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Sweet Serial Killer

By Nylffn


Sweet Serial Killer

Tom Riddle walked the halls of Hogwarts contemplating the new transfer student. Harrison Porter. The name he had told the school seemed close, but didn’t quite fit him. Tom couldn’t put his finger on it, and despite his always calm demeanor, it drove him nuts. He felt drawn to the boy, and he didn’t know why. He felt a strange connection to him.

And he didn’t know why.

His first thought was love. He laughed at the thought. Because, that’s just not right! Tom Riddle did not do something as sentimental as love. It would hold him back.

Some say that love is the strongest type of magic.

Tom thought it was the worst hindrance.

But every now and again, he would wish for it.

Could this strange Harrison Porter be his “bonded one”? No, Tom Riddle wouldn’t have something like that. Fate wouldn’t allow it.

Tom didn’t believe in god, or gods, or whatever might be out there. Because even if they did exists, they hated him. But that night he sat in his bed begging every deity for answers. Maybe the next Hogsmeade weekend would hold some answers.

Sadly, Tom Riddle got no such answers. Oh no, quite the opposite really. He was rewarded with a fight with the boy. And over disgusting muggles no less! It was no fair, why didn’t the one he wanted to befriend (and possibly go a bit further then that with) not see what he did? Muggles would only end up exterminating the wizarding race! Muggleborns shouldn’t be allowed to bring in their stupid holidays and cultures into the magical world because they feel uncomfortable with the traditional practices! Christmas was meant to be a Christian thing, wizards had Yule!

That night Tom had little sleep. He wanted to kill everyone! If he couldn’t have what was most obviously meant to be his, no one else could have him. No one else would touch him, talk to him, think of him. For Harrison Porter would be Tom Riddle’s, and Tom Riddle was not one for sharing his things.

Tom was desperate for blood to be spilt.

The next day two people were found dead in Hogsmeade who had been seen talking to one Harrison Porter. No one knew why, nor who had committed the act.

Well, Harrison and Tom knew, but neither was saying anything. Harrison wasn’t really meant to know. And Tom wasn’t about to be found out and expelled for having fun.

Harry sat on his green and silver bed with small tears rolling down his cheeks. He had come back to stop Riddle from becoming the dark lord. Yet it seemed he was failing already. Harry had no clue why those two had been Tom’s chosen victims, but he knew it most likely had to do something with him.

As much as he hated it, Harry knew that most everything ended up being because of or blamed on him. Especially when it came to Voldemort.

Tom snuck out after he had seen his Harrison crying. Harrison obviously hadn’t seen him; he had been under a disillusionment charm after all. Luckily, no one else had seen his Harrison in such a state. The threat of death was nothing to be taken lightly if you were being threatened by Tom Riddle.

So Tom had easily seduced one of the many admires of his Harry (would he let him call him that?), and lured them out to Hogsmeade.

This continued on for a week, a girl, or boy, each night. Usually form Hogsmeade, Tom didn’t want the school shut down after all. Once during the week a traveler had come from France, that was a fun kill, such a fight she put up against him.

Would his Harry approve of his actions? Likely not, but he wouldn’t give up till Harry was his, and only his. And he would do it his way.

Harry had approached him the week after the original murdered pair. He looked very frightened of Tom, and the perfect had no clue why. Surely his little, naïve Harry couldn’t know of his actions?

“Sorry, but you’re Tom Riddle right?” he had asked shyly, Tom nodded in response. “C-Can we talk?” Once again Tom nodded. Harry had taken his hand in between his two soft ones, such an adorable action from an equally adorable boy. Tom was led to the seventh floor in a deserted hallway. The future dark lord was confused when his Harry began to pace back and forth, but was happily surprised to find a door materializing out of nothingness when he finished. Harry opened the door and beckoned him inside.

As soon as he was in, the door behind him was locked and he had a wand pointed at his throat. He glanced down into fiery green eyes. They were so unlike how they usually were, normally they were either blank and distant or shy and timid. This unexpected change was delicious to say the least. He looked so much more in his power like this.

Tom basked in the searing stare his not-so-naïve Harry was piercing him with.

“You wanted to talk to me?” Tom asked confidently, not minding the jab of the cypress wand against his throat. He was wondering why he was at wand point of course, but he didn’t say it out right. He was sure his eyes asked why.

“Yeah I did,” he started shortly, once again shocking Tom, “You see I have reason to believe that you have had something to do with the recent killings. I don’t know why, but I want to ask you to tell me if you were or not. I don’t trust you as far as I can spit, but I want to try getting the honest truth out of you.” Tom laughed like he had heard something funny.

“You look so cute when you’re angry.” Harry’s face morphed into confusion. “But even with your cuteness, I cannot tell you. If I did, you too would need to die. And you’re the last person I wish to kill.”

“So you did kill them?”

“I never specified.”

With those final words and a light laugh, Tom left the strange room. When the door closed, words in parseltongue slipped passed his lips. Surely if he was already suspected of murder, the safest route would be to speak in a language only he knew; he did after all, want Harry to be the only one to know everything about him.

Baby, I’m a sociopath.

The killings became much more violent and had spread to Diagon Alley as another week passed by in a flurry of deep red. Some of these killings were blamed on WW2, much to Tom’s luck. Who would blame the handsome head-boy? His little harry would, but that could be overlooked for now. He loved his Harry, as much as he hated and loved to admit it. His Harry would come to love him as well.

He would do anything for his Harry; he would even go so far as to show public displays of affection… well, he would if his Harry would permit that.

Tom Riddle sat three seats away from his favorite person, and calmly sipped his pumpkin juice. Harrison was eating uncomfortably, Tom wanted to fix that.

Unfortunately, the hierarchy of Slyhterin made that next to impossible. Everyone knew that he was a mudblood, and even Tom couldn’t fix the blood purity system. As heir to Slytherin, Tom had sometimes wondered how he had fallen in love with someone of such a low place on the social scale.

Tom wrote out a note before his nightly murder. His dark magic was amazing and fun to play with, he wouldn’t be able to stop killing if Harry wished it. But Harry already did want him to stop.

Oh well.

Dear Harry,

I’m not sure if you honestly realize this, but I do love you. I didn’t think I would ever be able to love, but you proved me wrong. You always seem to do the impossible don’t you? Remember yesterday in transfiguration when you were doing an animagus transformation? A complete transformation on your second try. Even I cannot undergo a transformation like that. And your snake form is beautiful by the way.

I’m sorry for my useless ramblings (see? You spark the most interesting things in me, rambling is impossible for me, yet you make me do so). I know you hate what I have been doing, but I simply can’t help myself. My bloodlust is simply unable to be satisfied. And the rush, oh the rush! It’s nearly as amazing as you. Yet, nothing can beat you.

I’m sorry, but I can’t help myself. Spilling blood is in my veins, and out of others’.

To the main point of my note, I would like you to accompany me to Hogsmeade next Saturday.

Please respond soon,


Harry had read the letter with astonishment. Tom Riddle was incapable of love. He had to be!

Yet, Harry still was willing to try deterring the insane male off of his dark path.

Harry wasn’t one for giving up. He had to try.

When Tom walked into the common room a third year came up to him timidly.

“Riddle, I was told to give this to you,” the boy said, then anxiously scurried off. Tom unfolded the normal parchment.

I will if you will give me answers.


Tom smirked.

“I’m so glad you could accompany me today,” Tom told Harry with a smile. Harry nodded and followed the head-boy to the village. They perused the shops, stopping at Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop for extra quills and parchment for the most recent charms essay.

But then someone had the guts to try talking to his Harry on their date. Tom liked to think it was most definitely a date.

“Porter!” shouted the Ravenclaw sixth year Harry had recently befriended. He scurried over excitedly and began to idly chatter with his Harry. When Harry blushed because of something said by the boy, Tom wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist. “Oh, I didn’t know you swung that way, Porter…” Slowly the boy crept away.

Tom smirked at his retreating body.

“I’m going to kill him!” Tom raged. “Harrison is mine! No one else can have him!” With that, Tom left the Chamber of Secrets to sneak off to Diagon alley. He loved being of age, but he hated people looking at what was his.

Little did Tom know, his Harry had seen him leaving initially and was following under his invisibility cloak.

Harry pursued Tom all the way there; he too was of age and had a solid idea of where the Slytherin would go.

Tom had brought along his friend, well Harry’s friend. When Tom turned around, he seemed to look right at him. Then a cat like grin spread across his face, the blue moon above illuminating it in ways that made him seem demonic.

“Or I could just kill you all.” A burst of magical energy far too over powering rushed by him. His cloak flapped in the wind, no doubt revealing himself to Tom.

A building caught on fire. Then it spread.

Tom happily spread out his arms and the fire crackled with his voice. He really was in his perfect mind set, Harry thought. He looked so happy with his murdering tendencies. It was almost intoxicating to see him so joyful.

It made Harry want to join him.

Harry’s source of concealment slipped from his shoulders to his feet, and he stepped forward.

“You seem to be enjoying yourself. You are, aren’t you Tom?” Harry asked. Tom spun around and looked in his eyes. Shocked and elated rubies clashed with burning emeralds.

“Am I what your heart desires?”

Tom gasped at the use of such an ancient language. His language. That was okay though, if it was Harry, he would share. Tom's eyes were wide as he stared at Harry.

“Of course you are.”

“Then allow me to help you. Noceret omnes,” Harry hissed. His little Harry could speak his language, and no matter how many times he heard it he would always be shocked by his Harry speaking his language.

Their language now.

It sparked something intensively possessive in him.

“We could have the world together Harry… would you like that?”

“I would, Tom.”

Harry had no clue what he had just gotten into.

Tom would make plans for him.

For his and only his Harry.

Later that year, when Harry was in the muggle world going on a raid, he disappeared.

He was never found, despite the dark lord’s wish (demand) for him to be found.

Many people died that month.

Meanwhile, Hermione Granger had just successfully pulled her friend trapped in time back to the present.

“How did it go?” she prompted him. She was given the meanest glare ever when he turned around, and a not-so-pleasant surprise of a death eater mask.

“You stupid mudblood. How dare you take me from Tom!?” Harry screamed, a violent spell at the tip of his tongue.

“Harry, mate!” Ron cried from a hallway behind him, he was ignored. Hermione sniffled.

“What?” she asked brokenly.

“You tore me away from Tom, now I’ll tear you apart! See how you like it!” he yelled. Ron had then run into the room to hold him back.

His mask fell to reveal emerald eyes with violent, blood-red flecks marking his dark arts obsession.

CURCIO!” Harry roared. The trio fell down. Two in epic pain. One fell down in pure sorrow.

“I want my sociopath back, my sweet serial killer… my Tom.”



Continue Reading Next Chapter
1. Sweet Serial Killer
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