Decay

Tom riddle had always found the doll strange.

It was a gift, mother had told him. From an indifferent gentlemen by the name of Lord Voldemort.

Mother had said he was deranged, but the doll was so beautiful... and it didn't hurt that he had saved mother's life.
Tom would always be grateful.

The doll had always been strange, but Tom had always found it fascinating. The doll, mother had told him, had been made specially for him.

It grew with him, and it would decay with him.

It hadn't been so weird when he was younger, Tom supposes. It was like a friend, his size and everything. When he was elevan, and got his letter, Tom had been distraught at the fact of having to leave his unmoving friend in their small home in London.

His mother told him that sometimes, you have to grow up and leave things behind. Not forgotten, just put in a box.

His doll hadn't been put in a box, but left on Tom's bed for when he would come home for Christmas. Mother had sent him letters on how Harry (Lord Voldemort, mother had told Tom, had called him Harry) had grown with Tom.

When Christmas break came, he was itching to go home, to see his mother and Harry again.

It was that Christmas that Tom had first found him strange.
When Tom got home, shaking off the snow from his shoulders while his mother went to finish making dinner, he hadn't wanted to go down the hall at first.

He was confused, but he just didn't want to go to his room.
He stayed at the kitchen table, telling his mother of all the interesting things that he had learned, and she was happy that he had made some friends in Slytherin house.

Every time the house was mentioned, she made sure to remind him that they both were descendents of Salazar Slytherin himself.

It was when mother was telling him to clean up, that he had to go and change.

He did what he was told, and dragged his trunk to his room. He walked over to his wardrobe, not bothering looking at Harry.

"It was marvelous, Harry. I wish you could have come with me, there were unicorns and snakes and I-" He turned around then, dressed in trousers and a wooly jumper. He froze when he saw the doll, on his bed and still dressed in the same things he had always been.

When Tom was old enough to talk in sentences, he had asked his mother why Harry always wore the same thing, and how the same things always grew to fit his shape.

Mother had said it was a spell, and Harry's clothes grew with him.

Tom stood there, frozen, as he stared at the boy on his bed. Harry had always had his eyes closed, and had always seemed as if he had been asleep.

Tom had asked his mother once if he was dead, but she had said it was quite normal, back in the day.

It wasn't alive to beguin with.

It didn't hurt that she showed him pictures of Tom and Harry together as newborns, both rosy cheeked, Tom dressed in a black gown with ribbons while Harry wore a strange outfit for a baby.

Trousers, a white shirt, and black booties. He walked closer now, to the bed that was a smaller then Tom was now used to. Harry was on his back, hands by his side, hair all over the place.

Tom pushed Harry's shoe, jumping away as the foot moved back to it's usual spot.

Tom wondered how a doll could look so alive.

When Tom went back to Hogwarts, he decided that not having Harry with him wasn't too bad, after all.

It was in sixth year, Tom having just having turned sixteen, that things changed.

The past few years, Tom had stopped going home for the breaks, studying harder for a good place in the Ministry. He had also gotten a small job in Diagon Alley, and when he wasn't there, he was helping his mother in the garden and with animals.

They had moved to the country, after the Muggles had started to go to war.

So, when he came home for the first Christmas break in a while, he had been shocked to go to the spare bedroom.
It was cold, and his mother had long since gone to bed. He was laying in bed, for hours on end before it got to him, textbooks piled high around him and his bed.

He lit a lantern, and wondered into the bedroom beside his, 'perhaps there would be extra blankets in there.' He jumped, almost dropping the oil lantern, when he saw Harry.
When was the last time he had seen his doll?

Right, two or three years ago when they had first moved.
Tom walked over to the bed, and sat down on a corner of it with the lantern in his lap. Harry had (not much) grown, and it confused Tom more now then ever.

He had asked professors, and read books. He had never found anything that could explain Harry.

Had his mother lied to him?

Harry looked dreadfully peaceful, ghastly shadows casting themself over pale skin.

He reminded Tom of the Muggle fairytale they had read in Muggle Studies, the one with the sleeping princess.
A kiss had awoken her; that surely wouldn't work now, would it?

He felt disgusted, thinking about it. But if he was just a doll, then nothing would come of it. He had done worst things, supposedly.

Tom placed the lantern, burning low and casting little light, on the bedside table. He inched closer, and tried to fight the heat burning his face.

It's nothing.

He leant down, and eyed the lips that were a dull pink. Tom had kissed people before, but the person had always consented, had been awake and alert.

He kissed Harry, starting at the coldness of the dolls lips, at the way they were still. Unmoving.

Did Prince Charming feel like this?

Afterwards he ran out of the room, grabbing the lantern and a handful of blankets.

He slept dreadfully that night.