theoneofshame

[theoneofshame]

[theoneofshame]

We have 6 weeks left until we collectively post! Flood the internet with this soulbonded pair!

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From July 27-31st, post your tomarry/harrymort/dadmort art on the socials you have, tagging us so we can share your work! We are excited for your hard work and thankful for your patience to share its fruits!

Bluesky @uptosomegood.bsky.social

Twitter @TomarrymortArtA

Tumblr @tomarrymort-artist-alley

[theoneofshame]

Day 13 | Bribe | 50 words @tomarrymortmicrofics

Dudley eyes him meanly. 

“Tell you what, Harry,” he bribes. “Give me your stash of that fancy freak chocolate, and I won’t go telling how you moan every night for what’s-his-name.”

Harry slams his cousin against the wall, watches those eyes go wide.

Then shoves the bag into sweaty palms.

[theoneofshame]

Day 12 | Haze | 50 words @tomarrymortmicrofics

He couldn’t breathe through the haze, his magic biting, his blood iced fire. The second he smelled the potion. Flames from burners roared. Cabinets splintered. Glassware shattered. 

Someone tries to grab him - screams. 

…It was supposed to be Amortentia…

So why was the scent of Voldemort’s magic flooding the class? 

[theoneofshame]

Day 11 | Wing | 50 words @tomarrymortmicrofics

He stares, watching the little dove thrash against the ground, feathers bloody and ruffled, a wing bent awkward. 

He couldn’t magic her better; couldn’t take her back to the Dursley’s. 

She won’t stop crying. 

Put it out of its misery, Harry. 

One sickening crunch. 

Peace. 

Upset burns at his eyes.

[theoneofshame]

Day 10 | Obscure | 50 words @tomarrymortmicrofics

“It says here that Romanian vampires eat hearts ritualistically…”

Memories of ancient forests and older peoples tickle his mind. Harry’s mouth moves without his prompting. 

“No, that’s the Albanian coven.”

The whole of Gryffindor’s table looks his way. 

Harry’s thinking the same thing:

How the bloody hell would he know?

[theoneofshame]

Day 9 | Trinket | 50 words @tomarrymortmicrofics

How dare he. 

Bandying about with his locket as if Lord Voldemort’s soul was some mere trinket. Howls of agony fill his ears, followers withering as magic roars out of him in an ocean of blackness. 

His hands are shaking…

He stares at the unruly limbs. 

The boy would pay. 

[theoneofshame]

Day 8 | Rise | 50 words @tomarrymortmicrofics

“Done already, are we?” Harry huffs, all bravado and sweat cooling on the snowfall.

It makes Voldemort turn back.

“Are you goading a rise out of me?”

Harry smiles, one with far too much nuance of feeling for Voldemort to decipher. 

“Maybe I’ve missed you.”

He scoffs.

But stays anyway. 

[theoneofshame]

Day 7 | Banquet | 50 words @tomarrymortmicrofics

Voldemort sits his limp body at the head of the table, pressing a fork to hand.

"You will never hunger again."

Harry stares at the banquet laid out.

He remembers the command: "Eat." Remembers how he made them devour each other.

Harry believes him.

He never wants to eat again.

[theoneofshame]

Day 1 - Force | Words 666

@tomarrymortmicrofics

Voldemort’s regard was a heady thing. Heavy as it pressed against his senses and burned his skin.

It was a weight that Harry refused to buckle under, and he expertly ignored the stare to inspect the room.

Voldemort’s throne room was ostentatious in the fact that it was a throne room. Tall pillars of dark stone and a black marble floor, but oddly bereft of any opulence, despite that the monster considered himself a king.

The man lounged comfortably on his throne, and Harry’s continued refusal to look at him caused his red eyes to dig angrily into his cheek. He was determined to wait him out and force the monster to make the first move.

And Voldemort would crack first, for Harry knew how much his disregard infuriated the man. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to anger him, but he wouldn’t be Harry Potter if he didn’t dig his way under the monster’s skin, and his patience was rewarded only moments later,

“Kneel.”

The order was softly hissed but backed by seductive dark magic. It wrapped around his limbs and coated his lungs; Harry shivered under the force of it but refused to bend.

Heat flooded his system, stomach clenching with a spike of desire though he allowed none of it to show on his face.

Finally, he turned to gaze up at Voldemort, green eyes glinting with defiance and a coy smile curling his lips.

“Make me,” he challenged.

Red eyes darkened with hunger and Voldemort was on him in a flash. Nails scraped against his scalp as a hand fisted his hair, but Voldemort didn’t force him to his knees.

Instead he pulled on his hair, tilting Harry’s head back and exposing his throat. Voldemort’s other hand wrapped around it warningly and Harry licked his lips, anticipation thrumming through his veins.

“As ever your defiance is—”

“You like it,” Harry interrupted.

Voldemort’s eyes flickered, a seductive mixture of hot rage and intense desire that had Harry’s breath catching in his throat. Feverish need coursed through him as he gripped Voldemort’s robes.

He leaned into the hand at his throat, pulling against the one in his hair and shivering at the pain it caused. His eyes were steady as he held Voldemort’s gaze.

“Well?” he provoked the man. “Aren’t you going to make—”

It was his turn to be interrupted as Voldemort lost his patience.

The hand at his throat tightened and Harry tilted his head back further, chasing the last vestiges of air in his lungs.

Voldemort pulled him closer, hand tightening further and robes brushing against robes as he leaned down to steal Harry’s last breath.

Harry’s eyes fluttered, his lungs shuddering as the lack of oxygen took a toll on his body. He shook, limbs weakening and his own hands tightened in defiance before falling limply at his sides.

His mind disconnected, thoughts becoming jumbled and blood buzzing in his ears. His visioned blackened, Voldemort’s pale face and red eyes the only light in the tunnel of darkness.

Just as he thought the man wouldn’t stop - would actually kill him - Voldemort released him.

He crashed to the ground in an inelegant heap. Tortured lungs filled with air, and he breathed in more, each breath tasting of life.

Desire had him writhing where he fell, all senses alight as his clothes became restricting and strength returned to his limbs. Need infused his being, all thought evaporating in the face of his desire to tear Voldemort’s robes off and take all the man would give him - and more.

He pushed himself up, but before he could stand, Voldemort’s hand landed on the top of his head and kept him grounded on his knees.

“Next time you will do as you’re told,” Voldemort informed him.

Harry laughed, a delighted sound that defied Voldemort’s words.

“Never.”

He laughed again and broke out of Voldemort’s hold, standing in the next moment and pulling the monster down for a biting kiss.

- A couple of days late and few hundred words longer than intended…

[theoneofshame]

Day 4 and 5 - Brush and Merriment | Words 375

@tomarrymortmicrofics

The sounds of victory and merriment stuttered and died as Voldemort rose to his feet.

Silence engulfed the room as he brushed an imaginary piece of lint off his robes.

He ignored the terrified whispers of the crowd as they backed away from him, parting like the Red Sea.

Harry Potter, still entangled in the arms of his friends, turned to stare at him. The horror blooming in his vibrant green eyes was exquisite.

He’d told the boy that Lord Voldemort had taken steps to guard himself against mortal death. That he’d traveled paths of magic further than any had dared to tread before.

It was only the boy’s fault that he’d imagined Voldemort had simply been referring to his horcruxes.

He’d always been aware of the vulnerability of his soul containers and so had taken steps to circumvent it.

A ritual, one tied to this body and the shattered pieces of his soul, set to activate only when all his horcruxes were destroyed.

A ritual that would ensure his return. This time with a full soul that charged the runes he’d carved into his very bones.

He almost laughed as the boy stepped forward, shoulders set defiantly and bravely raised the Elder Wand against him.

Nothing the boy did now would matter. His death was his transcendence - he was invulnerable, his skin impenetrable and this time truly immortal.

Voldemort tilted his head in contemplation as his followers - those still alive and relatively unharmed - fell in behind him.

He wouldn’t kill the boy, he decided. If dead, he wouldn’t be able to witness the desolation fill green eyes as Voldemort destroyed all he cared about.

He’ll keep him close and on his knees at his feet - where he belongs - with a tight leash that would strangle any attempts of disobedience before the boy even thought of it.

Perhaps even a literal leash.

A soft collar made from the skin of his friends and a chain carved from their bones.

Yes, Voldemort smiled cruelly as he called his wand - his wand, made of yew - to his hand.

Victory would be his, and he knew that nothing would taste sweeter than the tears of the boy who would lose everything.

- Sorry for the bombardment of fics! Last one for today, and I’m all caught up!

[theoneofshame]

Day 2 — Tryant — @tomarrymortmicrofics

TW— mention of torture. Sensual? Idk, it's Voldemort everything he does is a warning.

—

Harry panted softly, his mouth parting just slightly to gasp in the air that was stolen from him. His ragged breathing was the only sound echoing in this forsaken room. His fingers twitches loosely at his side, his wand too far too reach, his mind hazy from pain and the constant burning from his scar.

He hadn't screamed this time.

Green eyes flickers up from from where he laid flat on the marble floor, and there he was, close, always close— cloaked and standing over him, pale slender fingers toying almost absent-mindedly with his wand. Voldemort.

Blood-like eyes rove over him as if inspecting an object that he was considering buying. Watching as Harry catches his breath. Voldemort doesn't say anything for a moment, and silently— lowers himself down, straddling Harry.

Harry freezes, every muscle in his body locking, eyes wide with a clenched jaw.

The Dark Lord cocks his head to side, bringing the tip of his wand to Harry’s cheek for a moment and then slowly— reverently drags it down to his jaw and then to the column of his throat, resting there like a snake coiled to strike. Harry instinctively swallows.

Voldemort leans in close, breath brushing against Harry’s cheekbone as Harry— dazed with adrenaline and pain glares up at the Dark Lord, eyes bright like posion.

"Ah." Voldemort breathes out softly as he stares back into those eyes, something almost fond in that dark gaze, the corner of his mouth tugs into something resembling a smile— what a terrible thing.

The Dark Lord leans down then, and Harry can't hide the way he stiffens noticebly.

"You are truly divine Harry Potter." The Dark Lord murmurs against his throat.

Harry clenched his teeth. “Get off me.”

Voldemort gave a soft, derisive laugh—quiet and strange, dark and low. “Still defiant,” he whispered, leaning closer, mouth brushing against Harry’s throat for the barest second, like the ghost of a caress. “That, too, is divine.”

[theoneofshame]

Day 6 | Snarl | 50 words @tomarrymortmicrofics

Despite the preceded reputation, he wasn't some holier-than-thou hero.

He was just a boy.

A very angry boy.

With a shitty childhood chipping his shoulder and too much magic under the skin.

It was no wonder, then, that only Voldemort wouldn't flinch when Harry showed teeth.

It's why they fit.

[theoneofshame]

Day 5 | Merriment | 50 words @tomarrymortmicrofics

It's not some evil thing.

His laugh, his real laugh, is a loud, giggling thing that comes with pinking cheeks and a head thrown back.

It makes his eyes crease at the edges.

Pinned beneath the dark lord, Harry's heart skips a beat; he tells himself it's out of fear.

[theoneofshame]

@tomarrymortmicrofics | brush | 80 words

Harry smoothes down the wrinkles in his shirt and studies his appearance in the mirror. Even after all the failed meetings with prospective parents, Harry continues this ritual. He remains hopeful. Tom is unsure if he should admire his faith or pity him for it.

Harry tugs at his unruly hair, frowning. Wordlessly, Tom hands him the brush.

In the dead of night, crammed together in the rickety bed they share, Tom will hold Harry close as he silently sobs.

[theoneofshame]

Day 3 | Cajole | @tomarrymortmicrofics

He can't help but notice her, tall and taller still in heels, towering over the peacocking throng of snobbish elite and politically influential.

She's an older woman. A silvered brunette with hair curled just so, in a fitted grey dress, plain compared to the garish feathers and skins being paraded.

Sophisticated.

Sultry.

Harry looks away. Grimaces through more polite smiles. Tries not to trip over another skirt tail. Drinks more flutes of something fizzy.

And catches himself staring again. Watches the way she moves the crowd around her, making all these spiders weave the web to her design.

It's strangely familiar.

They lock eyes across the length of the ballroom. And a jolt of recognition runs through him.

He's certain now; he knows her. But for the life of him, he can't figure how.

He soon finds himself again victim to more conversation, like a caught fly. After another bout of handshakes involving more cajoling and clinking glasses than anything, Harry counts himself offically frazzled (and perhaps drunk).

He about-faces, ready to break for an exit, and stumbles short, nearly face-planting into the object of his distraction. Pale hands steady him and his scar tingles.

"Harry Potter, leaving us so soon?"

"I - sorry, er... maybe?"

It's about as smooth as he's been all night.

A cluck of disproval comes with a tilt of the head, bringing to mind the image of that arrogant schoolboy telling Harry he was too late.

"A pity..."

And then it hits him like a bombarda, his mouth blurting just who exactly she reminded him of.

"Voldemort"

Eyes flash a wicked red, the grip on his shoulders tightening.

"Clever boy."

Harry pales, then pinks.

The woman, Voldemort, takes notice. Stained lips quirk, and the dark lord leans close. Harry knows he should run, or fight, or something, but his senses were too preoccupied with soaking in the rich smell of perfume and magic (Harry swears if he survives this he's never drinking again) while slender fingers straighten his bow.

"Won't you stay awhile longer?"

[theoneofshame]

Day 2 | Suspend | 50 words @tomarrymortmicrofics

Bruised, Harry's caught between the jaws, venom numbing all but his scar.

Then, even that dims, as the diary in hand, sticky with his own blood, goes cold.

He's floating, high above - not unlike being on a broom...

If this was dying, Harry thinks, then Tom had nothing to fret.