AU: Voldemort won the Second Wizarding World.

Lord Voldemort won the war, Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix are destroyed.

Three hundred years later, the Dark Lord finally realizes how lonely eternity is.

And it doesn't help that the ghost of Harry Potter is haunting him.

Inspired by "Killing Lord Voldemort" by Bex Drake on fanfiction.net

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Narrator's POV

Lord Voldemort gazed upon the empty throne room boredly, tapping his long fingers on the arm rest of his throne.

He had ruled Wizarding Europe for three centuries, reshaping the magical continent into his own image, but around a century and a half ago he realized something: life eternal was amazing, but incredibly lonely.

Yes, he had attempted using lovers and pets as a way to keep that feeling of loneliness away, but it never worked for very long.

When the Battle of Hogwarts had been won, it hadn't taken long for him to realize that his horcruxes had been destroyed and it also hadn't taken long for him to repair them, so he was fully immortal once more.

After he had solidified his rule after killing that damned 'Chosen One' and that troublesome Order of the Phoenix, he had kept himself occupied by stomping out the dozens of rebellions that formed, and then setting his sights on the rest of the continent, so now, he was not only lonely but also incredibly bored.

"Hey, Tom." A far too familiar voice said from beside him

"Speak of the Devil and the Devil shall appear." The Dark Lord thought, looking to where the voice had come from and there he saw the ghost of Harry Potter

Ghost wasn't a accurate term for what he was seeing, what he was seeing was a hallucination probably caused by insanity, his long forgotten conscious making a desperate attempt, or his indescribable loneliness.

But no matter what had caused it, it hadn't changed the fact that he had been seeing and speaking with the boy he had killed for around fifty years.

"It's ironic." Lord Voldemort thought, "The boy I killed is now the only real company I have."

"Tom, do you hear me?" Harry asked

"Yes, Harry, I do." Lord Voldemort answered

He knew the version of the boy he was seeing didn't truly look like the boy he had killed all those years ago, in three hundred years the details had become blurry but he remembered some of them: round, black glasses; the Killing Curse green eyes; jet black, messy hair; pale skin; a thin waist; and that damned lightning-bolt shaped scar.

His mind had filled the rest in, the boy he saw had: petal pink, plump lips; long, black eyelashes; a heart-shaped face: skinny arms and legs; he was wearing a sleeveless, black, knee-length dress that had a collar; and he wore black slippers that had a black ribbon that went up to his ankles.

When Lord Voldemort heard Harry talking, he was snapping out of his admiration of the boy's appearance.

"What?" The Dark Lord asked, "What did you say?"

"I said 'what do you want to talk about?', your subconscious wanted to talk to me for a reason." Harry answered, sitting on the left armrest

"I don't know." Voldemort replied, lying

"Yes you do." Harry said, knowing the lie, "You can make me say and do whatever you want, Tom. I'm not real, no one else can see me, I'm just a figment of your subconscious' design to keep you company."

"Then you know what I want to hear." The Dark Lord replied, not wanting to admit to his weakness by saying what he wanted

Harry smiled and moved from sitting on the armrest to the snakelike man's lap, cuddling against him, "I love you."

Voldemort didn't reply, he just starting stroking Harry's hair, not caring about how he must look to others —but no one was there, like always.

"I want you to be real." The Dark Lord whispered, the words just barely escaping his lipless mouth

"That's one of the things I can't do." The hallucination replied

"Then I'll have to find a way." Lord Voldemort muttered

"I'm sure you will." Harry smiled, pressing a kiss to the Dark Lord's lipless mouth

***

It took a long time, which was something he had plenty of, but the Dark Lord did it.

Using a spell and potion mixture similar to the one used when he got his body back, a combination of one of Lily Potter's bones, a vial of blood belonging to the current Lady Malfoy he hadn't bothered learning the name of and a few other ingredients, he had created a body identical to the one the hallucination had for Harry to return in —with the exception of the lightning-bolt shaped scar.

He poured a vial of the Draught of Living Death down the empty body's throat to keep it comatose and carefully used the Resurrection Stone —that was on the ring horcrux— to put Harry's soul into it.

Then he spent a few hours cleaning out Harry's memories and replacing or editing them to fit what was necessary in this time period.

While he was doing that, he had created a new backstory for Harry or should he say, Hadrian Peverell: Hadrian was a pureblood descendent of the Peverells, the child of Lilliana and Jameson Peverell, who lived in France for many years, but were tragically murdered by the newest rebellion's members quickly after moving back to England, leaving the adult Hadrian an orphan; and eventually they had met and been in a secret relationship ever since.

Once he was finished, he poured the reversing potion down Hadrian's throats and waited for him to wake up.

While he waited, he noticed his reflection in the glass of an empty vial: he looked like Tom Riddle again.

He didn't mind, he'd simply use a glamor to look like the snakelike form again when he wanted to.

Leaning against the back of the chair, he reviewed his plan as he waited for the boy who would be his bride to awaken.