pain mix in his eyes. - He’s not here.- Tom...- Get out, - he hisses, receiving a stunned glance in response. Antonin doesn’t want to leave him, but understands that he has crossed the line.Creaking the floorboards, he tries to leave as quickly as possible, leaving Riddle alone.Later, he will undoubtedly regret it.***There is a common belief that those who are about to leave this world can be recognized. They finish their affairs, put their homes in order, visit loved ones for the last time.Only Tom has no loved ones left.He sees no point in putting his affairs in order – they will manage without him. After all, they are not small children. And the house-elves can take care of the cleaning. He doesn’t care.He stands before the Arch of Death. It seems to be one of the most pathetic ways to leave life. Because within him, hope still flickers, which does not go out.According to the records of Salazar Slytherin, the Arch of Death has the ability to lead a person to where they long to go the most. But there is no evidence of this, alas. After all, no one has returned.Riddle realizes that this may just be a myth. He understands this but cannot help but move closer to the arch, listening to its whisper that calls him to come closer.He has one last chance to retreat, but he does not slow his step, confidently stepping into the Arch.***To find himself before a vague picture, as if he had not yet exited the Arch, remaining in the space before its exit, within what the Arch carries, remaining a powerless witness to what is happening. A multitude of spells flying in different directions, the screams of wizards in black cloaks and masks, among which he notices Malfoy, a couple of adults, and... What are the teenagers doing amid all this chaos?- Sirius! - a loud distorted scream echoes when he sees the back of a man flying straight towards him, into the Arch.Tom tries to move, to step aside, but he cannot and only squeezes his eyes shut, preparing for the inevitable blow. But instead, he feels an unknown force throw him out of this space into another world, leaving him gasping on the floor, trying to regain his body’s ability to breathe, hear, see, and move. As if all this time he had been dead.When he can finally get up, he sees a group of people holding a teenager. A teenager who...- Harry? - a hoarse voice escapes him, meeting the familiar green eyes full of despair.***This is indeed another world. A world where his beloved is only sixteen, recoiling from him as from fire and looking at him hostilely until the Director takes Tom aside for a conversation.Harry has practically no relatives left here. Sirius Black, the boy's godfather, turns out to be the very man who fell into the Arch. Most likely, only thanks to his involuntary sacrifice did he end up in this world, rather than perishing somewhere in the space between worlds.Add to this the snake-like monster that... What...Tom runs a hand over his face, trying to piece together all the available fragments of information into some semblance of a structured system.- Horcruxes? - he raises his eyes to the Old Man, in his world, he was completely different. More open and friendly.The blue eyes look at him attentively, continuing to ponder something, hiding it all behind a relaxed face and a kind smile, which only irritates him even more. In general, much about this world irritates Tom. It seems wrong to him, full of flaws that he resists with all his being.- Yes, - the Director replies.The irritation only accumulates into an ugly, slimy lump. Horcruxes? His copy in this world used such an unreliable and suicidal method.But even thinking about his prototype in this world, he returns his thoughts to Harry, which only increases his disgust for his copy. He doesn’t care about the plans and ambitions of his double; the latter destroyed them when he chose to use Horcruxes. He does care about the harm he caused to the copy of his husband.Dumbledore says something about the help he can provide them. If, of course, he wants to.Riddle wants to, but not in the way the Director desires.***Most likely, Horcruxes were not what struck him with his initial madness. Most likely, it is inherent in all his versions. Therefore, he does not feel guilty. Neither for the broken vases in the manor, nor for a couple of collateral victims among the Death Eaters, nor for the two dead bodies lying before him.Tom kicks the lifeless clawed hand of the monster, thinking of placing it next to Bellatrix’s body. In life, she would have been happy with such an outcome. But now her glassy eyes stare at one point, remaining indifferent to the surrounding world.The room looks completely destroyed, with cracks from numerous spells everywhere. The floor, the walls, even on the ceiling and the shattered chandelier. Malfoy Manor looks no better than its owners, hiding in one of the inaccessible rooms. Riddle is not going to search for them; he doesn't need them. In any case, Dumbledore did not name their names as those who harmed the Hero.Perhaps he really is insane to some degree. Perhaps all his versions in each of the worlds are insane. Perhaps...Turning to the untouched corner of destruction, he removes the shield spell he cast there at the very beginning. Harry sharply pulls off his invisibility cloak, looking defiantly.- Shall we go check if I’ll join my insane version of this world? - Riddle says, carefully examining the boy before him, ensuring that he is not hurt, intact... alive.The boy remains silent, pressing his lips together, looking tense and constantly glancing at the bodies, sending chills through his body. Tom steps slightly aside, blocking his view.No. Don’t look. You don’t like this; I don’t want you to see it.- Let’s head back; I think Dumbledore will be glad, - he says, extending his hand forward, waiting.Perhaps they share one madness. The Hero meets his gaze. And from that alone, Tom is ready to kill yet another version of himself. The only thing he needs is proof that Harry is alive. Yes, he is not his husband. Yes, he is another person. Yes, he does not trust him. But this is Harry. Harry Potter. Alive and breathing.A warm foreign palm sends strange impulses to his brain, rearranging something in him and making him believe that this is not an illusion. Potter looks at him suspiciously, but no longer so hostile, more like confused.What then. Tom couldn’t explain it himself. He is just a madman looking into the eyes of his green-eyed doom, to which he will always run to meet.- Be careful, - he says when they find themselves in the office of the bewildered Director.Before the office fills with members of the Order of the Phoenix, Harry whispers quietly in his ear:- Apparition to Hogwarts grounds is considered impossible.- Really? I didn’t know that, - he whispers back just as quietly, enjoying the trust and relief reflected in the sparks of joy on the young wizard’s face.***Tom Riddle is considered a wizard who arrived from abroad, having led a reclusive lifestyle for a long time, which is why there is no information about him. Tom Riddle is regarded as a hero who, together with Harry Potter, defeated Voldemort. Five years after that victory, Tom Riddle was elected Minister.People still have many questions for him. He has no answers for them.Looking at the person next to him, Tom realizes that these were not just five simple years. He needed time not to see his husband’s image in him; it took time to get used to him. And to love again took him only a couple of moments.Harry adjusts his tie, raising his gaze as he finishes:- Are you looking at me like that again? - he quietly asks.Tom merely raises an eyebrow slightly, remaining relaxed under the touches of his husband.- Don’t you like it?Potter snorts playfully, smiling.- No.Later, as they leave the house, Riddle thinks about wanting to buy flowers again. The same ones...
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The first to die was Mom.In her place came a strange woman. Unfamiliar. Indifferent to him, her son. Wearing a fake smile on her face.Harry was only eight months old. But even then, he understood everything. He understood and stopped crying in front of his false mother. Because there was no mom to attract attention when he felt hunger and pain from his cutting teeth.Mom was gone when a strange old man, dressed in a bright robe, came.“Lily, my girl, you need to rest more often. Let’s have some tea while Harry plays with his toys. I even brought new sweets from the recently opened confectionery, try them,” the old man gently coaxed.“Thank you, Professor,” his mother smiled wearily. It was her last smile.The old man left when mom was gone, when she finished the last piece of cookie, crumbling in her small hands. As a final word, the old man said, looking Harry in the eyes: “A power like yours should not exist. And I will take care of that.” Harry did not remember this. Harry quietly mourned the death of his Mother.Dad returned two days later from his duty. Harry tried to warn Dad that Mom was no longer there, that there was strange cookie lying in the kitchen, that Mom was now just a body. But the tired and magically drained Dad only patted his son on the head and went to the kitchen to drink tea with the new cookies. His beloved wife was already setting everything on the table.Dad was gone half an hour later. Harry didn’t cry.Harry no longer sees his two uncles. They don’t come anymore. Nobody comes anymore. There are only two empty shells of his parents.***Seven months later, Harry lies in a basket on the porch of some house. He is confused, scared, and cold. The day before, some people had burst into the house where he lived. They killed the shells of Mom and Dad, and then they did something. There were candles, quiet murmurs in an unfamiliar language, and a body that lay next to the child on the floor. A body completely wrapped in a long cloth. The body was kicking, trying to break free from the bindings. But nothing worked. The murmurs grew louder. And then the body disappeared. Two clumps that the body turned into headed in different directions. One flew out the window under the angry shout of the old man. That was not what he had planned.The second struck the infant in the chest. Everything went as it was supposed to according to the plan.Harry fell asleep.The next time he woke up to loud noises around him, blinded by the bright flashes of cameras, in the arms of the old man. The old man quietly whispered something above Harry’s head, and he fell back into darkness.And now he lies on the porch of an unknown house. In the dark, illuminated only by the streetlights that stand by the road. He is cold and scared. He feels a clump moving inside him, displeased.The clump is furious. It was deprived of a body, the remnants of its soul were torn apart, and one of them was placed in the boy. The infant!Harry is afraid. He does not want to be alone. He is afraid of being alone. For the first time in a long time, the infant begins to cry. Softly and bitterly. His little body cannot cope with so much stress. Tears roll down his chubby cheeks, quickly freezing, causing even greater discomfort. Harry wants to feel safe, surrounded by care.The clump does not like the child's crying. It does not like the child's feelings. It does not like... that it is beginning to be drawn to the magical core of the infant. Damn boy, it intends to stroke him, to take his power, to take his knowledge. Is this what those special abilities of the boy that Dumbledore screamed about on almost every corner are? Of course, now the boy will stroke its power and knowledge, and even if Tom Riddle resurrects from any other Horcrux, he will never guess that the boy knows and can do everything he knows and can do. Because the only part of the soul that knew the truth will now be consumed. The clump resists. The clump pulls in the opposite direction.Everything is decided in seconds. The crying suddenly grows louder. And the clump is distracted, ceasing to resist. The clump pulls into the core, gradually absorbing it.The clump resigns itself to its fate. And in the next second, it realizes itself... as something new.The crying stops. Harry is no longer alone. Now his friend will always be with him. A part of him. That will never leave him and will not abandon him in solitude.Already now, Harry sees how a dark tentacle slowly reaches up. To the doorbell button.The night silence is pierced by a loud doorbell. The tentacle disappears. The clump needs to think and come to terms with its new life.The lights in the windows of the house come on. Footsteps are heard on the stairs. Soon, chaos will begin in number four due to the new resident.***Harry did not remember being alone. Tom was always with him. Tom was a black clump that took on human form. Harry thought it would be an excellent superpower, like the heroes from the comics Dudley read. But this ability had a downside. This downside was him, Harry. Because Tom could not separate from him. They were always together, but Tom did not always want that.Harry understood. Aunt Petunia always called him a useless brat and a freak. Harry learned that he had a name from Tom when he taught him to speak.Tom did not like to deal with children, but even more, he did not like it when his vessel was in pain.That’s why the poor aunt has bags under her eyes. Since the devilish boy came into their house, strange things began to happen. Scary things. And Petunia does not want to talk about them. She only quietly asks her husband to leave the boy alone. Let him live with them until he goes to school with other weirdos like him, and then they can forget about him.***Harry had just recently had a birthday, and a big guy with a bushy beard burst into their house, breaking down the door.“Wild man,” Tom snorts in his head.“He’s so big!” Harry looks at the giant with admiration.“Oh, this didn’t turn out well. I’m sorry, I didn’t know that Muggles have such fragile doors,” Hagrid says.Riddle only snorts irritably at this while Harry, with a bright smile, extends his hand to the giant, which the giant carefully shakes.***“Harry,” Tom hisses with irritation, drowning out the applause and joyful shouts of the children. “Harry, it seems we agreed on something different.”Harry diligently shows everyone his modest smile as he walks to the Gryffindor table.“Why Gryffindor, Potter?! We agreed on Slytherin!” Riddle is now openly hissing in anger.***Dumbledore is waiting for the “resurrection” of Voldemort, waiting for terrifying events and panic. But he sees only a peaceful life. He would like to do something himself, and he even seems to be doing so. It seems, yes.“Is today Thursday? The twentieth?” he asks, looking at Minerva, who is watching him with concern.“Albus,” she pauses, approaching closer and seating him in an armchair as if he were a child. “Albus, today is indeed Thursday,” and without letting the relief spread across his chest, she adds, “The twenty-seventh.”Disappointment and fear tighten Dumbledore’s soul in a vise. A week. He does not remember a whole week.No one knows why this is happening. He just started forgetting some minor incidents, whether he had eaten today, where the box with the recently bought lemon slices went, and all that. And then he started forgetting days and weeks.At St. Mungo’s, they said it was a Muggle disease—Alzheimer’s. But do wizards get that?“There hasn’t been a single case recorded yet,” the mediwizard says, trying not to look him in the eye.Albus is scared. He does not know what to do, but he tries not to show his anxiety.Harry Potter is pushed into the background. And even the strange shadows that seem to surround the boy no longer raise questions or suspicions. The plan, which had been meticulously developed and into which so much effort had been invested, crumbles like a house of cards from a gentle breath of wind.Perhaps the Horcrux embedded in the Chosen One will never awaken. Perhaps it hasn’t even settled, scorched by the boy’s power. Then the plan would not have worked from the very beginning. Then he would have nothing to blame himself for. The plan didn’t fail because of him. But because of that damned boy. Yes, it’s his fault. Yes, just like that.Dumbledore continues to convince himself of this, ignoring the flickers of shadows hiding in the corners and laughing at him. There’s nothing, it’s just his imagination. No, no, nothing is there.***In Slytherin Manor, it’s quite cold for the weak body of the boy. Even at twenty, he sneezes from the cold, hiding his hands in his pockets, but continues to smile brightly at Riddle.Tom only grumbles tiredly, ordering the manor, which had just awakened from a long stasis it had been in all this time, to deal with this problem.“Tom, don’t grumble,” the teenager laughs at him when he starts to lose his form again, turning into a clump of darkness from which the outlines of a person can be seen.The darkness sighs heavily, returning to the appearance of a young man whom many know as Lord Slytherin.“It’s all good now,” adds his personal monster, sparkling with its impossible eyes.And it’s not to say he’s wrong.Dumbledore was no longer a problem; it only took a couple of memory charms, and the matter was resolved. Even those troubles that could harm them were either destroyed, buried deep in the ground, or sent far away thanks to Harry's persuasion.Everything is good. Even the fact that they never found a way to separate their intertwined magical cores turned out not to be disappointing. Potter hugs Tom, looking with eyes that gleam with cunning, completely satisfied with such an arrangement.Perhaps everything else could only be called a matter of time.Harry moves closer, hugging and standing on his toes to kiss the thin line of lips. He receives a mockingly displeased sigh and hands on his waist.“Happy upcoming birthday, Tom.”“Happy upcoming birthday, little monster,” Tom says with a loud laugh that echoes through the empty manor’s corridors.