Oho, My, My... It Would Appear That I've Upset Some People Tonight. Oho, How Delightful.

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the last days of sparta | tom/harry | sneak preview!

Summary:

Harry beats Tom to the “Heir of Slytherin” title.

Tom is pissed as hell. Also maybe kind of horny, which is a problem, since if the Peverell brat really is an Heir, then that means they’re related.

Eh, incest. Who cares?

AHAHAHA HOLY SHIT SORRY THAT’S NOT THE REAL SUMMARY. THIS IS:

A new student is sorted into Slytherin in Tom’s sixth year. The mysterious Hericus “Harry” Peverell is a boy full of contradictions: he’s a Pureblood, but he says he was raised by Muggles; he’s wealthy, but he acts like he was starved as a child; he’s as slender as a thistle that could be blown away by the wind, but his magic is so oppressively powerful that it darkens the air like a thundercloud; he opposes everything Salazar stood for, but claims he’s the Heir of Slytherin.

Worst of all, he stole that title from Tom.

Now, Tom has to decide whether he feels so robbed by Harry that he has to murder him post-haste, or whether an alliance would be the better tactical alternative.

Tom has made alliances with other people he’s hated before. Surely this shouldn’t be too difficult.

…It is.

Or: Watch Harry cheerfully take over Slytherin while Tom boils with jealousy... and lust.

->

Notes:

This happens in Tom’s sixth year, shortly before the discovers the Chamber of Secrets, but after he murders the Riddles.

Harry is posing as a descendant of Cadmus Peverell here, not Ignotus Peverell; Cadmus spawned the Gaunts (including Tom), and Ignotus the Potters (including Harry). Harry just switches ancestors because it suits his cover story better.

->

Preview:

Hogwarts rarely, if ever, admitted students mid-year. So when Tom heard from a mildly intoxicated Slughorn at a Slug Club party that Hogwarts would soon be getting a new student, he conducted his customary intelligence-gathering. He plied Slughorn with cherry wine and flattery until Slughorn spilled that the newcomer was a Peverell.

“After generations!” Slughorn sniffled, misty-eyed, as though he were speaking of his own long-lost kin. “A genuine Peverell! A distant relation of Salazar himself, perhaps? I do wonder where he’s been hiding…”

Indeed. Where had he been hiding?

Everything about it rubbed Tom the wrong way. His magic whispered to him that something was off, something was uncanny, something was wrong… and Tom had learned to trust that whisper, because it always preceded—by minutes, or even hours—the landing of a bomb. It was an instinct he’d honed under threat of death, packed body-to-sweaty-body with weeping, pissing, vomiting children in bomb shelters that reeked of refuse and fear.

Tom had washed himself clean of that filth. Would keep washing himself clean of that filth, and the last task he had to complete to show his housemates that he was clean—that he was Pure—was to prove himself the Heir of Slytherin.

He knew what he was. He felt it in his veins, in his brain, the serpent-slither of his thoughts. It was his heritage; his calling; his destiny. All he needed was to find the Chamber, as he was confident he would do this year, and it would all be his: power, prestige, immortality. He thrummed with excitement at the great discovery awaiting him. A historic discovery. One day, he would be written about in the history books: a conquerer, a victor. One day, one day.

Little did he expect it would all be stolen from him, just that quick.

He had blood on his hands already. He was a killer. A predator. Predators took; they didn’t get stolen from. The very notion was absurd. Why else had he sharpened his claws, his fangs, on the murders of the Riddles, if he was only to become prey himself?

Peverell didn’t look like much of a predator.

Tom saw him for the first time on a Tuesday evening, during dinner in the Great Hall, about two weeks after the Slug Club party at which Tom had learned of his existence.

Headmaster Dippet rose from his chair at the teachers’ table and announced that Hericus Peverell, an unfortunate victim of Grindelwald’s war, would be joining the sixth-year cohort. He said nothing of Peverell’s background, but it was heavily implied that Peverell’s parents were no more—meaning that Peverell was now a Lord at the tender age of sixteen.

Tom watched covertly as an oddly tense Professor Dumbledore led Peverell to the sorting stool. Even odder was Peverell himself: he was short, messy-haired and not well-groomed at all, his features plain and peasant-like except for his bright, curious green eyes. He somehow reminded Tom of a kitten that would never be able to resist a ball of yarn.

There wasn’t a single stately or dignified thing about him, other than his rich, luxurious robes, the traditional Hogwarts black shimmering with layers of intricate, high-quality, expensive wards and charms. Robes clearly customised at the The Armoury, Diagon Alley’s premium shop for protective clothing. It was the one sensible, proper-looking thing about him. Everything else about him resembled a skinny street urchin, not a Lord of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

It remained to be seen whether this Peverell was of Ignotus’s more Gryffindor-tending side, or Cadmus’s more Slytherin-tending lineage—a direct line of succession from Salazar Slytherin himself. Tom wasn’t perturbed by that, however, knowing that he was the Heir of this generation. The Peverell boy might have a fine name, but without Parseltongue, he was nothing.

Then, Dumbledore placed the Sorting Hat on Peverell’s disheveled head.

Tom’s pulse ratcheted up a beat.

Every Slytherin was on high alert, though few showed it: Orion Black was gazing dreamily into the middle distance, as he was wont to do; Walburga Black was knitting a lace doily, of all things, with perfect precision and seemingly unshakeable focus; Lissia Avery was slicing her meatloaf with the attentiveness she always devoted to handling knives and all bladed weapons; Livius Lestrange had his nose in a book on magical ornithology; and Marcellus Mulciber was had the tip of his quill between his teeth as he glowered down at his Potions homework. Only the younger years were unrefined enough to stare, to whisper.

The Gryffindor table was more openly fascinated, nudging each other with their elbows and gossiping loud enough for snatches of their conversations to drift over to Tom: “Ignotus’s descendant, y’think?” “Imagine having the Invisibility Cloak in our House. The pranks we could get up to…” “The Cloak isn’t real, stupid! It’s a fairytale.” “But what if it isn’t?”

TO BE CONTINUED.

Vitae Redux, Chapter 19: The Goblet

Bartemius lifted his head, meeting the Dark Lord’s eyes. Lord Voldemort ripped into his mind without hesitation, gleeful at his servant’s eager acceptance of his presence, passing through snippets of memory, images of the two boys he sought swirling around him. Holding hands in the hallways, smiling at each other over meals in the Great Hall, hidden in an alcove, kissing. Vile, disgusting – Lord Voldemort had never deigned to kiss someone, not when it gave him none of the pleasure he could seduce or force out of others. He flew away from these memories, seeking the one Bartemius had offered.

“… a bit mad, isn’t he?”

Harry Potter and ‘Tom Riddle’ were leaving their Defence Against the Dark Arts class, unaware of the man who shadowed them and hand in hand once more. Voldemort snarled at the sight.

“Yes,” the taller boy sighed, “it certainly seems so. All those years of fighting Dark witches and wizards must have addled his brains. Still, I find it gratifying to know that you can throw off the Imperius Curse – even an accomplished Occlumens can find it difficult to resist the suggestions placed in their mind by the caster. I have to wonder about Dumbledore’s decision to hire him, however.”

“Do you think it’s because –" Harry broke off and glanced around furtively before sliding seamlessly into Parseltongue. “Because Dumbledore suspects Voldemort is coming back?”

‘Tom’ frowned. “You may very well be right, darling,” he replied, stroking his free hand against Harry’s face. “I know for a fact that the headmaster has spies who once were loyal to Voldemort – surely they’ve alerted him to the fact that their Marks are darkening once more. A smart move, all things considered, to employ one of the most feared Aurors of his day.”

“So we’re safe then,” Harry concluded. “As long as we’re at Hogwarts, Voldemort can’t get to us.”

“Darling, I trust your safety with Dumbledore as much as I trust him not to kill me on the spot if he ever worked out who and what I am,” ‘Tom’ replied. “Which is to say, not at all. Now come, we’re late for lunch.”

Lord Voldemort withdrew from Bartemius’ mind, the effort having exhausted him but giving him the information he needed. Harry Potter was indeed a Parselmouth, and furthermore, it seemed he understood the nature of ‘Tom’s’ existence and somehow didn’t mind. How very interesting. Lord Voldemort’s plan had been to kill the boy, of course, but plans were always subject to change.

“You have a new objective, Bartemius,” he said, easing his fragile body back into the armchair. “You will continue as you have thus, ensuring the boy’s success in the Triwizard Tournament. However, I wish for you to also assess Harry Potter’s aptitude and attitude towards the Dark Arts. I wish to know if he can be turned.”

Harry James Potter the beauty you are!

Consider me successfully wooed by you holding a knife against my throat.

OMG I LOVE THESE

Harry Potter Illustration Series - Created by Dan Elijah Fajardo

These designs are available for sale as shirts, cases, and more at his TeePublic Shop.

draw me after you (let us run), chapter 61, and i'm c r y i n g

Naga Vee and a runaway Harry (͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

My name is Harry. I have to be completely honest, I’m not exactly sure what to put in this letter. What do you even write to a stranger that you’ve never met before? My friend recommended me to this program and said that I should branch out more. I don’t get out of the house much, so maybe that’s one of the reasons for it. And it’s not that I don’t have a lot of free time, people just tend to exhaust me sometimes.

            Is it like that where you are? I can only imagine that it must get overwhelming in there sometimes. Do you get a lot of free time? You mentioned that you liked to read, what books exactly?

            I’ve never been that big of a reader personally, even though I work as a freelance writer. Is that hypocritical? I don’t think so, but some people think otherwise.  

God, I'm so so late but here is my assignment for 2022 Tomarry BigBang!

Quotes are from the wonderful fic You've got mail by B_R_M. Completed fic is not uploaded but I hope to see the whole fic someday. (If you are curious, you can see the summary at @tomarrybigbang)

Gorgeous ❤️❤️

< lovely >

hey hey hey what if when voldemort took harry's blood for the resurrection ritual, they actually became family because they now share blood????

like, as far as magic's concerned, they're kin now. blood-bound. and with that come a lot of complications (and pleasures?). perhaps voldemort is now an honorary potter-slash-peverell and can use the invisibility cloak.

and/or perhaps harry is now an honorary gaunt and is, like, voldemort's official heir--which comes with a whole bunch of advantages for harry, like voldemort not being able to hurt him without serious magical consequences, because that would be unnatural and tantamount to hurting his own child, and magic's like:

"nope. can't do that. or you can, but golly gosh it'll hurt a lot! and will also magically incapacitate you since your magic is bound to your heir's, so you'll feel every bit of the damage you do. not to mention that you were already bound by a horcrux bond, so now you're doubly bound, which basically means you're fucked. congratulations, lord voldemort! 😇"

what if harry accidentally finds out that he has access to voldemort's sekrit gringotts vault under the gaunt name?? or gets a letter from gringotts informing him of it? what if he visits gringotts before voldemort realises what's up and literally drains all of voldemort's finances to fund his war?

or what if, what if, the death eaters, who swore lifelong fealty to voldemort, now have to follow harry's orders too, since harry is voldemort's heir and the magical vow of fealty transfers to him, too? what if harry inherits control of the dark mark?

just picture harry summoning bellatrix lestrange with her dark mark and, like, making her buy muggle children ice creams or something. and she can't even say no??? imagine her simmering and then boiling in rage as she treats innocent muggle kids and gets hugged like some sort of beloved neighbourhood grandma while she fucking hates having all those filthy little hands on her.

lmfaoooooo harry would totally pop off and voldemort wouldn't be able to do a damn thing about it. lucius malfoy kneeling before harry and freeing all his house elves after buying each of them a cute little manor. severus snape (bc even though he's a spy, he's still bound by the mark) actually having to be fair in potions and having to be nice and genuinely helpful to neville. fenrir greyback (let's imagine he has the mark, too) having to quit his perverse kid-hunting and eat nothing but veggies for every meal.

meanwhile, despite all of these enraging, humiliating scenarios that make voldemort want to explode harry into itty-bitty pieces, voldemort also feels the absolutely fucking bizarre urge to protect harry bc harry is his family now and voldemort's never had family before. and that, of course, escalates to insane amounts of possessive protectiveness when he discovers that harry's his horcrux, too.

also, while trying to figure out how to undo this stupid fucking kin-bond, voldemort discovers that the only alternative is to convert it into a marriage bond, which would simulate the kin-bond closely enough to satisfy magic, but still wouldn't solve the problem of harry being able to command voldemort's servants as his spouse (and thus his co-lord).

just imagine voldemort slowly losing what remains of his mind as he realises there's no way out of having his life revolve around potter... and not in the vengeful way it's been until now, either!

voldemort has to resign himself to teaching harry how to be a proper heir and/or spouse and how to dance/eat/talk as per pureblood culture, but harry's just over here literally thumbing his nose at tradition, deliberately botching up which forks to eat with, stepping on voldemort's toes at every waltz, and relishing being able to make voldemort's death eaters grit their teeth in disgust while still having to bow and scrape to him.

and then dumbledore finds out about this nonsense and simply passes away and/or has an existential crisis and/or tries to figure out how to twist this to his advantage so that voldemort is finally contained and controlled, but little does he know that sweet li'l bby harry doesn't need any help with that.

oh, harry controls voldemort, all right. yeah, being voldemort's heir/kin means he has to listen to his "sire" to a degree, but that's only the surface stuff--lessons, rituals, socialising, etc.--but his spirit is entirely his own and, increasingly, so is voldemort's heart.

this would be such fucking comedy gold lolololol. gotta write it one day