#eventual harrymort

[being-luminous]

Would like to know more about Spiritfarer AU for the WIP game

This is an AU inspired by my newest love, the game of the same name. In this fic, Harry is a psychopomp, guiding the souls of the dead to the afterlife. Voldemort is one such soul, and he isn't going to go easily.

Here's a snippet of their first meeting:

In the deepest part of the ship’s hold, accessible only through a near invisible trapdoor in the orlop, there is a shadow.

It takes Harry nearly three weeks to find the door, and once he’s found it, it’s another two day’s work to pry it open. The wood is warped by time and damp sea air, and the hinges are so rusted it’s a surprise they work at all. Finally, with an ominous creak and a thud, it falls open against the deck.

Harry peers into the dark, listening for any signs of life.

Dumbledore didn’t warn him of any danger on the ship before he passed it on, but he didn’t mention the trapdoor, either. There could be anything down there. Or nothing. He should go down and check it out just to make sure. If anything bad happens to his passengers because of a threat he could have prevented, he'll never forgive himself.

Mind made up, Harry leaps into the dark, landing lightly on his feet.

The Everlight’s glow fills the cramped space, bathing it in gold. There isn’t much down here: some crates he’ll investigate later, some netting. Nothing interesting. Nothing dangerous. Except, there, tucked against the hull—a spot of darkness that doesn’t give way to the light.

Brow furrowed, Harry lifts the Everlight higher, wills it brighter.

Still, the shadow remains. Even worse, it hisses, edges rippling and tearing as it bunches up into familiar shapes. Four limbs, the curve of a spine, a face that turns slowly toward him, red eyes narrowed against the light.

It’s a person, Harry realizes with growing horror. But not like any person he’s seen before.

He steps closer, and the shadow-person hisses again, even louder. They loom taller, so tall they have to hunch over so they don't hit their head. They sound angry. They look scared. "Sorry," Harry says quickly. He covers the Everlight with one hand, hopes it's easier on their eyes this way. "My name's Harry." He sticks out his other hand, waits for them to take it. "I didn't know you were down here, or I would have come to fetch you sooner."

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

Masturbation has always been a bit of a challenge for Harry.

Deeply ingrained self-hatred and its effects on his libido aside, he rarely gets any privacy. In or out of his mind.

Wanking at the Dursleys' always seems like an exercise in futility. Even if he ever felt good enough to get in the mood there, the likelihood of someone hearing and yelling (Vernon), taunting (Dudders), or sending him disgusted looks (Petunia. Well, probably all three) made it undesirable.

At Hogwarts, living in close proximity to four other hormonal boys should extend some sort of ‘anything goes’ allowance over the entire dormitory. But he’s too aware of what it sounds like and how he feels to hear the others engaging in some self-loving to want to subject anyone else to it. He learns an abundance of silencing charms and employs them when he does manage to toss off. 

But really – concerns that someone will either attack him or drug him, depending on the shifting approbation of the magical world, make using the charms less appealing. If someone’s going to try to assault him, he wants to at least hear them coming. 

“You’re a mess, Harry Potter.”

And then there’s the most recently added complication.

He knew – he’d been made painfully aware – that Voldemort could invade his mind last year, with dire consequences. Harry supposes he’d been lulled into a false sense of security, not having an unwanted visitor for the last eleven months.

“Do you have some sort of alarm for when I’m trying to have a wank?” Harry sighs frustratedly. This is the third time the bloody Dark Lord has interrupted him this week. The previous times, he’d just given up trying to get off, thoroughly repulsed. But this time… “Don’t you have better things to do?”

“Better than ruining your day? I always have time for that, Harry Potter,” Voldemort smirks. He can’t see it, but he knows the snakey git is smirking.

“You get that it’s weird to interact with a teenager in a sexual way like this, yeah? If they’d ever proven to be useful before, I feel like I'd need an adult.”

“I am an adult.”

“You’re the wrong kind of adult.”

Whatever. So Voldemort is lurking in his head, so fucking what. At this point, it’s an act of rebellion. He’s going to get his fucking rocks off if it’s the last thing he does. 

“Good luck with that.”

Ugh.  

(no helping hand)

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

not me updating this post (it's more likely than you'd think)

-

Dust and debris spread like a fine mist through the air. 

Harry can see the storefront across from him. The window’s glass has large looping letters, their outline gilded and just catching what little light shines through the smoke clouds, but he can hardly make out the words. He feels so dizzy.

What’s going on?

At first the world is straight, if a little blurry, and then it is not. He’s tilting—no, falling—Harry is falling; he’s been pushed, shoved? The culprit is running off somewhere into the smog, and he catches himself with his hand on the brick behind him. He thinks it must hurt but can’t really feel it. 

There’s definitely something going on here, Harry nods almost to encourage himself. And he’s sure of it because, even though it‘s painful to look at (now that he’s seen it - he can’t stop staring), spellfire is sparking up and down the alley. Probably a fight, but who’s fighting? And - what’s that?

A large chunk of rubble, he realises. Then he corrects himself—chunks. 

Oh. 

They make an impressive line through all this dust and whatnot to the point where things actually seem visible. And now that he’s sort of able to see and mostly paying attention, Harry’s noticing that the chunks aren’t coming from nearby buildings; they aren’t falling from the sky.

He watches, brows raised, as the ground a bit off in the distance breaks, cracks, and almost crumbles out of itself. The massive stone tears straight up and away, shooting at harrowing speeds towards—something, Harry’s certain. Their mass is being used as projectiles. 

Woah, he thinks and hopes he says it out loud because whoever’s doing that needs to hear this, now that’s wicked. The magical strength required to do that must be enormous, but judging by their wavering and almost wild flinging energy, it lacks in any refinement or skill. Whoever is doing that is desperate. Scared. So, not wicked, probably.

Harry’s tempted to find the poor bastard and give them a pat on the back, maybe take them out for a pint. Hell, he could use one right about now. He’s feeling pretty desperate and—well, maybe not scared—but definitely confused, too. 

Which brings him back to: What’s going on?

Waking up in the middle of an ongoing fight is what Harry had been expecting; what he hadn’t been expecting is waking up in the middle of what looks like Diagon Alley if he squints a bit and tilts his head to the left.

Deciding he’s overstayed his wall welcome, Harry straightens up, cautiously keeping his hand on the brick for steadying. He dusts himself off rather pointlessly and gives his Auror robes a quick pat down. No wand. 

That’s a problem. Nothing he can’t work around, but it’s a problem long term. Thankfully, he isn’t out of practice with wandless spellwork, but it vastly limits what he can do to lend a hand with whatever the hell is going on here. 

And he’ll really have to lend a hand and get out of here as quickly as possible. Ron is no doubt losing his mind with worry, and they still have to take care of some rouge wizards reaping havoc on a small wizarding community in Alfriston. If Harry really is in Diagon, he’s a long way away from there, so time is of the essence. 

Seriously, what happened anyway? What did that wizard throw at him?

It occurs to Harry then that he should probably give more attention to the wizards currently throwing things at him because one of those large pieces of rubble abruptly interrupts his train of thought and sightline. He gathers whatever magic he can and prepares to apparate away from its path, but—

Nothing. 

He tries again. And again. It’s getting closer. 

Then on his fourth attempt he feels something grating against his skin and realises—anti-apparition wards. 

Something is not only going on… but is very wrong. 

Harry’s eyes widen, and he ducks, rolling out of the way and further into the street. The world continues rolling even when he stops, vertigo crashing over him all too suddenly and forcing him to catch his breath; Merlin, Harry feels like he’s dying. 

He only gets this way after portkey travel or long-distance flooing—how he got here does not agree with him at all. And watching as that stone impacts the shop window he stared at earlier, Harry startles at another simple revelation. 

He can’t hear. 

He takes a deep breath and coughs, tries again until he feels calmer and doesn’t choke with every lung full. He can hear, but it isn’t anything substantial, only a low-volume, high-pitched ringing noise that echoes around in his head. He feels nearly delirious. And a bit like he’s going to be sick. 

Mindlessly, Harry steps back and out of the way of a nasty-looking violet spell, its shade almost neon. He takes a moment to assess his body more carefully.

Fingers, toes—check. All limbs, head is on straight, joints are bending the right way—he’s perfectly fine. He doesn’t feel any major injuries but forces a pitifully weak healing charm from within - out. He’s shit at wandless healing even though everyone swears otherwise, so it doesn’t ease up the nausea, but it does fix his hearing. 

He almost wishes it hadn’t.

Screaming louder than banshee cries, whizzing spells, explosions echoing, the dull droning of the wards, buildings breaking, shouts, crying, pleading—the world is so much louder than Harry is expecting, and he flinches, holds his hands against his ears at the onslaught. 

It takes some time, more than he wants to tolerate, and a few more close calls with ugly spells, but when Harry finally gets his bearings, he jumps into the fray. 

It’s hardly a thought to magic away most of the debris in the air, and with it gone, he takes in his surroundings. His head whips back and forth, taking stock of what’s newly visible. Harry’s unsure where to begin and who to ask for an explanation of what is even happening. He can’t spot any familiar Aurors, but there are definitely people scattered about in uniforms…

Harry nearly pauses at that. Yes, there are definitely people dressed in uniforms. Ones that are dark and black and flow like ink and look eerily familiar, and others that look strikingly like Sirius’s old—

“HELP!”

Harry’s eyes unerringly find the source of that scream—a young woman clutching a child. 

Their backs are up against the broken remains of a side alley, and her body is trying to cover the kid, hide them, to the best of her ability. A wizard in dark robes blocks their only way out, wand held stiffly in a tight grip - it’s pointed straight at them. 

Harry’s already moving, but his eyes squint, disoriented as he catches the unmistakable glimmer of silver reflecting off sunlight from the side of the wizard’s face. And this does make him pause. It makes him pause just long enough to feel and humour the stomach-swooping horror of recognition—of wrongness—that sight causes. 

It’s certainly a good thing that Harry has gotten to be so proficient at pushing down and sealing away horrors of all types and that he continues to be fast on his feet, quick on the draw. Helpful, too, that his wandless stupefy is still in top form. 

The wizard crumples to the ground, and Harry’s assist goes unnoticed in all the chaos. Yet the woman finds his eyes anyway, obviously having noticed him earlier, maybe even calling out for Harry specifically. She peers up at him, relieved and overwhelmingly grateful, but stares for a beat too long. 

And Harry, long used to prolonged stares, gives her no mind. He quickly comes over to help escort her and the child somewhere safer. She mutters something as he lifts the mute kid into his arms, their eyes wide and blinking. Harry balances them mostly on his left - his right hand holding their back steady, but he wants to keep it free to cast just in case. 

“What was that?” Harry asks while waiting for the kid to get comfortable and finish tightly wrapping their arms around his neck. He releases his hold on their back once they settle, and he takes a gentle but resolute hold on the woman to help guide her out of the alley and any direct fire. 

She’s shaking violently, but when she repeats herself, her voice is more confident—louder. “I- I didn’t know you had become an Auror, James. I thought you only g-graduated this summer?” She asks.

For a moment, only a moment, all of Harry’s battle-hardened instincts fall away. 

He feels his shoulders drop from their tense hold, and he—he just can’t believe what he’s heard. She doesn’t look anywhere close to his parents’ ages had they still been alive, even by wixen ageing standards. Really, she looks much closer to Harry’s age, maybe a couple of years older, give or take. They had probably gone to Hogwarts together for a while, so then why—

Why does she think he’s his father? James, she called Harry, like they are friendly. Like they know each other. 

Shock. Harry can excuse this as shock. He sorely wants to, but that feeling of wrongness is rearing its ugly head once again. 

So he decides not to say anything at all. Harry stays quiet and focused. He stuns anyone suspicious they come across and brings them both to a mostly unharmed shop out of the way with a blessedly working floo connection in a warded office in the back. 

The kid gives him a big hug before they leave, still mute, still blinking with wide eyes, and the woman turns to Harry, puts one hand on his arm, squeezes him once and says, “Stay safe, James.”

He watches them leave.

Breathe, Harry, he tells himself. And it almost works because he can hear the wet gasp and feel his chest move up and down with it. Yet he remains breathless, his mind whirring and unable to catch a thought long enough to actually think—until his feet start moving.

Harry exits the building and, with a clarity he doesn’t truly feel, rounds the corner. He’s confident that Twilfitt and Tattings should be just here, only a few feet away. When he arrives at the distinct shop front, still standing on what Harry can only guess is unadulterated rich-pureblood spite, the store looks nothing like the clothing shop he’s seen hundreds of times before. 

Unsettled but always willing to take a gamble, Harry sticks to the edges of the alley and makes his way further up Diagon, closer to Horizont. He avoids bouncing spells and crumpled bodies and casts when he has to all the way until he spots the familiar sign of Ollivanders. 

With careful hesitation and a churning deep in his gut, Harry tries something with no small amount of hysteria. He holds up his hand right before the shattered glass of Ollivanders’s main window and says:

“Accio Harry Potter’s wand.”

Harry stands there foolishly for a moment, lingering. Nothing happens. 

A short laugh rushes out of him; vicious relief nearly causes his head to sway, but he can’t help it. For a breathtaking moment, he had almost convinced himself that he’d felt something like a tingle, like a response from his magic that something was about to happen. 

Shock, Harry reminds himself. She was just in shock. 

He shakes his head to clear it of whatever madness had briefly held him and readies to shoulder open the door and commandeer a temporary wand. Even an incompatible wand will be better than nothing if he continues lending a hand to the Aurors on the scene. But before he can even take a step, his eyes catch movement in the darkness of the shop. And—Oh, that’s coming straight at me. 

“Whoa!” Harry ducks and turns to watch as a wand takes an arching turn and bounds straight towards him again. But this time, Harry is ready; he catches it with a smart thwack to the flat of his palm. 

The immediate warmth and pure magic radiating from this wand floods his veins unlike any other—but that’s a lie. It’s exactly like one other. One other wand from when Harry was eleven. His very first wand. 

He looks at the fine holly wood in his hand, feels the blazing heat of what is no doubt a phoenix feather core, and the familiar curves and juts of its crafted exterior, and conjures no happiness at the sight of his old friend. Harry feels dread take hold of his very being, leaving him cold and wrung dry. 

“Tempus,” Harry mutters, and like delicate clockwork, the spell casts flawlessly and more naturally than any spell Harry has cast in ages. The time of day and month are troubling enough, but the year really causes its own upending. 

1978.

Harry takes a deep, steadying breath in. He locks all the terrible and horrible things he’s feeling away in a small corner of his mind, shoving it all into a cupboard under the stairs. And he takes a deep, steadying breath out. 

He nods once to himself and holds his wand in a textbook grip. Logic and Auror instinct, but more prevalent, war instinct, sinks its familiar claws into the still healing scars of his mind. 

He leaves Ollivanders and makes his way carefully up Diagon Alley, distantly acknowledging that he hasn’t done as good a job as he’s hoping at concealing his anxieties. His casting is too accurate and decidedly not as innocent as it’s been. He trades stupefy for spells that may lean a little darker than any Auror really should be using.

He can’t say he has the element of surprise on his side. Still, the terrorists attacking the alley aren’t exactly looking out for an Auror dressed like Harry, so he has a precious few moments of them treating him like a civilian before realising their grave error. 

But, by then, Harry has blasted them halfway across the alley. They’re face down on the cobblestones or missing a limb or two by the time their ah-ha moment of ‘civilians don’t normally fight like that’ echoes in the quiet of their unconscious minds.

As Harry gets closer to the heart of the battle, picking off black-robed wizards one by one and gathering appreciative and perplexed looks from Aurors, he realises that faces are beginning to gain an awful familiarity. He wants to hex himself—of course faces are starting to look familiar. He knows an ungodly amount of wixen who fought in the First War. He’s heard numerous stories of their bravery and seen photographs of them, after all, and Harry really should have known that seeing them would be inevitable, even now—even when he isn’t ready.

But he hasn’t ever travelled this far back in time, so can anyone blame him for being caught by surprise?

Because—there she is.

She’s fresh out of Hogwarts. Classes must’ve only ended a month or so ago. And she’s standing at the heart of the battle. The August sun lends an unfairly clear day to the gruesome attack and shines on the brilliant auburn of her hair, all tied back and away from her face like a flaming whip. Gods, there she is.

Harry is shocked still, eyes locked on the sight of Lily Potter.

And he pays for it with a gnarly gash to the side of his ribs.

Gasping out, he quickly breaks from his trance and curses his inability to stay focused. Harry fires back with his own cutting spell; of course, the much nastier sectumsempra won’t be nearly as easy to bounce back from, but Harry just can’t muster up the fucks to give at the moment. 

Mum—Lily—is the one who stops his next assailant, though Harry doubts she even notices her assistance. It turns out she’s the one ripping stone out of the earth and flinging it at anything silver and moving. And, Merlin, it’s nearly charming. He’s going to throw up.

It takes a blue spell, its colour vibrant and just off enough for Harry to connect that it isn’t anything friendly, barely missing her, for him to decide enough is enough.

Harry centres himself and pulls at his magic. He aims his wand at the ground beneath his feet and chants until small spikes start erupting around them like saplings from the cobblestone. He doesn’t stop until they grow taller and taller until they tower over every head and every thatched roof, and until all the ruined pathways around Diagon Alley have become impractical and claustrophobic. 

Startled cries come from every direction; Harry thinks he hears bones snapping from those who can’t thread the needle before the spikes grow too close, like a dense forest. No one is spared of his sudden anger…

…no one except for Lily Potter, who stands in a small circle of safety. The spikes around her have curved inward, lending shelter. When Harry finally catches her gaze—oh no, oh no, oh no—he finds that her arms are raised. Almost like Harry’s a robber, and this is all just some kind of hold-up. He feels the urge to laugh die as quickly as it comes.

Not a soul moves, but Harry isn’t one for inaction. He lifts his wand and casts a sonorus; he speaks, “If you are a follower of-“ Harry mindfully avoids His name, unaware if the taboo has been enacted, “the Dark Lord, I believe you’ve caused well enough damage today. Leave.”

It’s silent for a long moment. And then, suddenly, the sharp snap of the anti-apparition wards shattering is all Harry hears. He can almost feel the rain of its magic falling down all around them, preceding the sounds of loud pop-pop-pops from the Death Eaters tucking tails and running away. 

Harry is a little shocked that simply demanding they leave works. Then again, turning all of Diagon Alley’s streets into some giant’s version of an Iron Maiden in the heat of his anger is probably something to be wary of. When the last pop fades, and all is quiet once more, Harry transfigures the cobblestones back. Once again, marvelling at the easy control with his holly wand.

It dawns on Harry, now that the battle is cleared up as best as he can manage, that he has no way of returning to his time and nothing to immediately keep that thought from taking hold and consuming him whole. He stands, mind racing and paralysed, as multiple hesitant thanks, thank you so much, you saved us, are whispered his way. And he could really do without the reminder of how irreparably fucked he’s just made the timeline, but, you’re welcome, he supposes. 

Then, through the whirlwind of his breakdown, he feels two gentle hands on his arms, pulling him out of the dark and into the eye of the storm.  

“Excuse me?” Harry looks up at green, sage and fresh like a vegetable garden, like summer’s grass on a quidditch field, like sprigs of thyme on a holiday roast surrounded by family; he looks up at the eyes of Lily Potter and startles at the sound of her voice.

Is this what she really sounds like? Harry remembers her voice clear as day from—well, it’s nothing he wants to think about now. But he doesn’t remember it sounding like this. So bright and so…

“So young…” Harry mindlessly replies. And Lily Potter’s answering frown is enough to leave him sorry for the rest of his miserable life.

She turns her careful attention to Harry’s bleeding shoulder, and he finally realises she’s trying to heal him. He doesn’t mention that he isn’t too worried about it and that the gash on his ribs is way worse because she starts speaking again, and all Harry wants to do is shut up and listen to her voice forever.

“Speak for yourself, firecracker,” she says. “You look about my age and handled yourself better than any of these Aurors.”

Firecracker? Harry mutters soundlessly. He’s bewildered at the idea of his mother giving him a nickname like that, his mother giving him a nickname at all. Something screaming and rotting and twisting in his soul mourns the loss of it until now.

“This doesn’t look as bad as I’d thought. Do you feel any intense pain? Any sharp shooting down your arm or back?” She asks.

Harry shakes his head slowly and in a daze. She hums, doubting, “Well, even if it doesn’t hurt too badly, let’s get you to St Mungo’s and patch you up—“

Harry steps back and out of her gentle hands, shaking his head with much more clarity. “No. No doctors. I can heal it myself well enough.”

Lily’s eyes widen, and something on his face must scream that he’s planning on making his great escape—it doesn’t matter where as long as it isn’t here in front of her of all people—because she suddenly grabs his wrist tight enough to bruise. “Wait! I’ll listen! I won’t force you to see a healer, but please,” she grips him even tighter, “we haven’t had a… a victory like this… in a long, long time.” 

Her eyes pry into him; they search and search, and she must find something because she steadies her panic and softly demands that he - “Don’t go.”

Harry can only stare, horrified, at his own mother standing before him, young and alive and begging him not to go.

He’s saved from answering as they’re interrupted by a loud shout, “LILY!” 

A man full-on tackles Lily Potter with force strong enough to pull Harry with them, but madly, all Harry can think is that - Mum has quite the grip.

And now that he’s so close, Harry quickly deduces that the new link to their growing chain is none other than James Potter.

Harry’s eyes blink slowly; a bone-weary exhaustion takes staunch hold of him as he listens to his father ask after his mother’s well-being. Finally, Lily speaks over him firm and unyielding, “James. I am fine. Where on earth have you been?” 

“I was dealing with some Death Eaters towards the mouth of Knockturn—but that doesn’t matter! What matters is that you promised to stay by me, and in less than two shakes of a fairy’s wings, you were nowhere to be seen.”

Lily scoffs, “I cannot believe you are blaming me right now when you are clearly the one who wandered off first! We agreed to stay near the centre, and, oh wow! Would you look at that? That’s exactly where you found me, isn’t it?”

Harry cannot believe he’s watching his parents have their first domestic argument, and he isn’t even technically born yet. This is cruel and unusual. Wait, are they even married? 

“Okay. Agree to disagree,” James nods. Lily’s got that look on her face that Hermione sometimes gets with Ron, like he’d better say the right thing in the next four seconds, or he’ll get a nasty left hook to the face. Harry feels his stomach drop right out of him at the thought of never seeing Ron and Hermione ever again. Oh god. And then, James continues, “We are both at fault.”

James’ eyes stray towards Harry, looking long and hard at his face. He finds Lily’s tight grip next and asks, “Who’s tall, pale, and ready to be sick standing beside you here?”

“What?” Lily asks, and her eyes fall on Harry, too. Her mouth parts in a horror Harry feels immensely. “Oh my god! I’m so sorry; I promise I didn’t forget about you. It’s just that James is so distracting, and oh merlin, I haven’t even introduced myself—“

“Lily, take a deep breath. And maybe let the man go?”

“James, you have no idea what happened. But you would if you’d have been here.”

Harry clears his throat, “Um,” James and Lily both turn and give him their full attention. Oh, that’s awful. How does Harry simultaneously feel like the youngest and oldest person here? He’s clueless about what to say next but settles on, “Um… I’m Harry.”

“Harry,” James and Lily say it together. Perfect unison. Lily’s eyes are wide, but her smile is wider, and James looks extremely confused and nearly half as put out. His brows furrow until they almost touch, and he comments, “My grandfather’s name was Harry.” He frowns and corrects himself, “Well, his name was Henry, but we all called him Harry.”

Oh. Should Harry have given them a fake name?

“James…” Lily murmurs. She isn’t quiet enough for Harry to miss her following words, “He looks a bit like he could be your brother, doesn’t he? Even a bit like Charlus?” James silently and slowly nods, his eyes still locked on Harry.

“What did you say your surname was again, Harry?” James asks with all the subtlety of a hippogriff, like he’s trying to be slick. 

And Harry, no stranger to risky bets, replies, “I didn’t. But it’s Potter. Harry Potter.”

The silence that follows is the loudest he’s heard yet. Wasn’t he nearly deaf earlier?

Until—“Lily. You got a good grip on him, yeah?” James asks.

“Of course,” she nods like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

James grins. “Hold on tighter, then.”

The sudden gathering of magic in the air has Harry’s hair standing on end. He knows what’s coming but doesn’t truly process it until he catches sight of James’ wand out, and by then, it’s too late.

They apparate out of Diagon Alley.

[liquidluckandstuff]

They are in the middle of dinner when Harry stops eating. His eyes stare unseeing at the wall opposite of him. The fork in his hand drops and clatters onto the table before falling onto the floor drawing the other's attention.

"Harry," someone asks. He doesn't know who. Their voice sounds so far away.

The air in the room suddenly feels too thin and Harry can't seem to catch his breath. His eyes fill with a look of terror and he seems as though he is trying to say something but all that comes out is a whimper.

Harry stands and turns to leave but falls to the floor, his breaths come quicker. He reaches for his scar which is burning more fiercely than it has ever done before. Something is wrong. So very wrong. Voldemort is afraid.

"Harry!"

Tears fall from his eyes as he stares unseeing up at the ceiling. In his mind he feels something piercing his skin through his chest, his arms, and his legs. They hold Voldemort him down draining him of his strength and magic.

"Someone get Dumbledore!"

Then, something stars filling him, replacing the magic it took. It's so cold it almost burns his veins as it enters him. There is no escape no matter how hard he struggles.

He Voldemort is screaming. He was foolish to trust Severus after everything he had done, but it did not matter now. The only thing he wanted to do was escape before this thing drove him to madness.

Suddenly, he is looking through someone else’s eyes staring up at the enchanted night sky. Dumbledore comes into view, a worried look on his old face.

"Help me," He says with a voice that does not belong to him.

So in this plot

Voldemort would have been trapped by this fairy tale/legendary tree of renewing that he thought would make him more powerful (it totally does he just didn't realize how much it would suck)

and is going mad with how painful the process is.

Harry would connect with him while it happens and is desperate to save him because Harry cannot block out Voldemort, and now Voldemort doesn’t have the strength to block out Harry so they are both being tortured by it.

Voldemort would have to guide Harry to where he is and save him and of course discover Harry is his Horcrux while Voldemort becomes super powerful blah blah blah

[lucaswarmhotchocolate]

while I agree with many others in the fandom that Harry Potter is not power-hungry, and writing him as such is a very fine line between "Making drastic changes to canon while still trying to adhere to the general premise" and "pure self indulgence" (neither of these is better or worse than the other do whatever tf you want), but -- I think that it's very interesting to read about a very naturally magically powerful Harry Potter. I love when Harry could do anything he wants, but he doesn't because he genuinely cares about people. When he has all this raw magic at his disposal but he ignores it for whatever plot reasons your heart desires. and then, of course, the instability that comes with poor little Harry having the power of 4 nuclear bombs wrapped up in a 5 foot tall 70-pounds-soaking-wet absolute waif of a child's body is addictive to read about.

In general though, for me, I love how this power can represent the autistic child's experience. I find that the eventual magical-meltdown scenes are very cathartic, and I will often daydream about Harry having these magical outbursts. I've even written a drabble about him having a meltdown, and I draw from my own experience being autistic and having very violent meltdowns (which have historically included harming myself and others who have the misfortune of being around me at the time).

I feel like in the harrymort fandom I see less of these magically powerful harry fics, probably because the draw for a lot of harrymort shippers is the obvious difference in power. But I really do feel like we are under utilizing this trope! It might be caused by the more mature audience in comparison to drarry ships, but honestly even with snarry I saw more magically powerful Harry Potter.

Anyways I know this is a disjointed mess of all my thoughts with no real point, but I felt like talking about my favorite trope 🫶

[mister-tom-a-dildo-lover]

"Either Must Die at the Hand of the Other"

I got an idea for a Harrymort fic but I just don't have time!

I thought of what if the prophecy was literal in that Harry and Voldemort can ONLY kill each other.

So, at the end of OotP, Harry literally eats an AK to the face from a DE, and while it leaves another burning scar behind, it just doesn't work. And Voldemort, who has witnessed this happen, is suddenly baffled. Harry, in shock because the bright green light was too fast to dodge and therefore landed, gets hit with a few more AKs from other DEs who have begun to panic about him being unkillable.

For some reason he just won't die. They even try other curses, and some of the worst that could maim a person just bounce off of him entirely.

And it's the prophecy behind it. Because the prophecy has linked Voldemort and Harry together, only they can kill each other, effectively making them both immortal. Voldemort must suddenly rethink his plans because with this as their reality, keeping Harry Potter alive is actually far more important to his own continued longevity. If Harry Potter dies by his hand, the prophecy will be fulfilled, and he will suddenly be vulnerable to death from outside forces.

He'll eventually learn that some of his Horcruxes are missing after all. It'll only drive the point home that someone knows about his efforts to become immortal and is hunting him down. And since he isn't stupid, he knows it's Dumbles and that Harry is being raised as a martyr who will do whatever he's told like a good little puppet, for Dumbledore's sake.

This would be a very interesting take and I want Harry being a brat the entire way through and somehow, when not clouded by murderous rage, Voldy likes that.

[awyeahitssam]

My Writing Masterlist

Since I post on here far more consistently then on ao3 for reasons, I figured I would compile a list of my writing for those who don't like sifting through fandoms they could care less about to get to the good stuff. 

Separated by fandom, and somewhat by trope. 

Harry Potter:

Harry eats a God. 

Harry just can't seem to stay dead. TW: Suicide, character death, frequent character death, torture, murder, disjointed snippets, discontinued + Harry dissociates. Connected, same warnings may apply. 

First Encounters: Time loop, Voldemort-as-Quirrell visits the Dursleys and is less than pleased. 

First Encounters: The first time Harry meets Voldemort, the man he's been trained to kill all his life, he's nineteen, and Voldemort recognizes him. 

Prisoner Harry tells Voldemort about the Dursleys like it's a bedtime story. 

Except for the incident, Harry really doesn't tend to talk a lot when he has a concussion. Stream of thought narrative, character injury.

Literally just Empath!Harry spoilers. Harry, at his trial, allowing himself be petty to an extent. 

Harry gets drunk, pulled into Voldemort's mind, and decides he wants to share his good mood.

Tea shop AU.  + more  Tea Shop (weather) AU. + something actually Tea-based under the cut

Four of a Kind AU: Learning to kiss split-scene. Harry/Harry, referenced Harry/Horcrux + They meet. They kiss. What if. Voldemort/Harry + In the aftermath Voldemort/Harry

Kid Fic: Harry ‘dies’ as a child. Mentor!Voldemort, absolutely not a pairing ficlet. 

Kid Fic: Harry and Voldemort’s kid lands in the past during a duel at the Ministry. Pre-Harrymort, Micah, not quite the kiss you'd expect.

Female Harry, world-jumping, rationally angry. Tom/Harry intended, if Harry will chill out on the murder. 

Harry likes to feel pretty. Horcrux/Harry, Harry wears makeup, etc. 

Tom and Harry jump through time to each other. Tomarry, growing up, fluff, brief kissing, Harry’s older

Dragon AU, I have a lot more of this one written, I should dump that some day. Harry/Horcruxes

Harry/Tom: pillow forts, soft angst, unresolved, broken promises

Harry's really fucking sick and tired of being told what the fuck to do. 

Tom-after-Voldemort is the first person Harry has ever spoken to. Isolation, lighthearted, odd, old and forgotten. 

Harry never imagines the effect getting a boyfriend would have on Riddle. Jealous Tom. 

Harry messes with Diary!Tom

Harry and Voldemort have to complete a task based on the colour of the others' robes, for some reason?

Harry is kidnapped and wakes up in an incredibly comfortable bed. Voldemorts knows Harry is his horcrux.

Harry ruthlessly defends Hogwarts against encroaching Death Eaters. Sixth Year.

It's one paragraph guys.

Prompt-based: Tom possesses Harry when he's afraid. Hermione POV.

Prompt-based: Santa forgot about Harry, again.

Prompt-based: Tom watches Harry draw dirty, dirty things at church.

Teen Wolf, all at least peripherally intended as Stiles/Peter

Kid Fic + Genderbend + Time Travel: Stiles is in the past and nobody is raising Malia, so she sure as shit will.

Stiles has known about werewolves since he was nine, and now that he's off the college it seems his dad has gottten involved. No Hale Fire, Protective Stiles

The first thing Kate does when she comes back to Beacon Hills is kidnap Peter. Human!Alpha Stiles, eventual Steter, pre-slash

Stiles has the curse of obedience. Stiles/Peter

Flower shop AU! Ft. Petty Peter and insulting bouquets.

Peter says he hates Stiles. Stiles begs to differ. 

Werewolf Stiles wakes up in the middle of Beacon Hills woods naked, and tries to keep it low key from there. Bakery AU, kinda. Peter/Stiles

First Encounters: The Hale pack summons Stiles to the past. 

First Encounters: The first time Stiles meets Peter he is drunk. Stiles is a rude, very straight-forward drunk who steps all over issues like dead family and psychosis. It’s like he had a minefield map and is intentionally stepping on every trigger. 

Stiles meets Peter in the hospital.

Stiles pulls back because he doesn't want Peter to mess up his dress shirt, not because he doesn't want the bite. 

Stiles crochets magic shit. Fluff. 

Negotiations go well. 

Peter being the literal worst, holy hell, this hurts to read. Have some angst. Past-Stiles/Peter

Okay, my bad for that last one. Have some comfort. Crying, comfort, Stiles & Peter

Dragon Stiles is constantly underestimated. 

Stiles beats Peter, sore loser extraordinaire. 

Me acting like Stiles has shame for some reason.

Female Stiles gets forcibly genderbent and is not putting up with anybody's shit. Body dysmorphia, shitty friends, anger issues, sexism. Peter/Stiles

Female Stiles and Peter. Shower, soft.

Stiles writes smutty fanfic, as he should. 

Stiles being a bad influence on his little self, ft Knowing Himself Too Fucking Well. Time travel AU, torture

Peter walks away. 

Peter/Stiles, marking, one of the sexiest things I've ever written imo 

Peter is dumb, stupid, silly villain. 

Peter’s timing is about as good as Stiles’ filter. Dumb, stupid villain antics. 

Stiles threatens Peter, /lh

Stiles is justifiably sad after a movie. 

Tony Stark-centric:

Gen: Tony takes after Maria. Few people recognize a predator wrapped up in such Tony packaging. 

Gen: Tony bantering with, and teasing, Peter. 

Tony Stark uses the infinity stones. 

Tony survives the stones. 

Tony proposes. In public. In a way that undeniably affirms his feelings. Loki/Tony

Loki meets Morgan for the first time. Loki/Tony, kid fic

Hair Kink—I mean braiding! Aha, ha, ha… Loki/Tony

Female Toni doesn't take well to her children being threatened. 

Soulmates? Tony/Loki

Rhodey gives Loki the shovel talk ft. Parks & Rec

Tony saves the day…?

Bleach / Time travel: Ichigo isn't supposed to be here. 

The 100: Cage Wallace stages a coup before the forty-eight arrive. (Or: Dante Wallace dies before his time.) This changes everything.

Tagged: 10 Characters, 10 Fandoms, 10 Shorts

[childotkw]

Oh my God you like lucemond. My favorite writer likes my new obsession. The best tomarry/Harrymort writer I know likes lucemond.

When can we expect the fics? (Pretty please?)

Nnggghhhh fine. I'm thinking of calling it ruination because it's ✨dramatic✨

(Also, anons, you flatter me - let me repay your love by feeding our budding obsession)

It's essentially a 'Lucerys survives the fall and keeps his memories' story. The piece of Arrax's body that he was attached to took the brunt of the damage, and he washed up on a small rocky, uninhabited island, miraculously alive.

--- -- --- -- ---

Lucerys woke on the shore of an islet.

Cold water lapped at his legs, a teasing threat, and his body ached down to his bones. Each breath brought with it a fresh wave of agony, his ribs rattling in his bruised chest.

But none of that could eclipse the yawning, cavernous, echoing sense of loss ringing like a death knell in his heart.

Arrax.

His eyes burned with sea salt and sand and fresh tears. A sob caught in his throat, iron pooling in his mouth as his new reality etched itself into his soul.

His dragon, his life-long companion, his friend - gone. Snatched. Taken.

...

Eventually, Lucerys managed to pull his battered body further up the shoreline until he collapsed, trembling, at the base of the dark rock outcrop that seemed to dominate the tiny island. As he dragged his weakened legs close, leaving red imprints from his blood-soaked clothes, his dark eyes finally scanned his surroundings.

And what he saw made the sorrow the flooded him feel but a drop compared to the rage that seared its way through his blood.

He hadn't washed up alone.

Chunks of flesh - soft pink muscles and pearlescent white skin - were scattered up and down the small inlet.

The sight hollowed out what remained of his lucidity.

--- -- --- -- ---

It'd explore what the violent and sudden loss of his bond with Arrax would do to him.

For days Lucerys would be trapped on this islet in Shipbreaker Bay. The waters would be too harsh for him to dare to swim (not that that meant much with the distance between him and the mainland), and his only source of water would be the collection of rainwater that pooled in some hollows in the rocks.

He'd manage to create a small fire from some sun-dried wood that washed up, but when the hunger kicked in and the shaking got too much for him to try to hunt fish - he'd have one thing to eat.

The idea would disgust him, horrify him - a desecration and a last betrayal towards his friend. But hunger's a hard foe to battle, and another part of him would think that even now Arrax was looking after him, protecting him from starvation.

This would be the catalyst, because two days later is when Cannibal came for him.

--- -- --- -- ---

Arrax had been light and warm, their bond crackling merrily like a campfire. Inviting. Mischievous. Young.

Cannibal reminded Lucerys of the jagged mess surrounding the Iron Throne. Cold steel and dangerous. Steeped in a history he would never experience, that he could only see the end result of.

He loomed large in the edges of Lucerys' senses, still as wild and threatening as he had been when he came for him that day.

Their bond was nothing like his and Arrax's. There was no love there, no affection - only a keen possessiveness and the rumbling, storm-like understanding that they were the same.

Cannibals. Cutting their teeth on the flesh of other dragons.

--- -- --- -- ---

Cannibal would fly Lucerys back to Dragonstone - their return a mix of terror and jubilation.

Jubilation, because the son they feared dead had come back to them.

Terror, because not all of him returned on the back of the largest, most infamous wild dragon.

A light in Lucerys had gone out, the last dregs of his innocence died in Vhagar's jaws, and it would be obvious to everyone that looked at him.

He would be sharper, darker and more aggressive as his bond with Cannibal settled and their ferocity fed on each other's; and he would be aflame with the need to avenge his first, gentler dragon.

Rhaenyra would be concerned, dreading what these changes meant; but Daemon would be the one to turn the endless rage into a weapon.

--- -- --- -- ---

Daemon's hand curled around the base of his neck, the weight familiar and firm and warm. Lucerys allowed his step-father to tilt his head, a thumb pressing against the hinge of his jaw, and he met those purple eyes without fear.

"Alright?" the man asked, whisper soft and painfully gentle despite the violence evident in the lines of his face.

Lucerys paused, blinking heavily, and exhaled with bitter honesty. "No," he answered.

Daemon smiled at him, a small quirk of his lips filled with fatherly fondness. "You will be," he promised, tugging Lucerys in until his forehead rested against the man's chest.

--- -- --- -- ---

Eventually, news would break that Lucerys survived and now rode Cannibal.

And Aemond, who no longer had kinslayer hanging over his head, the word whispered at his back like a dagger sinking into his soft flank, would be torn between relief, guilt and the same niggling want that had dogged his steps every day for the last ten years.

[being-luminous]

minor life update: i meant to have some fics and fic updates ready to publish by now, but instead i read war and peace. and it tore me open and power washed my heart. so you get this snippet instead 😔

- - -

The call comes as he’s bent down in the vast, metaphorical sky, his metaphorical spyglass pointed to the planet the humans have called Earth. If he weren’t so distracted, if his attention hadn’t brought him down so low, he probably could have ignored it. Alas, he is incredibly—and inadvisably—close, and he is distracted. It catches him. He falls like a meteor. Or, he thinks he does. It’s not like he’d know; he’s never fallen before. Nevertheless: a meteor, shedding fire, burning up and trailing all its parts. This shedding of parts is mostly on purpose. The call is made in a human voice, so it’s a human shape he gives himself. Four limbs, a face with two eyes and lips that cover teeth. Clothes too, he adds when he sees the children who’ve called him here. Humans are so particular about clothes, and he doesn’t want to shock them. He hits the ground as he’s weaving the fibers into their proper shape, or he might have landed on his feet. Instead, he lands on his back, blinks up at the firmament, squints, sheds the film that covers his eyes and is flooded in blue. The sky, not so metaphorical. “Hello?” A human voice—one of the two that called him here. He breaks apart from that lofty sky, looks to the human instead. This one: a tall child with a mass of brown curls on her head, holding a book open before her. “Are you alright?” He lifts himself off the ground, realizes too late that he has not moved the way a human should. The red-headed one looks down at the book. His brow furrows, and he scowls. “You don’t look like an angel,” he accuses, glaring. HAVE YOU SEEN MANY ANGELS The children cower, hands pressed over their ears as they drop. Blood leaks down the sides of their faces, where blood most certainly isn’t supposed to be. He shifts his many wings, folds them up tighter inside his adopted shape. When he’s created enough empty space, he quickly forms the necessary parts. He tests them by swallowing, lets out a hum and feels the vibrations in the folds of his throat. “I Am Sorry” he says with his human mouth. He kneels down beside them, lays his hands over their brows and heals them. “I Did Not Mean To Hurt You” The girl recovers first. Gasping, she holds the book to her chest, stars in her eyes. “I knew it would work,” she tells him, and in her enthusiasm doesn't seem to feel the blood sticking on her skin. “I just knew it!”

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

Author's note: This lemon-drenched snippet is not for minors nor the good of taste. It's cursed. This is your first warning. The second is the "Read more" cut. After that, you are on your own and any bad decisions are your own <3 Check the tags for more info. Enjoy~

It’s just his luck.

He’d been separated from Ron, Hermione, and Dobby just as the house elf’s magic transported them away from Malfoy Manor, leaving Harry there. Alone. Surrounded by Death Eaters. Well, Bellatrix and three less-than-enthusiastic Malfoys, but the odds still weren’t in Harry’s favour.

So he’d used Malfoy’s wand to blow up a wall with a well-placed bombarda and ran the fuck away in the ensuing chaos. His ears are still ringing from Bellatrix’s demented screeching. 

And he has yet to be found – his scar feels like hot oil is being poured into it with how irate Voldemort is with the incompetence of his followers because of this fact. The issue is that Harry couldn’t give anyone directions to find him, either. Malfoy Manor may as well be a labyrinth with all the twisting, circuitous paths and hallways and nooks (and even some crannies). He is thoroughly lost.

He’s made his way to a three-storey attached greenhouse, filled with plants large and small. Most are magical, but some he recognises from his many, many hours weeding and tending to Aunt Petunia’s garden. He’s not sure who would be more disgusted to have shared tastes – his aunt or Narcissa Malfoy. 

With the far wall being entirely glass, Harry is almost certain he can get outside from here. There has to be a door. And… well, if there isn’t, he’s not going to be shy about breaking some windows, if that’s what needs to be done.

He finds a patch of glass panels that have no plants nearby and thinks he’s on to something. Carefully checking for hinges or handles or any other sign that he could open them, Harry’s attention is fully on the glass.

This proves to be a mistake.

He has the barest hint of what’s to come when he feels a curiously fleshy press against his ankle, and then he’s being dragged on his stomach away from the greenhouse wall and into a dark, leafy mass that blots out the scant moonlight.

And he recognises the shape of these leaves. After their adventure at the end of first year, he’d made sure to remember this plant in case he ever ran into it again. This Devil’s Snare is a bit more proactive than the others he’s seen, though. They’re typically opportunistic and wait for victims to come to them – he doesn’t remember them pursuing prey.

He very slowly and gently extracts his stolen wand from his sleeve and casts lumos. But instead of shrinking away from the light – like the bloody thing should – the plant somehow produces an ear-splitting shriek and seizes his wrist with a vine, squeezing until he drops his wand and using another vine to bat it away, spinning into an unseen corner.

And now he’s pissed the plant off. Unarmed and still in the grip of a vine, Harry feels the adrenaline kick in. He slows his breathing and tries to stay calm, as struggling will only make things worse, but it is difficult. He wants to get as far away from this weird Devil’s Snare as quickly as he can – he feels the hair on the back of his neck standing up – but he’s not sure how to manage that.

He feels a rough, vegetal limb slip under his shirt, making him panic and twitch, and that seems to be the sign the plant was waiting for. The vine around his wrist pulls taut, drawing his arm out and pinning it in place as more vines wind around his legs and drag them straight, while others twist around his torso, trapping his left arm to his side. He feels very much like a favoured toy being fought over, tugged in all directions and unable to escape or even move.

The vine under his shirt begins prodding at his belly, making him squirm and causing the vines to squeeze tighter until he shouts in pain, at which they loosen slightly. Then, he feels more and more tentative touches along his legs, his chest, his hair, and his face – everywhere they can reach. 

They poke around his mouth, and he keeps it firmly shut until the vines around his ankles clench tightly enough to force another pained cry out of him. An inquisitive tendril sneaks inside his open mouth. He bites through it immediately, spitting the end out with savage glee. With another high-pitched noise, the plant wraps a vine around his throat, squeezing tighter and tighter until he’s certain he will pass out, black edging his vision and lungs on fire with lack of air.

When it lets up, he coughs and hacks until his body remembers how to breathe, and he pants in as much air as he can. Several thin vines take advantage of this, slipping into his mouth to trace his teeth and tongue, press against his cheeks and palate. He switches to breathing through his nose and threatens to bite the vines again, but there are enough that he can’t close his mouth tightly enough to shear through them.

He’s lost track of what’s happening to the rest of him, but the other vines have been busy in his inattention. And damn the Dursleys and their hand-me-downs from Dudley, and damn Harry for not buying better-fitting clothes, because there’s plenty of room for those vines to wriggle under his jumper and trousers. He squawks through a mouthful of vines when a couple caress a little too closely to his delicate bits for comfort. Thankfully they continue past that part of him, though the sensation of them rubbing against his bare thighs isn’t much better.

“Well, well, Harry Potter,” a familiar voice says from somewhere. “We’re finally together again and you’d rather entertain the flora.” 

Harry has never been happier to see– er, hear Voldemort. He’d rather take his chances with the bigoted megalomaniac than the amorous plant weaving tighter around him.

Except Voldemort doesn’t do anything – doesn’t even say anything else. When a vine sneaks down the back of Harry’s trousers and starts prodding at a place it really shouldn’t be prodding, Harry’s had enough.

He fights his way up far enough to glare at Voldemort, silently demanding why he’s not killing him or cutting him out of this lusty Devil’s Snare to monologue at him before killing him. The bastard plant takes exception to this, attempting to pull him back down and pressing more insistently against his arse. Harry grunts in alarm, squirming away as much as he can when the vine simply follows him to push harder into him. He squeaks, and if his face looks more pleading than he’d like, he’s willing to cut himself some slack.

Maintaining eye contact, Voldemort conjures a wingback chair and sits down in it a few feet away, facing Harry.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” he drawls, leaning back and getting comfortable. “I’m in no hurry.”

Harry groans in distress as the plant's many limbs continue to move against and in him.

(Part two, where the Harrymort happens)

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

“We want her back.”

Harry stands alone at the edge of a grassy knoll. His mother and father have told him time and time again not to go this far, not to get so close. He’s one step away from where its emerald green and dewy blades start crumbling, dying, and turning a dark, muddy brown.

He calls out, “She is with you, is she not?” His fists clench and unclench. They feel empty. “None wish for it to be, but I know she is here… She has told me about you.”

The one with which he speaks isn’t visible, but Harry knows they are there watching, waiting. Harry can feel them laughing.

He steps forward.

The forest ahead is dense and brittle. The absence of canopy leaves should set its facade in bright relief, yet the shadows here are harsher than ever. He knows it is not his eyes playing tricks—this place is born and blessed by something other.

Demands are not to be made lightly with beings such as gods. However, Harry does not care to heed this warning told thousands of times in thousands of ways. So he raises his chin and states clearly, “Give Ginny back.”

All sound stops.

Where once there were the distant chirps of birds—even they will not fly too close to this place—their songs have vanished. The slight breeze through the branches that rattled and shook has gone. Harry suddenly wonders if he has never been able to hear his heartbeat at all, for that has left as well.

Out from the deep, the dark, the dense, a being emerges. It is liquid and smoke and steam; it is night and pitch and black. It forms and shapes. A creature tall and cloaked, shrouded by smog, coalesces.

It is horrific. It looks like a monster trying to mimic a man.

Red eyes peer out and burn into Harry. The silence stretches until— “You may take her, little hero,” it speaks. The voice that comes out grates, and Harry catches a glint of wide, sharp teeth. “If you find her.”

The beast raises its hand, reaching out to him. Harry does not move.

And everything goes black.

[thetomarrylibrary]

Lost & Not Found (34)

''Harry was a necromancer and looked it, black fingertips and black tinted lips. He kept flirting with Voldemort and Voldemort felt uncomfortable being flirted by an adult in a child’s body. When Harry took an aging potion he was immediately attracted. I vividly remember a line from Harry about how he wouldn’t mind being a concubine because it sounded relaxing after they had sex.'' [ FOUND we who walk in shadows black by Evandar ]

''Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione go back in time to Tom’s era Hogwarts, round about 7th year. Harry gets put in Slytherin and him and Tom get close, driving him away from Ron, Hermione and Ginny. Harry eventually chooses Tom.'' [ FOUND With the eyes like these (who sees anybody else) by cealesti ]

''Scar!horcrux gains a corporeal form and helps Harry to find other horcruxes to fight voldemort. Other horcruxes that were found were also sentient and usually interacted with arry in his dreams(?), Diadem hissed at Draco at some point. It's also Harrymort since V also interacts with Harry in their shared dreams and is (kinda) civil, at least in the dreamscapes.'' [ FOUND Dance With the Devil by Driverpicksthemooseic ]

''Tom is a serial killer, and has a job as a dentist. It has multiple chapters I believe, and there is no magic. He also kills the dursleys, or at least Vernon and Dudley. It is on ao3.'' [ FOUND You're bleeding because you don't floss by MistyTheGhost ]

''Tom is Harry's blood brother and Bellatrix Lestrage and her husband are his adopted parents. Everyone knew this time that he was the BWL and not his twin, but they still chose to send him to the Dursleys. He was rescued by Remus and Snape. His twin ended up being obsessed with him, without knowing it was his twin.''

''Harry goes back in time or to another dimension. When he goes there, Tom is the minister and very oblivious and sort of a himbo fr. He is besties with Myrtle, and Harry stalks him, but Tom thinks Harry is protecting and loving him. Possibly unfinished.'' [ FOUND Plant Your Fields of Lavender and Chamomile by Aracell ]

''Voldemort accidentally kills Harry and like cries over this badly. He then asks for Hermione and Ron’s help in bringing him back. Harry meets Tom's mom and watches from the afterlife I think. When he feels Tom's love for him, he decides to go back.'' [ FOUND Death Never Stopped Me Before by ElliahRose ]

''Harry and Tom get trapped somewhere and they can't get out until they learn to love each other.'' [ FOUND Of Your Making by purplewitch157 ]

''Harry and Tom are trapped in either in the Room of Requirement or in the diary.''

[soup-of-the-daisies]

What are your favorite harry ships??

I am SO glad you asked. Harry is my fandom bicycle and the reason I count myself as a multi-shipper.

In general, I like my Harry-ships to be relatively ‘equal’, if that makes sense. Harry or the other character should be capable of holding their own; big power differences are not my cup of tea (though they can be intriguing and, dare I say it, hot). They can kick each other’s arses, is what I mean by that.

I also don’t mind a male Harry, female Harry, or NB Harry. I like ‘em all, just for clarification.

For the basics: both Drarry and Harmione are near and dear to my heart. Rivals-to-lovers and friends-to-lovers, my beloved. These ships feel comfortable and familiar, and they’re usually my go-to for post-canon fluff or hurt/comfort. (I also like Dramione and Romione btw. I know that’s not what you asked about but I’m just putting it out there.)

I’m also known to have indulged in Ronarry and Sirry (Sirius/Harry) on occasion. And with smaller characters: Harry/Theo Nott, Harry/Blaise Zabini, Harry/Daphne Greengrass, Harry/Viktor Krum, Harry/Cedric Diggory… yeah. Harry/Cho and Hinny are fine, but not ones I’d purposefully seek out. In time travel AUs, I genuinely, really like Harry/Orion Black—possibly because it reminds me of Prongsfoot.

Most importantly: my absolute favourite at the moment is Tomarry/Harrymort. I don’t know why—it just appeals to me. Harry’s my boy, and I actually quite like Voldemort’s character as a fully-rounded villain or annoying, emotionally constipated teenager. Christian Coulson as Tom Riddle had me (like many others) in a chokehold when I was little so Diary!Tom is Voldy-version I absolutely adore, but Silver Fox!Voldemort and Snakeymort I love as well. And again, this is as long as the power dynamics aren’t too fucked up (purely for my personal taste): other aspects can be Morally Wrong or Really Fucked Up and I’ll lick the plate clean lmao. I like it when Voldemort becomes ‘better’, I like it when Harry becomes ‘worse’… cleansing or corruption, both are good.

It’s something something soulmates, I suppose!! Their inherent connection, their similarities. Harry has the potential (!!!) to become an ‘equal’ in power to Voldemort eventually (provided he trains and studies) (the detail that Voldemort canonically has more magical power is why a lot of fix-it fics add that Harry had a ‘binding’ on his ‘magical core’ which limits the power he can put into something; either to prevent the horcrux from holding on too tightly or to make him easier to kill). Harry has, canonically, power over Voldemort in the way that he’s part of Voldemort. Their wand cores match as much as they can possibly match (feathers given by the same phoenix at the same time). Voldemort accidentally damned Harry to have a similar childhood as he did. They both see Hogwarts as their first home; they’re both half-bloods; they both didn’t feel like they truly belonged in both the muggle and magical world, though for varying reasons. Harry can understand Voldemort on a level that lies the latter bare and open, which is not something that Voldemort would ever want or appreciate. And the dichotomy between core parts of their personalities — Harry’s kindness, Voldemort’s cruelty — is delicious.

[i-will-steal-your-intestines]

tomarrymort fandom, what are some of you guys’s favourite fic tropes? I’ve been in this fandom for some time, and I’ve just been curious about what the rest of you like to read, and I also think it’s a good chance to get to know you all better, if you’d like it…anyways, here are my own personal favourite ones!

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Favourite Tropes

for harrymort, I like:

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- post-apocalyptic voldemort and harry.

(more specifically, one where they are both forced to work together to figure out what’s happened/survive etc…the main thing is that they join forces and become partners. sort of like an enemies to hesitant partners to companions to lovers)

unfortunately though, there aren’t that many fics for that, and/or they’re not easy to find or some across.

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- master of death harry. i love those.

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- ghost voldemort haunts harry after the war, and harry’s the only one who can see him.

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- the one where they’re trapped in a place together and they can’t get out until they get along, and sort out their differences.

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- post war. where both sides somehow come to an agreement of peace, and voldemort and harry just can’t stay away from one another.

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- time travel.

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- ghost voldemort

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- married harrymort where both are equal and harry actually has a Job™️, and they share decisions together, and harry isn’t just some naive, spicy, feminised, twiggy little bottom who yields to all of voldemort’s commands and is absolutely useless and powerless.

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- immortal harry and voldemort where they keep having life cycles together. (OMG I REMEMBER THIS ONE FIC THAT I READ WHERE HARRY WAS REINCARNATED INTO A MUGGLE WORLD WITH NO MAGIC WHERE HE WAS A WANNABE DETECTIVE AND VOLDEMORT WAS THE LEADER OF A NOTORIOUS CRIME SYNDICATE IN 1930s/40s/50s? AMERICA WHO WENT BY THE NAME OF MARVOLO AND IT WAS AMAZING OMG I WONDER IF ITS UPDATED SHIT I DONT EVEN REMEMBER THE NAME ARGHHHHG)

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- hanahaki disease. this ones a bit sad, but it’s also one of my favourites. it’s so painful that there are only a few out there.

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- marriage of convenience. it depends though.

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- where harry and voldemort raise a child together. BUT. not mpreg. i can’t stand that one, ESPECIALLY, the ones in which Harry is referred to as “mum”, idk, it just gives me the ick, not for me.

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for tomarrymort

- harry is the master of death so he lives through many lives, until eventually, he cycles back to his own life and is reborn as himself, but mentally he is older, and he knows more and understands more about the world.

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- soulmate au. now this one, it has a few subtropes. like, there’s the timer soulmate au, the ink appearing on skin soulmate au, the complementing soul mark au, the name soul mark au, the world without colour au, the horcrux creating a bond au, the bruises and cuts sharing au, the belongings disappearing and appearing with the other person au, the complementary wings au, the usual love at first touch au, the prophecy soulmates au, etc etc.

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- time loop

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- switch tomarrymort (there are not many of those out there, but I do rlly like them)

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- only one bed

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- soul dreams. especially when it’s harrymort.

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- dimension hopping. i love that one. i once read one where young harry and tom who were raised together and from another dimension, were kidnapped by a dimension hopping death eater and brought to a dimension with an older harry and voldemort who are against each other and in war like the books. it was such an interesting story with an interesting plot, and very well written…but it only had ONE OR TWO CHAPTERS AND IT HASNT UPDATED FOR A VERY LONG TIMEEE 😫😭. i tried searching for similar stories with the same concept but I could find none. I’m acc still devastated 🥲

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- where either tom/voldemort or harry is reincarnated into a muggle world only to discover there is no magical community in that dimension/universe, and that the other doesn’t seem to remember them (loss of magical power or not doesnt make a difference)

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- defence prof. tom/voldemort and student harry

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- one where either of tom/voldemort or harry get stuck as an animal, and the other knowingly or unknowingly takes care of them (like i remember reading this fic where harry accidentally time travels to tom riddle’s hogwarts days, and gets himself stuck as a cat - i don’t even remember how tbh...and there’s also this other one, where voldemort is stuck as a snake/serpent, and is forced to go to the only parselmouth around for help i.e. harry…it’s an interesting concept tbh )

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for tomarry

- tom and harry grow up together. this one has two subtropes though. one, where young harry from the future somehow teleports himself to tom in the past. and another, where harry is just from tom’s time.

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- muggle au except tom’s a ghost.

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- tom and harry are colleagues at hogwarts.

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- tom and harry are colleagues at a high school or university muggle au.

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- tom teaches harry, or harry teaches tom muggle au

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- harry is a police officer, and tom is a criminal. (muggle au of course)

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- minister of magic tom

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- tom and harry are both muggle orphan street urchins who grow up thieving together, relying on each other, and having each other’s backs

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- tom and harry hannibal au

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- workplace au (can be muggle and magical, like they could be working in a law firm or something, or at a shop in knockturn)

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- muggle au students. uni or high school, but I prefer uni really.

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- amortenia. by which I mean in the context of being hogwarts students, and they’re sitting in potions class as partners to brew it, only they feel it’s not working, but actually it is, and tom just thinks it’s because he actually can’t love, and harry thinks it’s bc they somehow messed up the potion. they don’t notice the scent bc they’re partners and sitting right next to each other.

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- time travel. this one has a lot of subtropes that I like, such as, harry, being a dunce, and accidentally time travelling back to the past (permanently is good, but also I like the one where he has to go back to his own time, and ends up taking tom w him, and the one where tom finds a way to travel to him into the future), going back to the past as a last resort during the war to prevent future events only to end up falling in love, time travelling harry and tom, in love, travelling together to confront voldemort from the future, harry travels and meets adult tom/fresh out of school tom, harry time travels and becomes defence professor in tom’s time, etc

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- reincarnated harry being raised in wool’s with tom with all memories of his past life.

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Feel free to drop some recs into the comment section btw! :)

(no really pls do)

[mrmxlemons]

WIP Last Lines Tag Game

Share the last 7 (or more) lines from a WIP

— I am posting nearly a whole scene from the WIP but either way… thanks for the tag @cindle-writes and @leafiloaf, I am tagging @coiled-dragon @cornerstoreclown @cannibalinc @bonkin @arabellatheauthor (no pressure!)

Premise: In a Voldemort Wins Alternate Universe, Harry is friends with Tom, the only son of the Lord Voldemort, and following graduation from Hogwarts he’s invited to stay at the Palace Eternal for the summer. It means Harry gets to spend time with Tom. It also means Harry has to meet Tom’s father. (Tomarry, eventual Harrymort, might even become A/B/O who knows)

In which Hermione and Ron express their concern for Harry.

“You’re going to stay with Tom for the summer?” Hermione asks, her brow arched, “Don’t you think that’s a little… odd?”

It’s about the response he expects from her. Ron doesn’t need to say anything for Harry to know the suspicion is mutual between them. Hermione and Ron had never been fan favorites of Tom. “He invited me to the Coronation,” Harry explains. Not that it’s a reason to be there all summer long.

Her expression morphs, “Oh, Harry! That’s so amazing! It’s an honor to go. You must be excited.”

Ron scoffs. Harry expects that, too. The feeling is moot. In a historical sense it might be interesting, but only Hermione would see it that way.

“Yeah,” Harry sighs, “that’s one word for it. Tom’s dad is a prick. Real excited to see him get crowned for, what, the fifth time?”

It feels weird referring to Tom’s dad so casually. Tom himself doesn’t even refer to Lord Voldemort as father, but Harry surely isn’t going to give him the honorific title in a conversation where he could help it. Sovereign Undying is an ego inflating mouthful, anyways. 

Harry doesn’t realize he’s said something that’s shocked them until he breaks from his thoughts, noticing their eerie silence and horrified faces.

“What?” He presses.

Hermione murmurs urgently, “I don’t think you’re allowed to say that.”

Harry nearly rolls his eyes. He stares at Hermione, unconcerned. “Are you going to tell on me?”

He is surprised it’s Ron that responds this time.

“You don’t know who’s listening, mate. That’s why my dad made the whole ‘no politics at dinner’ rule, what with all the portraits lying around.”

“I know about the portraits, Ron.” Harry says testily.

“Yes,” Hermione eases, “everyone knows about the portraits. We’re not saying you don’t, Harry. I think what Ron is trying to say is you can’t be too careful.”

“I can be careful. I’m not stupid.”

“No, but you are brash.”

“And bold,” Ron adds.

“Those words are synonyms for each other, yes,” Hermione says, firm even in her gentle instruction, “Nevertheless, I think Ron brings up a good point. Your… affinity for speaking out is something you’ll have to consider if you’re going to be staying with Tom for a whole summer. Where his… where Lord Voldemort could be in earshot.”

Harry waves her off, “Tom hardly sees him, anyways. They’re practically estranged.”

“That’s not what I’ve heard,” Ron whispers, looking around the room for invisible ears. “There’s been a new chair added at the Wizengamot. My dad thinks they’re adding a new position.”

Harry could see where this is going, but Ron’s tidbit certainly piques Hermione’s curiosity even if Harry knows its bullshit.

“What position?”

“I dunno. An advisor, maybe? I mean, who else would it be besides…”

“Tom would’ve told me about that.” Harry interjects confidently.

Both Ron and Hermione are silent, and unlike before it seems as though neither of them have anything to say. Harry might’ve cheered if their quiet didn’t sound like disagreement.

“He would’ve,” Harry insists, “He doesn’t like his father much, either. I can hardly blame him.”

Ron and Hermione exchange a side eye. “Does he tell you that?”

Harry reddens. It’s not a blush. He’s thought about this before, he isn’t completely unaware of what words can do. But even if Tom doesn’t say ‘I hate my father’ Harry can read between the lines. Tom’s never spoken highly of Lord Voldemort. All of the times he’s brought up in conversation it dwindles to Harry being glad he has no parents in comparison to Tom’s own situation.

“I mean, no—not directly, but he doesn’t need to. He’s quite attentive when I complain.”

“Are you sure he’s not trying to set you up?”

Harry can’t hide the agitation anymore. He really wishes his friends would at least pretend to like Tom. “Ron, I know you don’t like Tom but he’s good to me.”

“We just want you to be safe,” Hermione says.

Harry scoffs, “And you think me being safe includes staying away from Tom.”

“Yes,” Ron says.

“No,” Hermione glares at him. “But it’s good to be cautious. The Palace Eternal is a beautiful place, but it’s not necessarily safe. Most people that stay don’t leave.”

“Yeah, my dad’s only been there, what, once or twice? And he’s had a chair on the Wiz for years.”

“It’s just for a summer,” Harry reaffirms, “And if what you’re saying is true, if Tom is going to be an Advisor, I don’t know how much I’ll see him after, anyways.” Harry looks away from them. He really hopes it isn’t true. He really, really hopes Tom’s not going to be an Advisor to Lord Voldemort. “Besides, I’ve got to find work, I don’t know what I’m going to do still.”

“You’ve still got the offer from the Chudley Cannons, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I don’t know if that’s what I want though. I’m hoping Tom can help me figure something out.”

“You know, you’re always welcome to stay with us at the Burrow. No rush finding a job, either. Mum would be more than happy to have you.” Ron assures, “Fred and George are always looking for new employees.”

Hermione rolls her eyes, “That’s because Fred and George harass their employees with pranks until they leave.”

“Yeah…” Ron agrees sheepishly.

“Regardless,” Hermione starts, “whatever you do, write us. Let us know you’re okay.”

Harry laughs, “It’s not like I’m going there to die, you’ll see me again.”

Hermione and Ron don’t laugh. Harry’s not worried, but they don’t share that sentiment.

[childotkw]

I apologise if this is a strange or ‘obvious’ question, but I’m new to the whole Harry/Voldemort shipping, and I’ve always wondered if when people write (or you, in particular) for the two, especially in ‘romantically intense’ scenes, do they have the white, cadaverous, reptilian creature in mind (sorry if this sounds rather mean! I didn’t know how else to phrase it!) or the human Tom Riddle?

Hello! Not a strange question at all - I think it's one every tomarry / harrymort shipper asks themselves eventually 😂 (and it's not mean! I call that version of Voldemort 'snakeface' sooooo)

Personally, I tend to write human-looking Voldemort, but people have different preferences when it comes to this ship. Some prefer human-Voldemort, some prefer snakeface-Voldemort. It really depends on what the author wants to write.

Most stories I've read that have snakeface-Voldemort in it are very good at describing his features, since the otherness of him in that state is usually a central part of the relationship / themes of the plot.

There are plenty of tags on AO3 for 'Handsome Voldemort', 'Human Voldemort', 'Snake-like Voldemort', 'Gratuitously Hot Voldemort' etc. if you want to find a specific kind of Voldemort.

But yeah, for me, it's almost always going to be human-looking Voldemort. If it's not, I'll make sure to make it clear through my writing that it's the snakey version 😉