Lemniscate

Seventeen

*Waring! Explicit content!*

Harry

Blood. Blood, everywhere. And darkness.

Beside me, there is a stick. Why? What is it for? 

I am alone. I am hungry. I am cold.

I am reminded of... something. I cannot remember what. Where am I?

Who am I?

Tom

"Hadrian? Harry?!" I am panicking. My mate, my lovely, wonderful mate, is no longer breathing. He has no pulse. Yet, I am not dead. If he were dead, I would be as well, right? Right!? So, he is not dead. He cannot be. He can't.

Deep within, something shatters.

Harry

I don't know how long I have been here. Seconds, hours, days? Time means nothing. And, I still don't remember. Who am I? What happened to lead to me being here? Did I even exist before this? 

A light. It's bright, blinding. I cannot see. There is a voice. A small voice, calling for help. It is familiar...

A crushing weight, the weight of memories, nearly kills me. And I remember everything.

I am called Harry Potter. I am the Boy Who Refused To Die. I am the most powerful being in this world. 

I am Darkness. I am Fear. I am Hatred.

But, more than that, I am Hope.

And suddenly, the darkness fades.

I cough, my lungs suddenly expanding after having not been used for several minutes. It feels wrong, somehow; I have never had to breathe. Of course, that was not true for this form. It is now. 

Where a heartbeat would be normally, there is something else. It is oddly familiar, the beat of my soul.

There are people here. I had not noticed them before, but now they stick out like a sore thumb. The room that I am in has been demolished. I wonder, briefly, what happened, but the thought is chased away by the feeling of strong arms wrapping around my torso. There is a voice, speaking a familiar language. Not the old one that I am so used to, but the one that came with this body. It is familiar.

That's right. My mate. The reason for me being here in the first place.

I had been searching, from the plane of existence that I normally exist within, for him. I had caught a glimpse of him over a millennia ago,  and, of course, started to scour the timelines in search of him.

And then, after so long, I found him. A Lord who had lost his way, I vowed to repair his broken soul. I just had to find a way to reach him. 

I seized my chance as he was killing a small boy, urged on by a fake prophecy. I moved into the fresh corpse, assumed its form; or, at least, that was the plan. Of course, fate likes to fuck with me, and so I had forgotten, until now, who I truly was. Perhaps that is why Death was so amused when we first met. 

"Harry," his voice is like warm honey, as it was before, but now I appreciate it so much more. His touch fills my cold soul with indescribable warmth. I am on fire, but a pleasant kind. Then I look at him.

He had been crying. Of course he had, I was not breathing, my heart not beating. He likely assumed me to be dead. Still, his beauty is nearly blinding to me.