Word Count: 502
Rating: PG-13
Category: Angst
Notes: HBP SPOILERS.  Just a random idea while suffering insomnia.  Thanks to Under Lucius for betaing and the title suggestion!
Summary: Harry’s night is joined by someone else.  But is that person really there?
Pairing: Harry Potter/Hand, Harry Potter/Tom Marvolo Riddle
Warnings: Slash, Masturbation
Dedications: None
Completed Date: July 21, 2005

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Harry opened his eyes from yet another vividly portrayed dream. With no lights in the room, he stared into the dark, empty space, barely making out the ceiling. Soon his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

He shuddered involuntarily and stifled a moan, his attention diverted to his mid-section. He had woken from another dream, a sexual dream, and it was painfully obvious by the bulge in his pyjama bottoms.

He had been plagued by the same dream ever since the day after Dumbledore’s funeral. The dream kept on haunting him, but the content of the dream disgusted him. A typical teen, he was used to these sexual dreams, but instead of Ginny, or hell, even Cho, the person in his dreams was not one whom Harry expected to invade his innermost desires.

Harry sighed and decided to get it over with. One hand reached and slipped past the waistband. He bit his lips to keep himself from moaning out loud as his hand touched the hot, throbbing cock. He slowly began to stroke himself, setting a rhythm.

Suddenly the person of his dreams appeared in front of him. The dark hair looked silky to the touch. The eyes stared back at him as if they were piercing through his soul. The hollowed cheeks, the pale skin which was void of clothes seemed to give off a luminescent glow. The lips mesmerised Harry the most by it being able to produce a multitude of expressions from smirking to smiling with a dangerous edge.

Harry was close as he neared climax. While trying to relieve himself, he couldn’t help but feel disgusted. He kept at it until a silent moan escaped him, feeling his body tense as the warm, sticky liquid gushed into his hands and his pyjamas. He lay back, his needs fulfilled. His gaze hardened as he stared at the handsome face in front of him.

Harry whispered hoarsely into the dark room. “Why? Of all people, why do you keep appearing in my visions?”

The next word was uttered with a mixture of confusion and hatred. “Tom.”

Instead of a reply, Tom’s handsome face kept on staring at Harry in a serene manner. His dark eyes held a cold, calculating look. This is the Tom before he became Voldemort. The young man as he was before turning into the evil Dark Lord everyone learned to associate him as.

The first night Harry saw Tom, he thought perhaps Voldemort had tapped through his mind by Legilimency. But strangely, his scar did not hurt. The appearances baffled Harry. Why someone like Tom is having such an effect on Harry’s mind and body? Harry felt repulsed, but his needs were stronger than the former. Harry succumbed to the invisible force of these dreams and visions. Night after night, Harry stared into the darkness, relieving himself, and all due to his handsome enemy. And before he drifted off to a dreamless sleep, he asked the same question all the time: what did this all mean?