Author's Note: This is SLASH! Between a robot and a human no less! If that's not your cup of tea, turn back now. This will be the only warning (I don't see the point in having to warn every chapter. It's the reader's fault if they go skipping around in the story all willy nilly and miss the warnings).

Pairings: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle (Voldemort), Onsided Ginevra Weasley/Harry Potter, ?/?

Chapter 1

Creeping slowly with a catlike grace, Harry wandered through the junkyard for any salvageable scraps. The musty scent of petroleum intermixed with iron penetrated through his sensitive nose latched onto his ratty clothes like a second skin. As he moved a sharp gale whipped all around him, chilling his skin through his thin clothing. He could feel goosebumps crawling their way up his arms in sluggish spirals with each step he took.

He was looking for metal, gears, wires—anything that he could get his hands on and then sell for a ridiculously high price. And people would buy what he offered as well. Materials had become scarce ever since the War with the Dark Lord Grindelwald, the only robot in history to gain a conscious.

He had been defeated by his own creator, Albus Dumbledore, a legendary robot builder. Ever since then, he pretty much became the emperor of the Mechania World. Harry couldn't help but snort whenever he heard the name of their world. There was so much irony about it. He didn't understand why it was never changed, though he supposed it could have something to do with the eccentricities of the Mechanian people. They were quite the rare breed, and that was putting it kindly.

You see, ever since the fall of Grindelwald, robot making had become forbidden; practically taboo. No one wanted a repeat of what had transpired some odd twenty years ago. And with the passing of the law, every robot in Mechania World—including the harmless toys of little children—was destroyed. It was called the Great Destruction, and it left only the destroyed remains in junkyards such as where Harry was salvaging around in.

Of course, the law, as found with any laws in a society, didn't completely stop people. Such disobedience was quite commonplace no matter where you went. Especially in the aftermath of war. Many had to make a living somehow, and being an honest man just wasn't possible if you weren't a pure-blood or if you were known for being a robot maker before the war. But then again, many pure-bloods dabbled in dishonest things; that was just the fact of things.

Most of the secrets and ideas in robot making was—and still are—passed from generation to generation in pure-blood families, so many pure-bloods become dark makers. That, Harry could understand. It was a part of their family history and tradition, and if Harry were one of them he would feel incensed that it ended up forbidden as well. Though everything else about pure-bloods Harry couldn't understand.

They were descendants of kings and nobles and had a reputation of marrying as close as first cousins. There had even been quite the scandal within the Black line when two siblings married and procreated a few centuries back. It was safe to say that madness tended to run in a lot of the families after so many centuries of inbreeding. They were at the top of society—the crème de la crème—living in luxury while the rest of the people lived in poverty, but Harry had to say that they certainly weren't the top of society's minds.

The next step down from a pure-blood was a half-blood, which was what Harry is. It happened when a pure-blood married a mudblood, which was another name for the common folk and the majority of the population. It was most obviously an insult, but the mudbloods never protested against the use of the term. Or more accurately, they would never be able to protest against it. That had very little power within society and were downtrodden under the might of pure-bloods.

Harry himself actually dabbled in robot making. And for an untrained maker, Harry could make robots with startling complexity if he said so himself. He, along with all the other robot makers, were called dark makers by everyone else, for they went willingly against the law. And they also symbolised the ever present fear of another Dark Lord rising.

The punishment for being found guilty for being a dark maker was either imprisonment or death, depending on how many robots were made by them and the complexity of them. Harry was pretty sure he hadn't done enough for death. But then again, he could be going by out of date standards. He honestly hadn't put much effort to keep up with the justice system. If he did, he was sure his head would turn to a pile of mush.

While prone to making complex robots, Harry had only made four so far. If small childhood toys were to be overlooked, that is. Two of his robots were made before the Great Destruction. He was confident that he would not be killed by The Dementor—which was absolute agony from what he heard—if he was caught.

The Dementor was a machine—but not a robot—which worked by manpower. The person being executed would be placed in a chair and the machine would be lowered until it impaled a person through the mouth. It was based off of medieval torture devices and created by a pure-blood to exterminate mudbloods at one point, though not many people knew that detail. Another name for it was 'the kiss'. Harry never understood why people had to refer it to that considering the brutality of the execution.

It was, after all, quite the gruesome way to go.

The other punishment, imprisonment, was arguably the worst punishment. All dark makers who weren't executed were sent to Azkaban, the most secure prison in the Mechania World, for life more often than not. Prisoners had no rights there. The guards could do anything to them there. Anything but kill them, that is. But that wasn't a good thing. Death would be a mercy to the prisoners of Azkaban.

The guards themselves had earned quite the reputation in Azkaban. They were nicknamed the 'Dementors'—Harry had no idea what was with people and their penchant for giving nicknames and monikers—and they were the prisoners main source of terror. They were said to bring the prisoners to insanity and the mere presence of them sucked out any hope of happiness of a person. They carried a chilling aura of death and cruelty.

Leaning down, Harry dug through one of the many junk piles, his hands running over jagged, cold metal and split wires. His hands were grimy and sporting nasty blisters, but that did not deter Harry, for he had to dig in the piles of metal and scraps in order to survive. He had long become accustomed to the pain. Any parts he found would first go to his robots and the remaining parts would be sold to his fellow makers.

His robots were complex, true, but they needed a lot of maintenance. They were mostly made out of old and rusted parts, and thus they were not as well working as his two robots before the Great Destruction. But they served their purpose, so Harry did his best to keep them up and running.

Still rummaging in the pile, Harry's eyes lit up when his hand hit something hard and solid. His arms were already fully submerged in the scrap pile and absolutely ached, but it was no matter to him. He was certain he had found something worth abusing his hands and arms over.

Feeling at it, Harry wrapped his hand around some sort of cylinder feeling metal. It actually felt like an arm to Harry. A fully intact arm of all things! Harry nearly wanted to shout for joy at his find. He could sell it for a very expensive price. He'd be set for half a year at least. Or better yet, he could replace one of his robot's arms. It would be a fantastic upgrade. Hopefully they were compatible and didn't require any special touch ups to make the two compatible.

Pulling, Harry's was met with more resistance than he had anticipated. Frowning, Harry pulled his other hand out carelessly, acquiring shallow cuts along the way. Shaking it out a bit, he plunged it back in to grip at the arm as well. Trying once again, Harry still found that the arm would not budge no matter how much he pulled and tugged.

Biting his lip hard, Harry felt the familiar tang of blood fill his mouth. He knew what he had to do to get the arm out. And he didn't like it at all. It was risky. Really risky. He could end up dying under an avalanche of scrap or even draw attention of a watchman. He wasn't suppose to be in the junkyard at night, after all.

It was already a miracle that all his scuttling and digging around hadn't caught the watchman's attention. He really didn't want to push his luck, especially when it was normally so rotten.

After a few moments of contemplation, Harry finally decided that it indeed would be worth it. An entire robot arm was something he just couldn't pass up. Screw the dangers. Harry was going to get that arm or he would die trying. He was certainly no coward.

Filled with new resolve, Harry removed his arms from inside the pile and then looked up. The pile was about five meters high, and around three meters wide. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Harry steeled himself and started to carefully remove scrap after scrap, grunting slightly at the heavier pieces, and gently place them onto the ground around him so he didn't make too much noise.

His hands trembling, both from nerves and the cold, Harry froze in fear when a particularly strong gale whistled by like a knife. A few moments later, one scrap slid, the path screeching down agonisingly slow until it fell onto the ground with a clang. That wasn't good. That really wasn't good.

Looking up, Harry saw the pile's structure was heavily imbalanced. The wind seemed to have jarred the already precariously towered pile. Various pieces of scraps were slowly sliding down, making even more low groans and screeches. It looked as if the pile was deliberately falling in slow motion in order to have Harry die of cardiac arrest. And it had nearly worked, too.

Panicking, Harry turned, fully intending to bolt. But unfortunately, he did not make it, for the previously slow falling pile all of a sudden came tumbling down at an accelerated speed and fell right on top of him.

Buried underneath all the scraps, Harry was not unconscious, no, but he sorely wished he was. Everything hurt. From his head to his back to toes, everything was burning and pulsing in agony. And there was a suffocating pressure on his chest, constricting his lungs and reducing his breaths to mere wheezes.

Biting his tongue hard enough for it to bleed, Harry suppressed a scream as he took in ragged, painful breaths through his nose. He could hear the telltale sound of metal boots approaching his location. The slow and even steps going click, click, click. They were the watchman's boots. The sound of the metal avalanche had drawn his attention—and probably everyone else within a few kilometres—and he had come to investigate.

"Who's there!?" the watchman shouted when he reached the fallen pile. A beam of light was directed at the pile, just hitting Harry's eyes, and he felt his heartbeat stutter. Sucking in a large amount of air, he held in his breath, hoping that he was buried deep enough to not be seen.

Harry was in luck. A large pile of fallen scraps and junk was all the watchman saw. Scrutinising the pile a little longer, the watchman shook his head. "Must have just been the wind." he mumbled to himself before turning and walking away. It was only when Harry could no longer hear him that he let out a relieved sound and resumed breathing.

Twitching his limbs, Harry tested his mobility. He could move all of them despite his pain, so that was good. Twisting his head slightly, Harry found why he had not been crushed to death. A larger piece of metal—too large for Harry to take with him—had fallen on top of him, somewhat shielding him from the scraps on top. But the problem was that it was digging into his chest; it was the source of his breathing problems.

Grimacing in pain, Harry slowly started to move his arms, trying to get them underneath him. It was a slow process, with his arms merely twitching more than anything else. He needed to get out before he suffocated. The questionable smells certainly weren't really helping matters; it was encircling his airways and practically choking him in its intensity.

Finally, after what felt like years, Harry managed to place his arms underneath him and started to feebly push against the ground. At first nothing gave, but Harry was not deterred. Continuing to push despite the immense shaking in his arms, Harry started to feel some movement starting to happen. Feeling hope, Harry continued to push and pull himself forward despite wanting nothing else but to collapse into a heap.

When his head finally surfaced from the pile, Harry took in a big gulp of air. It felt colder than before to him, the frigid air burning his skin. Tugging his other limbs, Harry slowly worked his way out from underneath the pile.

Finally out, Harry collapsed on top of the pile, not really feeling like he could continue to move. His arms felt like lead and his blood ice, and he could hardly think straight, never mind manage to stand up and remember the directions back to his house.

Laying back, Harry looked up at the stars and couldn't help but feel a pang of sadness. Another thing that had been lost during the Great Destruction was the brilliance of the stars. They just didn't seem to shine as brightly like before. They were dull. As dull as Harry's spirit now that he was all alone with only the company of his two robots, Ron and Hermione. The robots he had created before the Great Destruction had unfortunately not survived.

Even though it was probably unhealthy and showed heavy signs of madness, Harry had found affection for his two robots. It was a mix of sibling and parental affections. He had no one else to talk to in his lonesome house; no friends or family. He didn't know when it started, but he had somehow started to speak to Ron and Hermione when he felt especially lonely. After that, Harry started to treat them more and more like humans. They seemed even more human when he had managed to upgrade the two to be able to speak. Nothing as complex as human speech, but it was quite close.

Ron was his robot that did the physical work like labor and heavy lifting. Harry had tried to make him as human looking as possible, but there was only so much that he could do with scraps. He did, however, have very distinct, red hair. Though, in reality, it was a very large amount of rust. He sort of reminded him of the Weasley's, but he tried not to think about that too much. Not all of them were bad, but the rest he didn't like too much.

Hermione, on the other hand, did mental work. Things like finding him a certain book or solving problems for him. She looked a little less human, for while she did have the correct body look, she lacked anything which resembled hair and her gears and wires brain was visible for all to see. But Harry definitely found her to act a lot more human than Ron. Probably because he used most of his materials on her mental functions rather than her appearance and sturdiness.

Closing his eyes, Harry let out a heavy sigh, the feel of hot breath leaving his lips slightly warming him, if only for a fleeting moment. He knew he couldn't spend the night on a pile of scraps in a junkyard. He would surely be caught. That or freeze to death, depending on how resilient his body was for the night, though he would wager that he would freeze to death first. His body, while somewhat built for agility and dexterity, was not the best example of a healthy body.

Pulling himself up with great reluctance, his muscles straining and twitching in irritation, Harry managed to get himself upright. Crinkling his nose at the state of himself, Harry went to get up only to stop abruptly. Something had caught his eye.

There, shining under the moonlight, was a pale, metal hand sticking out. It was a pale flesh colour, very similar to his his own, and it curved out like an actual human arm. Eyes widening, Harry realised it was the robot arm he had been trying to get. It seemed that his tumble wasn't for naught.

Moving forward in a wobbly crawl, Harry approached the arm and started to tear scraps away from it wildly. He knew nothing could fall on him again and that the watchman would be going to sleep like always. As more and more of the arm was revealed, Harry's eyes became wider and wider as he soon discovered a shoulder attached to the arm. And then he nearly fainted when he realised that it wasn't an arm which he was digging up but an entire damn robot!

The robot now fully revealed, Harry was astounded at the workmanship on the robot. It actually looked like a human if it weren't for the cool touch of metal that Harry could feel under his fingers. It even had the proper anatomy too as Harry soon realised with a blush when he looked down.

Renewed with a new vigour, Harry grabbed the robot and hoisted it up, staggering at the weight and height of the robot. He was going to have a hell of a time getting the robot back home, but he would do it. He refused to leave such beautiful work to rust and be destroyed in a junkyard.

Pulling the robot along, Harry dragged it across the pile and then across the ground, internally wincing at each scrape and screech he heard. Thankfully, he did not wake the watchman as he left the junkyard, which was quite a wonder considering all the racket he was making.

By the time Harry actually got the robot back home, the sky was already turning orange with the approaching dawn. Harry's legs were a shaky mess and his arms were nearly limp at his sides. He would not last much longer.

Gritting his teeth, Harry stubbornly held onto his consciousness, sucking in his breath harshly. With the last of his strength he dragged the robot into the house. Once the door shut, Harry collapsed with a thump, consequently bring down the robot with him. He had fallen unconscious from pain and exhaustion, his body unable to handle any more strain.

The next morning Harry awoke mid afternoon to a steady stream of sunlight peeking through the curtains. It gave off a pleasant warmth, and Harry kept his eyes closed to try and absorb it all. Opening his eyes slightly, Harry groaned at the brightness and buried his head into the metal chest he was laying on, his mind still heavily sleep addled. He didn't feel like getting up at all.

Mind still hazy, Harry frowned in confusion at the odd sensation of something poking his stomach. Wiggling a little bit, Harry still felt something poking his stomach. It was solid and extremely uncomfortable. It wasn't doing his bruised stomachs any favours either.

Wiggling some more in irritation, he finally opened his eyes to see what was the odd sensation. Looking down, he proceeded to make a sound very similar to a cat whose tail was stepped on. He quickly hopped off the robot—the very naked robot—he was previously laying on like a spring, his face absolutely horrified. Averting his eyes, Harry stubbornly kept down a blush and scurried into his workshop.

He was mortified. Sure, he treated robots in a way that wouldn't be socially acceptable and he certainly had questionable sanity, but this was ridiculous. He was snuggling up to the naked robot as if it were a long lost lover or the last teddy bear in the world! He could just imagine being taken into custody not for robot making but because he was accused for sodomy with a robot—which he would never do even if he was threatened. Even if it was a very attractive human looking robot.

Grabbing a pair of wrinkled trousers and a shirt—which belonged to Ron—Harry quickly dressed the robot, still averting his eyes. It's safe to say it took Harry a few tries before he managed to dress the robot, his hands fumbling and buttoning the clothes wrong quite a few times.

Sighing at finally being able to look at the robot without having to stare at it's—or maybe he might as well refer to it as he, considering he was probably already mad—private bits.

Bending down, Harry gripped the robot and pulled it—him—up. Dragging him once more, Harry brought him to the workshop and placed him up against the wall. Panting slightly, Harry adjusted the robot until he was balanced upright.

"Ron!" Harry called out. Waiting a few moments, the sound of moving metal could be heard approaching the workshop. Not too long after, in walked Ron, Harry's robot and one of his best friends.

He sorely hoped no one decided to scrutinise his mind. He was quite certain they would end up throwing him in the loony bin. He probably wouldn't see the light of day ever again.

"Yes, Harry?" Ron asked him in a voice which was not quite monotonous, but not quite full of inflections either.

"Could you place this bloke," Harry pointed at the robot leaning against the wall. "Onto the work table?"

"Sure thing." Ron replied while moving to the other robot. Lifting the robot up effortlessly, Ron placed him onto the work table.

"Thank you," Harry told Ron. "That's all for now."

"You're welcome." Ron replied before turning and leaving.

Turning to the robot on the table, Harry started to inspect him. He really hoped the robot was repairable. He would love to have another friend around. Even if they didn't feel emotion. Or actually care about him.

Man, was his life depressing or what?

Checking the robot over, Harry was joyous that the robot was repairable but also crestfallen at realising exactly what was needed to repair him. Everything was in pretty good working order except for the central command system, which explained why the robot was not showing any signs of "life". It needed a gold and copper entwined wire to reconnect the split between two circuits. The only problem was how to get such a wire.

It was rare. Very very rare. Dark makers have killed to get their hands on such a precious part. And sadly, Harry knew only one person who either had the wire in her possession or could get it without ratting him out to the Aurors or trying to murder him.

Too bad she was hell bent on marrying him.

Ginevra Weasley, only daughter of the Weasley family. It was a pure-blood family which was firmly on the emperor Dumbledore's side. They were called blood-traitors for turning their backs on centuries of tradition and history; for shunning what their ancestors had practiced.

She didn't know he was a dark maker. That would be bad. He would rather commit suicide than be caught by a family on Dumbledore's side. It was one thing to be caught by another dark maker, for there was usually a 50/50 chance you wouldn't end up fighting each other, but it was an entirely different thing to be caught by one of Dumbledore's minions.

No one human knew he was a dark maker, actually. And he intended to keep it that. It was safer that way, for humans were by no means trustworthy with his secrets. Even if they wouldn't tell anyone, that doesn't stop them from slipping up accidentally or being persuaded into spilling his secrets.

Ginevra only knew that he would sell scraps to dark makers. That was illegal as well, but Ginevra overlooked that and said he was only doing what he had to to survive; that she understood times were hard and she didn't blame him.

She also said that such a small detail wouldn't get in way of their love. He still had nightmares when she had told him that. Especially when she was not so subtly pushing her breasts up with her arms.

Sometimes he wished he could just tell her that he wasn't interested in a partner with…assets such as hers. But then he thought better of it when he thought of how much more crazed she would probably become. She would probably insist that he was mistaken or even that she could make him straight just for her. It was so ridiculous that Harry had little trouble believing she would do that.

But, as he looked at the robot before him, Harry believed some sacrifices must be made. He had already risked his life to retrieve him, he might as well go all the way and repair him as well. Besides, he really couldn't resist repairing the robot. And if he had to go to a completely psycho witch then he would do it. No matter how much it pained him to do so.

Turning, Harry exited his house and trekked through the streets. He didn't eat breakfast or change or even wash up. He was quite used to that gnawing hunger from not eating enough. It was the reason he was so small and skinny. Malnutrition would do that to you. And he was honestly too excited about his find to bother with his looks or hygiene.

Walking down the dirt path, Harry had never been more glad that he wasn't too far from the Weasley Family House. His muscles and body were still sore and throbbing in pain, and he didn't know what he would do if he had to walk more than a kilometre. Walking further down the streets and closer to the centre of the city, Harry stopped in front of a large, wooden cottage.

Knocking three times on the door, Harry waited.

And waited.

And waited some more.

And waited even more.

It was when Harry decided that they weren't home—which was a feat in of itself, for the Weasley family was very large and usually at least one was always there—that the door finally opened. The person who had answered was none other than Ginevra Weasley herself.

She was only a bit shorter than him and had much more meat on her. But that was not too surprising, considering who her mother was. She babied her only daughter and made sure she had lots of food. And she could afford to do so being a pure-blood and all, blood-traitor or not. She even insisted he eat a lot when he had visited before and she was the one who answered the door.

"Harry!" she squealed in happiness before hugging him tightly, earning a wince from Harry. She was nearly squeezing the life out of him. Harry held back the scathing insult which rested on the tip of his tongue. "What are you doing here?" she asked him.

"I," Harry started, wincing once again when she sneezed even tighter. He was still very sore from his activities in the junkyard. "I need a favour." Harry told her, hoping that she would not ask for something in return.

"A favour?" she asked while looking up at him.

"Yes, a favour," Harry confirmed. "I require a gold and copper entwined wire." Harry told her, paling slightly at the glint which overtook her eyes. That wasn't a good sign.

"A gold and copper entwined wire?" she asked him while stepping back from the hug and studying his face. "What would you need that for?"

"A…client has requested it." Harry told her, going by the lie he had told her about being a dark maker scraps provider. Hopefully she wouldn't ask for more details after that.

"Ah," She nodded her head in understanding. "And in return?" she asked the question Harry had been dreading.

"In return…" Harry started, having a sneaking suspicion what she wanted but not wanting it to happen. "Well, what would you like?" Harry managed to get out, internally dying a little inside at giving her free reign of what she wanted.

"I want a date." she told him.

"A…date?" Harry asked slowly, wanting to make sure he heard her correctly.

"Yes," she replied. "A date. I want you to take me out for supper." She brought her arms up and crossed them, pushing her breasts up. Licking her lip, she suggestively looked at him. Harry really tried not to shiver. But of course, he failed.

"Are you cold?" she asked him in concern.

"No no, I'm fine." Harry told her with a shake of his head.

Suppressing a grimace, Harry looked at her closely and came to a conclusion. There was no question that she would only do the favour if he took her out for a date. He really hoped she didn't have an expensive restaurant in mind.

"Alright." Harry agreed, earning a triumphant smile from Ginevra and a high pitched squeal. He was so going to regret this, cool robot aside. He might as well of handed her a shovel and told her she could dig him his grave. Or maybe he had told her she could put a collar on him and walk him around on a lead.

"Wonderful!" she exclaimed excitedly. "And you're just in luck. I have a gold and copper entwined wire on hand." she told him while grappling his arm and practically dragging him inside. She was surprisingly quite strong.

He was dragged all the way through the kitchen and up the stairs. She only stopped when they were up in her room, a place Harry never wanted to see.

Letting go of his arm, she walked over to her desk in the room and rifled through the drawer. A little while longer and she pulled her hand out to reveal what he had wanted. Walking towards him, she handed him the gold and copper entwined wire.

"Here you go," she told him while placing it in his hand. He really didn't want to know why she had such a rare wire part in her bedroom drawer. "We will have supper next week at Madam Puddifoot's on Friday, 7:00 o'clock." she told him, making him want to scream in frustration. While not overly expensive, Harry had no desire to go to that frilly and pink monstrosity.

"Of course." Harry gave her a tight lipped smile while pocketing the wire.

"Oh and you must do something about that hair," she insisted to him. "Maybe try a low ponytail or a braid or at least try to brush through it," She looked pointedly at his mess of long locks. She then looked at the rest of his body. "And a very thorough bath as well."

Wincing slightly, Harry had to concede at those points. He had been so exited to fix up the robot he found he had neglected to brush his hair or even wash up. He was dirty and covered in suspicious grime while his hair was completely tangled and sticking up at odd places.

Nodding his head, Harry turned and left. Once he was sure Ginevra could no longer see him, he hightailed it out of as if the Aurors were after him. And maybe that would have been the situation he preferred as opposed to going on a date with Ginevra. He might even go so far as to say he would rather spend a night in Azkaban than a date with her.

Making it to his house in record time, Harry paused inside while leaning over on his knees and panting. Maybe he shouldn't have run do so soon after the junkyard accident. His body was already screaming at him in outrage, and he really wasn't looking forward to tomorrow. He doubted he would be able to get out of bed even.

When he finally caught his breath, Harry stood up and headed for the workshop. He could barely contain his excitement. He was so close to repairing the robot.

Hurrying to the robot, Harry grabbed some pliers and tweezers as he went. Standing by the head, Harry took out the wire he had gotten from Ginevra and got to work in reattaching the disconnected circuit.

With steady hands Harry entwined the new wire onto the circuit. When it was finally attached Harry closed up the head of the robot, which surprisingly had some sort of brown hair made out of metal. It reminded him of very thin strings of copper.

Standing back, Harry watched the robot and waited in anticipation. Only moments later, the robot's metal eyelids opened to reveal red optics. Sitting up, the robot looked up at him.

"Hello." the robot greeted.

"Hello," Harry greeted in reply. "My name is Harry," he told the robot. "What's your name?"

"My name…" the robot started, as if he had to think about his answer. "My name is Tom Riddle."

Updated 25.11.2016