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Harry opened his eyes.
The world was white.
Immaculate snow covered everything, untouched, silent, without a single footprint.
Before him stood Hogwarts. Not in ruins, not scarred by war, but exactly as he remembered it from childhood.
Untouched. Eternal.
He lowered his gaze to his hands.
Young. Smooth. Free from time.
Seventeen.
His breath caught.
He slowly turned on himself, searching for meaning, for understanding, then froze.
A silhouette was walking through the snow.
A long dark coat flowed behind it, like a living shadow cast upon the white world.
Harry knew before he could think. There had never been any doubt. Their souls had been bound too deeply for him not to recognize his presence. He watched him approach.
Skin white as snow. Lips red, unreal. Black hair, one unruly curl falling before eyes of blood-red, lifted toward him through long lashes. A beauty that hurt to behold.
They stopped, facing one another.
Silence fell.
What do you say to a man you have killed?
What do you say to the one whose absence carved such an emptiness that seeing him again, even in death, made the heart beat harder than life ever had?
“Voldemort…”
“Harry Potter…”
His voice was unchanged.
Cold. Suave. Intact.
Harry thought of a princess from Muggle fairy tales, born in snow, too beautiful to remain unbroken.
That was what he was.
Broken.
Perfect.
Lost.
“The boy who lived… come to die,” Voldemort murmured, his gaze lowering to the snow.
That hesitation made him almost fragile.
Almost human.
“The Dark Lord come to conquer,” Harry replied softly, a smile touching his lips.
And then he understood.
He understood that, despite the centuries, he had loved only one man. That his heart had bound itself to Tom Marvolo Riddle from the very first page of the diary. That when he had believed he destroyed him, he had merely learned how to survive without him.
You only fall in love once.
And Harry had fallen.
So he did what he had never dared to do.
He stepped forward, without thought, and wrapped his arms around him.
“I missed you.”
Voldemort stiffened, then held him back, as though afraid of losing him again.
“I remember everything…”
Harry closed his eyes.
“The diary. The Chamber of Secrets. The anger.
I hated you because you chose her after… because you wanted my death.”
His voice trembled.
“And yet, I never wanted to be anywhere but against you.”
His hands clenched in the fabric of Harry’s robes.
“When you came to die in the forest… I was afraid. Afraid to want you. Afraid of becoming weak.”
He inhaled.
“When you killed me… I thought you were magnificent and then I was alone. Whole. In this world of snow. I regretted everything.”
Harry lifted his head.
“I never forgot you,” he murmured.
“Without you, I was nothing. A chosen one without his enemy is only an empty man.”
He threaded his fingers through black hair.
“I lived a long life. I loved. I built a family. But I only ever felt alive when I stood before you.”
Voldemort broke.
He buried his face in Harry’s neck, and Harry felt tears soak into his skin.
“Will you stay?” he whispered. “This snow may be my prison…”
Harry smiled softly.
“I like snow very much.”
He cupped his face in his hands, studied him, this unbroken beauty, those blood-red eyes.
“If you want me… as I want you…”
Voldemort yielded.
Their kiss was slow, deep, absolute.
A living kiss.
At last.