Chapter Text
Tom Riddle had a list, one he had spent years perfecting. Every time he had heard something sex-related from his dorm- or housemates, from the boys at the orphanage or when someone tried to lure him into their bed with seductive promises, he had written it down.
There had always been one problem when wanting to try these things:
No one was ever good enough. Everyone was inferior to Lord Voldemort’s greatness, to let them touch him would be defiling.
So now that he was twenty two, after years of trying to find someone worthy, Tom turned to magic–which he should have done from the start. With his own being so much superior to anyone else’s, there was no way he wouldn’t be able to solve this problem and find his equal. Impossible did not exist to Lord Voldemort; it simply meant he hadn’t found a way yet.
And what a way he had found! During his travels he had stumbled upon an ancient tome about Soulmate magic. In it was a ritual to summon one’s other half. This would solve all his problems!
So, after he had killed some muggles that were occupying the perfect manor for his project and copying the ritual circles and preparations perfectly, he set on casting.
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Harry Potter was sitting on a worn couch in number twelve, Grimmauld Place, looking dejectedly at the old ceiling. After the Battle of Hogwarts, he felt like something was missing. What exactly, he didn’t know. But he had been feeling rather depressed ever since, prompting him to drop out of the Auror program and break up with Ginny. When he asked himself questions about where his happiness went, he usually started spiraling when confronted with what an unfair and shitty life he had lived so far–and he was only 18!. He had suffered under the Dursleys until eleven and during every holiday. And after his Hogwarts Letter, his only goal had been to kill Voldemort. He’d never thought much about the future, sensing he wouldn’t get to experience much. His intuition had been correct and he had walked into the forbidden forest to sacrifice his life. He hadn’t expected to come back to life. But had he really? Sometimes, everything felt like some figment of his imagination. He was not used to the empty feeling in his scar either. The last few years, there was always some sensation–usually pain. While he hadn’t felt his scar before that, he knew now that that had not truly been the case. Now that he felt the blatant absence of it, he knew there must have been something; he had just been too used to it to notice.
So when a strange ritual circle appeared beneath him, it wasn’t surprising that Harry didn’t react to it, let alone move away or try to defend himself. He just closed his eyes as a strange pulling sensation started building behind his navel and he felt himself lose conscience.
◇⨝◇
Panting slightly, Tom looked down at the black haired man that had appeared amidst his runes. He was giddy at the success. But considering just who he was, if it had failed it wouldn’t have been on him but on the book detailing the ritual. Tom didn’t care that his soulmate was a man, had never felt any preference for either sex–more a lack thereof.
He was wearing black, round glasses and dirty clothing that were too big for his slight frame. There was a strange, avada kedavra shaped scar on his forehead, slightly covered by the most unruly hair he had ever seen. Tom tried not to question Magic for its choice–even if it was difficult.
With a groan, the man opened his eyes to reveal killing-curse green eyes that took Tom’s breath away. When red met green, he felt a sizzling energy run through his entire being. Tom had never felt something as intense, and he reveled in it, in what he had accomplished – soulmates were incredibly rare and he had managed to summon his.
The ever mounting tension between them shattered as the man jumped upwards and scrambled away, screaming “You! How–why–” in abject horror.
Tom cocked his head in interest, still staring intensely. He did not recognise the man, would they meet in the future? Had he stolen his own soulmate from himself? Tom knew that he was immortal and would not age, so from how far in time was the man in front of him and why did he react like that? Tom doubted he had gotten confused with a relative–there were none left and Tom didn’t see himself making his own. With the clothes he was wearing, he could not be from the past.
“Hello, it looks like you already know who–”
“YOU ARE DEAD!!”
Tom laughed at the interruption. Dead, him? How preposterous!
“Oh darling, you must be confusing me. It’s okay, you can calm yourself. I am Tom Marvolo Riddle; but Lord Voldemort would also be appreciated. And what is your lovely name?”
Despite his attempt at calming the man–who looked more like a boy at closer inspection, how old was he? —fell on deaf ears, for he was still steadily creeping backwards to the nearest wall and looking at him like he was a talking corpse. How…dissapointing.
“What do you want from me and what was that weird-ass ritual circle?!” He yelled as soon as his back touched the wall opposite Tom. Staying perfectly polite and approachable, Tom answered his questions in a soothing manner.
“The runes still etched into the floor between us were part of a ritual I performed, serving in the summoning of my,” here he paused for dramatic effect before whispering, “soulmate.” He smiled smugly at the shocked reaction he received, already envisioning what he would do to that opened mouth.
His Fated laughed in disbelief, so Tom levitated the book towards him–wandlessly and wordlessly, of course.
Sceptically, he took it in his skinny hands. After a few minutes of silence in which his soulmate looked through the tome with his dark eyebrows scrunched in concentration – while Tom shamelessly stared at him and adjusted the front of his dresspants – he finally learned the name of his Fated.
“Harry, I’m Harry. This still doesn’t make sense.” Absent-mindedly, he touched his scar before some sort of understanding seemed to dawn upon him.
“Harry,” he purred the name. “Did you not feel the connection between us?” Tom took a step forward, steadily decreasing the offending distance. “Do you not–” another step. “ –desire me?” After another few steps, he saw the dilated pupils and the way Harry’s chest moved rapidly. He was just as affected as Tom himself.
Harry put up a hand in feeble protest but when it connected with Tom’s chest, it bent at his will, letting him come closer. He caged the smaller boy against the light grey wall, keeping eye-contact unblinkingly. Harry whimpered slightly as Tom bent down until his breath met lush lips parted in arousal. Pressing his lower half against him, he was met with another sign of his want. Harry moaned as Tom’s already fully hardened cock pressed against his own.
“Harry,” he whispered again. “You are mine.” Before the boy could respond, Tom kissed him. Tom had never done this before, but he was determined to be the best regardless, had studied enough couples in order to be exactly that. His soulmate seemed to agree, for delicious moans met his own lips as he devoured Harry’s.
With his right hand, Tom pulled Harry’s chin down to get entry to that delicious heat–and just how utterly delectable he tasted! It was the best thing he had ever tasted, and he had tried a lot after the orphanage. He wanted his every meal to taste like Harry, never live without its ambrosial flavour.
As his mouth conquered Harry’s and he tamed the boy’s tongue, Harry’s hands desperately clawed at the clothes covering his chest, rutting his hard cock against Tom’s, granting him Tom’s low moans. Tom explored every inch of the wet heat belonging to him and him alone. When he had satisfactorily explored everything that was his, he started forcefully rubbing his tongue against Harry’s, occasionally sucking to feel and hear those lovely groans.