How to Prevent a War

Escaping

Harry woke to the feeling of a gentle hand brushing the hair away from his forehead. His scar throbbed with immense pain, making it impossible for him to see straight, even when he opened his eyes. Still, the figure looming over him was somewhat recognizable. Slowly, Harry blinked and tried to reach out to the other.

"...Tom..." he murmured.

The man hummed and kept stroking him, long fingers now tracing his scar. Instead of the pleasurable warmth he was used to whenever Tom touched him, he felt sparks of immense pain resonating through the long fingers. He frowned and blinked again, trying his best to see properly again. When that finally worked, his eyes widened as it met blood red instead of dark blue. Harry sat up, ignoring the agony in his entire body as he shuffled back on the bed until he was leaning against the wall behind him.

"You're not Tom," he accused.

Voldemort chuckled and leaned closer, grasping Harry's chin and forcing him to look at him. He looked like a mid-thirties version of Tom Riddle instead of the snake-like man he had seen that night at the Graveyard and at the Malfoy Party. Dark ebony curls fell over a pale, handsome face with high cheekbones and a thin, straight nose. The only part that was out of place were the red snake eyes.

"In a sense, I am him," he said calmly, his voice deep and soft.
"I'm just a bit older, more experienced than he is, Harry."

Harry snorted and leaned away from the dark wizard, pulling his face away from the hand gripping him. It only caused Voldemort to grab his chin harder.

"I think the words your looking for are a lot older and insane," he hissed.

The grip tightened even more and nails dug painfully in the skin of his jaw.

"Try not to make me angry, Harry dear," Voldemort whispered in a gentle tone.
"You and I both know that he'll become me no matter what you do. He's using you."

"He's already different from you," Harry shot back.
"He never killed Myrtle. He didn't make the Horcrux."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed and he leaned closer. Harry flinched back unconsciously, but the hand keeping his face in place didn't let him budge in the slightest. Voldemort smirked and pressed his lips against the scar on Harry's forehead, chuckling when he heard the soft whimper of pain the action caused.

"Still six more to go," he said in a soft, gentle tone that didn't fit his personality.
"He'll make them, one way or another. I know him better than you do, and I can tell you he doesn't love you. He's just using you for information and once you aren't useful anymore, he'll get rid of you."

"And you won't?" Harry asked bitterly.

"You're my Horcrux, not his."

Harry gave a quiet laugh and glared defiantly at the man before him.

"No. I'm his lover," he replied grinning.
"I used to think the same thing. That I'd find a miniature you here, but I didn't. I found a person and I took away his reasons to become you."

The words had barely left his lips or his face was released, only for the back of Voldemort's hand to harshly slam into Harry's cheek. Harry cried out in pain as he was thrown of balance and fell on the bed. Slowly, he lifted himself back up and looked up at Voldemort, green eyes flashing brightly in anger and hatred.

"He'll choose me over you and you know it!" he hissed angrily.
"Once he sees what you really are, his decision will be made forever! That's why you're here now. If I choose you now, he'll have no other choice but to follow!"