Blood_Stained_Fingers
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A Rather Useless Inheritance by Blood_Stained_Fingers
Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
21 Nov 2023
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Summary
Being a Parselmouth came with the inherent predisposition to understand snake behaviours and imitate them. It was relieving Harry wasn’t going to kill anyone with venom, nor petrify them with his gaze. But also, somewhat frustrating as it was all completely useless. None of the skills that came with being a Parselmouth would help Harry survive Voldemort.
It might, in fact, have the opposite effect. For all Riddle's fury that Harry was the cause of his elder self’s defeat, he was fascinated by the fact Harry was also a Parselmouth. He had grabbed Harry’s face, turning him side to side looking bemusedly enraptured by Harry’s threat display. “At your age, I was imitating much more vicious snakes than this, Harry.”
That may have been all well and good, but Harry didn’t feel very vicious. He felt very threatened and in over his head.
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Gaunt by Name, Gaunt by Nature by Blood_Stained_Fingers
Fandoms: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
29 May 2022
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The porridge smelled amazing. Better than any food she had ever served before. It smelt…like his own cologne, like that dead animal on the street, the heat of fresh blood.
He blinked sedately at Merope, who was watching him with anxious anticipation.
Amortentia.
Really? Really, Merope?
It ends the way it was originally supposed to. Merope Gaunt dies due to her son.
But this time he is seventeen years old, closer to eighteen than a mere twenty minutes old and still covered in afterbirth.
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If Merope lived would she be in love with her son?
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It was dark and painful back there in the corners of her mind, in that gaping hole at the back of her head that evidently led to his. Harry found strength in it. For that was how far she could fall.
She saw what Voldemort did to his followers…the pain and torment. The fear.
How he received a perverted version of respect from all his followers. They cowered from his gaze. Took his word without a moment’s hesitation.
And Harry wanted.
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“Then what can Lord Voldemort give you?” He brushed her fringe aside, looking at the weeping scar. “What morsel can he give for you to sharpen your teeth on?”
There was blood in her eyes and what-kind-of-perversion in her veins, but she wanted him. All of him. His brain, his skills. She wanted to get under his skin and eat her way out.
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It was not concern in that dark gaze however, but a possessiveness and disturbed look. He turned Harry’s face to the left and right, smoothing his long fingers over Harry’s cold, cold scar.
Riddle lowered himself down, so he was chest to chest with Harry, allowing Harry to clasp at his body in a tight hug. Riddle pressed his cheek against Harry’s, the bone sharp enough to cut. His long fingers carded through Harry’s thick, sweat-logged hair, pressing a scorching kiss to his temple as though Harry was fresh as a daisy.
“Oh, my little one. We will fix you.”
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The cost of making a horcrux was steep and when Voldemort manages to kill Harry, destroying the horcrux within, Harry finds out the exact price of losing a piece of your soul. It made a cruel joke that if Voldemort loved his horcruxes, Harry should love them too.
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Summary
Voldemort had forgotten about the destructiveness of a leaky faucet. Potter bled frustration and grief, stray thoughts that he howled into the echo chamber of that empty head of his. And like two tin cans linked by string, Voldemort could hear them all. Let the faucet drip, drip, drip… less immediate damage, but more destructive overtime as the damp continues to spread. All of Potter's little secrets and desires dripped down Voldemort’s empty, bottomless gullet.
If Harry Potter was so keen to martyr himself, then he would martyr himself for Lord Voldemort’s campaign.