Written for The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition

Position: Seeker

Prompt: Write a pairing you've never written before. (I chose Harry/Voldemort)

There had always been something drawing the two of them together. There was always something one did to hold the attention of the other. Whether that attention was good or bad didn't seem to matter, it was there all the same. They didn't realise at first what the constant awareness of the other meant. They hadn't realised that without that intensive scrutiny, they would slowly wither and die.

Even after they had separated and gone their own ways - one towards life and the other, towards death - they hadn't realised the full consequence of their actions. After all, who wouldn't feel something akin to relief and numbness if their nemesis had died? The relief was from not having to fight, and the numbness from the absence of a constant. For most of their lives, they had known of the other and had known that the other was trying to harm or kill them. It wasn't the best relationship two people could have with each other, but it was a relationship nonetheless.

Codependency had developed during the seven years they had both been aware of the other and had interacted almost yearly. A dangerous relationship that kept them both insane and sane from the routine they went through. Without thought of why, every fight happened at a time that would not be inconvenient to the other. If one of them could not fulfill a requirement of life due to their spats, perhaps their spats would end and they would have no one else that they felt so close to and yet repulsed by.

Harry Potter - The Boy Who Lived and the Vanquisher of Voldemort - sighed as he leaned back in the chair by the window. He had lived in this dark place for a few years now, shunning the outside world that demanded more and more of him. He didn't think that he had anything left to give. He barely had enough to keep himself going, never mind the rest of the wizarding world. But wizarding society didn't care about that. Harry Potter wasn't a person. Harry Potter was a beacon of light in dark times, a figure who would never back down or crack under pressure. If the wizarding people were in need, Harry Potter would save them. Even if all they needed was a few more eggs for breakfast.

He lived in Grimmauld Place with only Kreacher to keep him company. When he first moved in, Ron and Hermione had occasionally come by, but that occurrence had petered out in recent times. His two best friends had lives of their own to live and found that being around someone who lived without happiness to be rather depressing. They had tried though, and Harry was grateful for the small joys they had given him as he tried to recover from the War.

It wasn't so much all the things that had happened in the war. His experience with the Dursleys had hardened him to the point that the darkness of humanity no longer surprised him or particularly affected him. No, it was the absence of war. Since he had been young, Harry had been in a war of some sort.

Whether that be with the Dursleys and trying to get them to love him as they loved Dudley or against Voldemort who wanted to kill Harry purely because a prophecy said so, Harry had lived in a warzone for most of his life and now there was no war. Peace reigned in the wizarding world and Harry no longer had any contact with the Dursley family. It was quiet. Too quiet.

All he had ever wanted was a normal life and now that he had it, he didn't know what to do with it. What did a person do when they weren't fighting for their life? According to his friends, a person actually lived their life. But Harry didn't know how, the only life he knew was one of fighting and without that, he was a shell.

It sounded crazy to him, and he knew that if he ever told anyone they would send him off to St. Mungo's in a heartbeat, but Harry almost missed Voldemort. He didn't miss the killing that Voldemort had done, the senseless feud between him and those he considered lesser. What Harry missed was the adrenaline, the excitement of what was to come next.

There had always been a mystery when Voldemort was around, a new challenge just around the corner that would come when he was ready. He really liked how Voldemort had somehow never managed to interrupt the Hogwarts school year too much. It was strangely considerate of the Dark Lord to allow his chosen nemesis the time to learn magic.

Now there was nothing to keep Harry alive, no new excitement that he had to prepare for. It was sad, and Harry really didn't know what to do. Kreacher came into the room then, bowing low. Kreacher still had a lot of respect for Harry, especially since he had destroyed the Horcrux that Regulus had entrusted to the House Elf.

"Master Harry needs to be going to sleep now," the Elf said.

Harry sighed. "I suppose you're right, Kreacher."

He got up and moved from the chair to the bed, ready to spend another sleepless night staring at the ceiling. Kreacher handed him a vial filled with blue liquid. "A sleeping draught for Master."

Harry nodded in understanding, "Thanks, Kreacher."

He gulped down the potion and collapsed onto the bed, too exhausted from nothing to bother changing into any semblance of sleeping clothes. The potion worked its magic and soon Harry was drifting off into sleep.

When Harry opened his eyes again, he noticed the light. He frowned. His curtains were always closed, so why was there light in room?

"Awake, I see," came a voice from his left. Harry jumped.

It wasn't Kreacher's voice. There was no one else in his house that he was aware of, as Hermione and Ron hadn't planned on visiting for a while yet. Looking to where the voice had come from, Harry stared. The sight in front of him was one he had never thought he'd see again since his second year and the Chamber of Secrets.

In front of him was Tom Riddle. Not Lord Voldemort but Tom Riddle, like he had been when he was young and still in Hogwarts without any Horcruxes. Harry stared at him in shock, and the other man smiled slightly. "Not what you were expecting, I gather?"

Unable to speak, Harry shook his head and continued his staring. The presence of his enemy filled his body with adrenaline, and he wondered what would happen next. What new fight would this younger-looking version of Voldemort put up?

Tom Riddle sighed, "It would seem that your Elf decided to obey a subconscious order of yours. He gave you a sleeping draught that would make you sleep forever."

"What?"

"He killed you, Harry Potter. In your mind, you saw nothing that would make your life worthy, and your Elf decided to fix that for you by sending you off into the next great adventure as Dumbledore would say."

"I'm dead?" Harry questioned. Tom Riddle nodded, "Why are you here then?"

"Apparently, you called me."

"Huh."

Harry could see it. Kreacher was still slightly affected by Regulus' death and quite possibly mad. Harry could understand why Kreacher had thought that killing Harry would make Harry happy. And perhaps the Elf was right, Harry realised. Standing opposite Voldemort made Harry feel more alive than he had felt for years. Even if he was now dead…

"So," Riddle drawled, "what's the plan, Potter?"

Harry grinned, "Surprise me."

That was what he had been missing, after all. The surprises that Voldemort always gave him. Deciding to give the other man a surprise of his own, Harry lunged at Voldemort and hugged him tightly, pecking his cheek as he let go. Voldemort, clearly having expected an attack of some sort stood there with a stunned look on his face and Harry laughed.

That was what he had been missing. Now he had it, and he would never lose it ever again. "Come on, Voldemort! Let's go have some fun!"

And that was that, they spent their afterlives surprising the other with whatever they could think of. Occasionally, Harry thought back to the night that Kreacher had sent him past the veil. Occasionally, Harry would thank the mad House Elf for sending Harry to sleep. The mad little House Elf had given Harry his life back - by giving him his death.