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Published:
2016-02-19
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2016-04-27
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1,363
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3/3
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Soul-Mark

Summary:

Harry is pretty convinced that Fate hates him.

Notes:

Russian Translation: Soul-Mark on Книга Фанфиков

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: Revelation

Chapter Text

It wasn't common, but it happened in the magical community. With certain creature inheritances, it was pretty much a guarantee. There was a rumour that the Malfoys had Veela blood, and habitually had them.

Soulmates.

According to Ron, Ginny had been convinced from a young age that she would be the Chosen One's fated partner. Harry thought it was ridiculous, and hoped that in this, at least, Fate would not interfere. Not that the Boy-Who-Lived knew about it before the short, one-time class all sixth years have about soul-marks.

Waking up with a burning pain in his left wrist on his seventeenth birthday was the last thing he wanted. At least that meant he was the younger of the pair, meaning that Ginny wasn't even an option. He glances over at Ron's bed, glad to notice that, as usual, he's sleeping in. Potter lifts his arm and looks at his wrist.

Then he bites his tongue to prevent the loud and violent cursing he wishes to engage in. There, imprinted on his wrist, is the last name he would ever expect or want to see.

Tom Marvolo Riddle

He lets out a strangled and hysterical laugh, then makes the name vanish from his skin the same way he would his bruises every year on the Hogwarts Express.

At Malfoy Manor, Lord Voldemort runs his thumb over the name finally imprinted over his wrist. At the age of sixteen, he had decided that only a true soulmate could ever be worth his time. By the age of thirty, he convinced himself he would never have such a thing, so truly it was beneath him. Now, at the age of seventy, he knows it is much too late to want such a thing, especially since Harry James Potter would never accept him. Not after everything they have been through, that he has put the boy through. The Dark Lord puts a glamour on his wrist, and pushes any thought of the brat besides killing him from his mind.

Chapter 2: Reactions

Chapter by ,

Summary:

Only a few other people ever find out.

Notes:

Happy birthday to me. Have a chapter!

Chapter Text

Hermione is the first to catch sight of the mark. Keeping up the glamour is difficult and nearly pointless when Harry is more worried about getting enough food for the three of them and they are caked in grime from the constant camping. She is consoling him about how his destined partner is fated to either kill him or die at his hand, when Ron gets fed up with their close relationship and walks out on them in a jealous rage.

After Ron returns, just after he destroys the locket, Harry shows him the mark. He needs Ron to understand that Hermione is not only like a sister to him, but that she was consoling him, nothing more. The red-head looks sick, but grips Harry's shoulder in commiseration.

After the trio reunites with the DA at Hogwarts, Luna drags Harry aside. She pulls him into a hug, and whispers in his ear. "Talk to him before the end. Don't risk surviving the war to live with regret." Her sad eyes meet his grim ones, as he nods an acknowledgement to her advice. Reflecting on the words much later, he would realise that she may have meant Riddle or Snape, but would never ask her which.

Potter is glad he'd remembered to put up the glamour before entering Hogsmede, as none one else notices the mark. Ginny grasps his left hand at one point, but he manages to slip it away before she can pull it, or him, to her lips.

"My wand of yew did everything of which I asked it, Severus, except to kill Harry Potter. Twice it failed. Ollivander told me under torture of the twin cores, told me to take another's wand. I did so, but Lucius's wand shattered upon meeting Potter's."

"I – I have no explanation, my Lord."

Voldemort lifts his left hand, looking at his apparently bare wrist. "I do," he murmurs. "So I sought a third wand, Severus. The Elder Wand, the Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick. The only wand in recorded history that has successfully been turned on ones own soulmate."

Snape, whose dark eyes had been fixed on the coiling serpent, blanches as he turns his attention back to the Dark Lord. "Soulmate…." Harry is surprised to hear the whispered word full of defeat and pain.

Later, when he views Snape's wept memories, among them is one of teenaged Severus catching sight of the name James Fleamont Potter on his mum's wrist. The heartbreak on the boy's face makes Harry rather positive that Snape had been in love with Lily. The teen wonders if his professor died seeing soul-marks as a curse, and knows now that he will as well.

Chapter 3: Confrontation

Chapter by ,

Summary:

In the end, Harry must come face to face with him.

Notes:

Most of this chapter is (more or less) directly transcribed from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, chapter 34, except in present tense instead of past tense and altered for soulmate business. So that's why it looks so goram familiar. ;)

Chapter Text

"I thought he would come," says Voldemort in his high, clear voice, his eyes on the leaping flames. "I expected him to come."

Nobody speaks. They seem as scared as Harry, whose heart is now throwing itself against his ribs as though determined to escape the body he is about to cast aside. His hands are sweating as he pulls off the Invisibility Cloak and stuffs it beneath his robes, with his wand. He does not want to be tempted to fight.

"I was, it seems… mistaken," Voldemort laments.

"You weren't." Harry says it as loudly as he can, with all the force he can muster: He does not want to sound afraid. The Resurrection Stone slips between his numb fingers, and out of the corner of his eyes he sees Sirius, Remus and his parents vanish as he steps forward into the firelight. At that moment he feels that nobody matters but Voldemort. It is just the two of them.

The illusion is gone as soon as it had come. The giants roar as the Death Eaters rise together, and there are many cries, gasps, even laughter. Voldemort waits but a moment before moving, his red red eyes finding Harry's green, staring as the youth, then both, move so that the fire is no longer between them.

Then a voice yells: "HARRY! NO!"

He turns only long enough to verify. Hagrid is bound and trussed, tied to a tree nearby. His massive body shakes the branches overhead as he struggles, desperate. "NO! NO! HARRY, WHAT'RE YEH—?"

"QUIET!" shouts Rowle, and with a flick of his wand Hagrid is silenced.

Bellatrix, who had leapt to her feet, looks eagerly from Voldemort to Harry, her breast heaving. As they reach each other, the only things left moving are the flames and the snake, coiling and uncoiling in the glittering cage behind Voldemort.

They stare at each other, and Voldemort tilts his head a little to the side. Considering the boy standing before him, a singularly mirthless smile curls his lipless mouth. "Harry Potter," he says very softly. His voice could be part of the spitting fire. "The Boy Who Lived." Quick as a striking snake, he grabs Harry by the left wrist and lifts it to look. The glamour shatters at his touch, revealing the soul mark to the one it names.

The former star Seeker of Gryffindor is just as fast, finding his own name in turn on the left wrist of the monster who had once been a handsome and charming young man. (Harry would know, he remembers Tom's diary.) For now, he ignores the Elder Wand still held in Voldemort's hand.

None of the Death Eaters move. They are shocked. Everything is waiting. Hagrid is struggling, and Bellatrix is panting. The snake-like man leans forward, hissing words directly into Harry's ear. "Now must end this conflict between us, my mate. Be warned: I will not allow you to destroy all I have achieved." The teen is unsure if Voldemort even spoke in English.

Voldemort pulls his left hand free of Potter's grasp, though his other hand tightens on the boy's left wrist, raising the Elder Wand. His head tilts to one side again, like a curious child, wondering what will happen if he proceeds. Harry looks back into those red eyes, wanting it to happen now, quickly, while he can still stand, before he loses control, before he can betray fear or longing—

Harry closes his eyes.

Notes:

Yes, I did intentionally leave this a little open, not verifying whether or not Voldemort cast the curse. I may eventually write a canon-style epilogue and/or a divergent short, but for now I'm calling this done.