Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/7507801.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter/Tom_Riddle
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Tom_Riddle, Septimus_Weasley, Voldemort, Albus_Dumbledore,
      Avery_Sr._(Harry_Potter), Lestrange_Sr., Original_Male_Character(s), Nott
      Sr._(Harry_Potter), Minerva_McGonagall
  Additional Tags:
      Time_Travel, AU, Sexual_Content, Homophobia, Manipulative_Tom, Astronomer
      Harry, Riddle_Era, Soul_Bond, Fluff, lots_of_fluff, Self-Indulgent_Tom/
      Harry_Romance, Possessive_Tom_Riddle, Possessive_Behavior, Astronomy,
      unhealthy_relationship, Controlling_Tom
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-07-17 Updated: 2018-01-27 Chapters: 30/? Words: 135304
****** A Sky Far Away ******
by SeaDreaming
Summary
     Harry is mysteriously sent back in time on the night his parents are
     murdered, without any knowledge that he's from the future. He ends up
     in 1927 and is found on the doorstep of Wool's Orphanage. Growing up
     in an orphanage is never easy, especially when the resident bully,
     Tom Riddle, hates him for no apparent reason. It doesn't help that
     Harry can see into Tom's mind and he's often haunted by strange
     dreams. It isn't until several years later that they start to notice
     different feelings for each other, and even then they still have many
     challenges to face — such as Harry suddenly being thrown back into
     his own time. How will he adjust to the future and finding out what
     really happened to his parents? More importantly, what will happen to
     him and Tom? TMR/HP slash.
Notes
     You know, I was sitting and thinking to myself: what the world really
     needs is more Tom/Harry time-travel slash. Enjoy!
     Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of its characters,
     plots or settings. I don't make any money from the writing of this
     story as it's purely for entertainment purposes.
***** Prologue *****
October 31st, 1981
Godric's Hollow was a quiet place, lined with quaint homes inhabited by
friendly, welcoming people. The picturesque image lured a person into a false
sense of security, leading them to believe that nothing bad ever happened
there. It was humble, it was familiar, it was safe. However, on that night, the
streets were restless with unease and foreboding. The trees rustled, the
animals stirred, and the air became thick with dread. The serene darkness was
broken two times by brilliant flashes of light, momentarily illuminating the
entirety of Godric's Hollow. When they faded, all became still.
Inside one of the homes, a tall, cloaked figure stood over the dead body of a
young woman. She was lying at an awkward angle, her torso twisted and one leg
bent beneath her body. Her bright red hair was a tangled mess around her face
and her now lifeless green eyes stared up at the ceiling. The desperation of
her last moments still glistened in the tears lingering on her cheeks.
The figure merely stepped over her with disregard and made his way across the
room towards his true target. Inside of a crib was a small child, not much
older than a year and he was clutching a stuffed animal in the shape of a black
dog. Oddly, he had not made a sound nor cried despite having witnessed the
cruel murder of his own mother. The cloaked figure stopped before him, raising
his wand to the child. In that moment, the boy looked up and the figure was met
with a pair of impossibly green eyes, so much like his mother's yet somehow so
much brighter. The very air in the room disappeared with one sharp intake of
breath, and the murderous hand faltered for a single, solitary moment.
The moment came and passed quickly. The room was once again lit by bright green
light, formed from two uttered words: "Avada Kedavra!"
October 31st, 1927
The dark London street was bathed in a blinding flash of light. It came like a
crash of lightning, burning fiercely at the very air with a current of white-
hot energy. For a moment, the world ceased to exist and time itself had
stopped. Nothing moved — the buildings, the trees, the wind, the rain, all were
holding their breath in anticipation. It was only when the light faded that
everything came back to life. The rain resumed in a gentle patter and the
autumn leaves rustled with a hushed breeze.
Everything was exactly as it had been before, save for one important
difference. On the wet pavement sat a small boy with wide, green eyes and a
tuft of black hair atop his head, holding a stuffed dog tightly to his chest.
He did not cry or make a sound despite the rain soaking through his clothing
and the night dropping into frigid temperatures.
Before the child could succumb to the harsh environment, another light poured
out onto the streets, this time from the opening of a door. A thin, young woman
stood at the doorway, a perplexed expression on her sharp features. The woman,
Mrs. Cole, was curiously peering out onto the street for the source of the
flash. When she saw the toddler sitting out in the rain, she gasped in horror
and hurried down the steps. As soon as she reached him, she picked him up and
wrapped him in her apron to protect him from the rain. She looked around as if
expecting to find the child's parents nearby, but when she saw only dark, empty
streets, her lips pressed together in a sad frown. It was not the first time
she had witnessed a situation similar to this one.
Walking him back up to the building, Mrs. Cole took in a few details about the
mysterious boy. The first odd thing she noticed was the injury on his forehead.
It was lightly bleeding and appeared quite aggravated. It was a strange shape,
much like a bolt of lightning. The second thing she noticed was the jumpsuit
the child was wearing. It had the name 'Harry' stitched across the front in
green lettering.
"Is that your name then, child?" she spoke to the boy as she carried him
inside. Striking green eyes stared back at her with a surprising amount of
perceptiveness. It was almost as if he understood her. "Well then, Harry, let
us get you inside and settled, shall we?"
The doors closed behind Mrs. Cole, darkening the streets once more. The tall,
wrought iron gates that surrounded the building read: 'Wool's Orphanage.'
***** Chapter 2 *****
October 31st, 1935
The dreams were always the same. They started with images of red hair and green
eyes belonging to a very pretty lady. Sometimes her mouth moved as if she was
saying something, but he could never hear her. It was difficult to make out
anything else around him. It was a bit like being trapped under water. The
images would ripple and distort until they faded into almost complete
obscurity. The dreams always ended the same way, too—in a flash of bright,
green light.
"Happy birthday, Harry!"
Harry's eyes snapped open and the ceiling swirled into view. There was the
pitter-patter of rain against the window and the sound of his own shaking
breath. He hadn't realized how fast his heart was beating until he tried to
breathe. Sitting up, he fumbled for his glasses and pressed them to his face,
looking over to the person in his room.
Amy Benson threw her arms around his shoulders, giving him a tight squeeze
before stepping back. She then presented Harry with his birthday present; a
very wonky drawing of a kitten and a flower. It was drawn in pencil, the only
writing utensils the orphans had access to, and there were three words
scribbled at the top that read 'Happy Birthday, Harry!'
"Thanks, Amy," Harry said with a slight flush. "It's very pretty."
He had almost completely forgotten it was his birthday. Harry Whitley had lived
his entire life in an orphanage, where birthdays and special occasions were
barely a note on the calendar. He sometimes wondered what it would be like to
have a real birthday, with a cake and balloons and everything else a loved
child received. He had only eaten cake once in his entire life, and that had
been because a baker throwing out old pastries had taken pity on him. Birthdays
weren't entirely bad, though, seeing as Mrs. Cole always did something special
on an orphan's birthday. Usually they took a day trip somewhere or they got to
be the first to take a bath (and considering they all had to share a single of
tub of water, that was kind of a big deal).
"Mrs. Cole says you don't have to do any chores today," Amy said with a smile,
clasping her hands behind her back. "She told me to tell you."
"Oh, but who will do mine, then?" Harry asked curiously. Each orphan was tasked
with certain chores every day; Harry usually swept the floors or helped with
the dishes. It wasn't so bad, really, but some days it could get quite dull and
tiring.
"I think Tom and Henry," Amy replied with a shrug.
"Oh no, Tom isn't going to be happy about that," Harry said with a groan. "I
think I'd rather just do the chores."
Tom Riddle was one of the other children at the orphanage, and he was only two
months younger than Harry. For as long as Harry could remember, the other boy
had absolutely hatedhim. Harry's very first memory of Tom was when they were
three and Tom had pushed him over while he was playing with Hannah St. John.
Ever since that day, it had just been incident after incident of Tom picking on
him for reasons he couldn't understand. It wasn't as if he didn't do it to the
other children too; it just seemed that Tom was very specific in the way he
focused on Harry.
"Tom is such a bully!" Amy said with frown, her brown eyes hard as she crossed
her arms. "He's so weird."
"At least he doesn't hate you as much as he does me," Harry said, standing up
from his bed and setting the drawing on his desk. He then proceeded to make his
bed up, straightening out the blankets and arranging the pillow neatly. Mrs.
Cole always checked their rooms every day to make sure they were tidy. The last
time he had forgotten to make his bed, he'd been sent down to help with the
laundry — easily one of the most grueling chores to be given — for the entire
day. His poor hands had been prunes by the end of it.
"I think he's just jealous of you," Amy said. "At least, that's what Mrs.
Edwards always says when someone is being a bully. That they're just jealous."
Mrs. Edwards was their primary school teacher. She was a very strict woman, but
not necessarily unkind. She didn't punish them nearly as much as some of the
other teachers did their students. That didn't mean she didn't whack them over
their hands or send them to stand in the corner when they misbehaved, though.
"Why would he be jealous of me?" Harry rolled his eyes. "Tom thinks he's better
than everyone."
"I don't know, it was just an idea," Amy replied. "Anyway, you better hurry and
get dressed. Mrs. Cole might be up here soon."
With that, Amy turned on her heels and walked out of the room to allow Harry to
change. He dressed in a simple pair of grey shorts, a white button shirt and a
dull grey coat. They were hand-me-downs donated to the orphanage, and the
material was rather worn (some places had been sewn up again) but they were
clean. If there was one thing the run-down orphanage could pride itself on, it
was the clean state of both the building and its orphans.
After pulling on his socks, he slipped into his shoes and attempted to flatten
his hair down. It was always a great source of annoyance to Mrs. Cole, who
preferred her orphans to look tidy, and Harry's hair was anything but. Try as
they might, it only continued to stick up in all sorts of odd directions.
When he walked downstairs, he saw Henry and Tom already in the hallway. Henry
was sweeping the floor with a broom while Tom just stood there with his arms
crossed. Already, Harry knew he had somehow coerced poor Henry into doing a
bulk of the work. It was rather common for Tom to make the other orphans do his
chores for him.
"Happy birthday, Harry," Henry said cheerfully, pausing his sweeping.
"Thanks, Henry," Harry replied with a smile.
"It's not even his real birthday," Tom cut in, his dark eyes mocking as they
bore into Harry. Harry felt his teeth grind together. "They don't know when his
real birthday is."
"Well, it's close enough, isn't it?" Henry answered with a shrug, turning his
gaze downward and resuming his work.
"Just seems like a lot of fuss for a fake birthday," Tom said, still looking at
Harry.
When Harry made the mistake of meeting his gaze, he was hit with thatfeeling
again. A prickling sensation traveled through the lightning-bolt shaped scar on
his forehead and made him relive memories that were not his own. He saw images
of Tom on his fifth birthday, sitting alone and receiving no gifts or well-
wishes from anyone. The images shifted to Tom's sixth birthday, where he was
being taunted by the older orphans for being 'weird' and a 'freak.' Tom had
gotten so mad that the drapes set fire.
Tearing himself away, Harry flushed slightly from embarrassment at having
witnessed such private moments. It was something he was unable to control,
though, and it happened at random. It felt much like he was delving into Tom's
mind and reading his thoughts, but he wasn't certain if such a thing was
actually possible.
'How else can I explain what's happening, though? Those memories aren't mine.'
Timidly, Harry brought his gaze back over to Tom and was relieved when it
didn't happen again. Instead, Tom was just glaring at him with narrowed eyes,
which made Harry's heart skip a beat. Did he know?
"What do you want, Whitley?" Tom asked coldly.
Harry resisted the urge to turn his eyes away. He didn't want to give Tom the
satisfaction of thinking he'd intimidated him. "Nothing,Riddle.Just wondering
if you were going to stand there all day doing nothing."
"Like you can talk," Tom commented. "These are your chores we're doing."
"You mean Henry is doing," Harry shot back. "You haven't so much as lifted a
finger!"
"Feel free to help him out," Tom smirked and walked away.
"Ohhh, one of these days," Harry growled, punching his fist into his palm.
"Don't let him get to you, Harry," Henry offered a sympathetic smile. "I think
he messes with you the most because he knows it gets to you."
"It doesn't get to you?" Harry asked, turning to him incredulously. "How can
you just stand there and do whatever he says?"
"Because bad things always happen when I don't," Henry mumbled. "I'd rather not
find spiders in my shoes again."
"I s'pose," Harry sighed and frowned. "I still think I'd rather have spiders in
my shoes than be bossed around by Tom."
Harry couldn't understand it, but over the years, Tom had gained considerable
influence over the rest of the children. They always did whatever he said and
they never outwardly went against him. They'd complain about him in private,
but the second Tom entered a room, it was like everyone became paralyzed with
fear. They were even too afraid to tell Mrs. Cole about the things Tom did to
them. It was probably because bad things really did happen whenever someone
tried to tattle on him. Harry was the only one who didn't take any crap from
Tom, without caring what happened to him. Tom didn't scare him.
"Here, I'll get the other broom so I can help you," Harry offered, feeling
badly for Henry.
After they all had finished their morning chores and had breakfast, they
trooped back up to their rooms and changed into their school uniforms. It was a
bit of a hassle that they had to wake up, dress in their day clothing, do their
chores and then go back up to change again. It would have been much easier if
they could just work in their uniforms, but Mrs. Cole never allowed it. She
wanted their uniforms to stay in good condition. They certainly weren't allowed
to work in their pyjamas, either.
Glancing out the window, Harry noticed that the rain had picked up quite a bit.
It was beating against the window with ferocity, the city streets barely
visible through the mist. It wasn't going to be fun walking to school in that.
Sighing, he wrapped a scarf around his neck and picked up his worn-out satchel
before heading out to meet the other orphans.
                                     xxxxx
When they returned from school that afternoon, they were immediately sent up to
their rooms for study time. Mrs. Cole always made them do coursework for at
least two hours a day. It was two hours of torturous and boring silence where
absolutely no interaction was allowed, but they always had an hour of free-time
to look forward to after. When Harry walked into his tiny room, he pulled all
of his study books out of his satchel and brought them over to the desk. As he
was setting them down, his eyebrows furrowed when he noticed something was
amiss. An empty spot on the desk that should not have been empty.
The drawing!
Harry checked under the desk, in his wardrobe, under his bed and even tore away
the blankets and linens to make sure it wasn't under there either. After
shaking the pages of his books loose, Harry was convinced that the drawing was
nowhere in the room. Setting the book down, he began to wrack his mind for any
possible answers regarding the disappearance of the drawing. The only logical
explanation he could come up with was that someone must have taken it. Breath
hitching, Harry's eyes widened.
Tom!
A sudden horrifying thought struck Harry and he ran over to his wardrobe.
Throwing the doors open, he opened the drawer and dug around inside of it
frantically. Relief flooded him when he found what he was looking for — a
stuffed black dog. It was quite old and ragged with one eye missing, its once
soft fur now matted and coarse. It was one of Harry's only personal
possessions, and he'd had it since he arrived at the orphanage. It had most
likely come from his parents, which made it somehow even more important. He
always worried that one day Tom was going to find it and steal it like he did
with everyone else's things.
When the fear passed, the anger came full force. Storming out the door, Harry
made his way towards Tom's room, jaw clenched. Just as he was about to burst
into Tom's room, he stopped dead in the doorway. There, on the bed, Tom was
sitting with Amy's drawing in his hands, a frown on his face. His expression
was one of dejection and curiosity, a sharp contrast to his normal cold apathy.
Suddenly, Harry couldn't will himself to hate Tom at the moment. Feeling all of
his anger draining away, Harry came to a rather sad realization.
Tom had never received a birthday present.
Harry knew that logicallyit was Tom's fault things were that way. He isolated
himself from everyone and treated them cruelly. He had stolen their things, but
he had never received a gift out of kindness. In the end, no one liked him,
everyone feared him and Tom had effectively made himself friendless. Against
all rational and reasonable thought, Harry still felt sorry for him.
Not really sure what possessed him to do so, Harry just turned around and left
Tom with the drawing.
***** Chapter 3 *****
December 31st, 1936
It was snowing outside. It wasn't a lot, only a light stream of snowflakes that
fell from the sky and created a very thin layer of white along the roads.
Still, it was quite a nice surprise considering they did not get much snowfall
in London (just a heck of a lot of dreary rainy days). The orphans were all
outside, dressed in their old, but comfortably warm winter clothing. Each of
them were also wearing a pair of handmade mittens they'd received for
Christmas; they were all the same dull brown color but they were well-made. Amy
and Hannah were currently trying to catch snowflakes on their tongues, while
Dennis, Henry and Billy Stubbs were attempting to pack enough snow together to
make snowballs. It didn't look like they were having much success.
Harry was sitting on the front steps of the orphanage, elbows propped on his
knees and chin resting in his hands. He was content in simply watching the
other children play while he sat there. He still had a bit of a cold that he'd
caught mid-December, so he wasn't feeling well enough to really do anything.
Sniffing, he rubbed his hand over his nose and looked over his shoulder when he
heard someone walk outside. His eyes narrowed when he saw that it was Tom, even
though the other boy didn't even so much as glance in his direction.
It was Tom's birthday, but as it was every year, no one wished him a happy
birthday or made him a present. Instead, everyone avoided him as much as
possible. Tom always got into a peculiar mood on his birthdays, which made
Harry wonder if he just hated the day. He supposed if no one ever wished him
happy birthday or gave him presents, he would hate it too.
Tom stood off to the side, his brown eyes fixed on the other children as they
played. Harry spared a moment to study him, taking in the way his pale cheeks
were slowly turning a flushed pink color from the cold. It was almost funny, as
it made him look so normal — like he was just any other ordinary kid. Harry
wasn't fooled, though; he knew that beneath those rosy cheeks was the same
cruel little boy who'd tormented him all his life. It should have been easy to
disregard Tom Riddle, but Harry always found himself thinking about him no
matter how much he tried not to. It was really quite annoying, actually.
When Martha, Mrs. Cole's helper, called them in for lunch, they all trekked
back into the building, stamping snow off their shoes on the way. Harry coughed
into his hands and removed his mittens and scarf, wiping at his nose again. He
hurried upstairs to put his things away and then went to join the others in the
dining room. He sat between Henry and Amy and looked at the meal provided for
them. It was left over stew, made with grisly bits of meat and hardly any
vegetables. There was also a slice of crusting bread and a cup of steaming tea.
The tea was plain and bitter but Harry didn't care — it felt warm and soothing
sliding down his sore throat. Only Tom was allowed milk and sugar with his tea,
considering it was his birthday.
"Did you finish the homework Mrs. Edwards assigned us over winter holidays,
Harry?" Amy asked as she spooned stew into her mouth.
"A bit," Harry admitted with a flush. He had been very ill most of the
holidays, which meant he'd spent more time in bed than doing studies. He
probably had about four assignments that still needed completing before school
started up again.
"What? Too stupid to finish a few simple maths assignments?" Tom mocked from
across the table, casually taking a sip from his tea.
"Shut up, Tom!" Harry snapped, glaring angrily at the other boy. "We weren't
talking to you."
'Why does he always having something to say? Ugh, I hate him so much!'
There was a loud cracking sound as Tom's cup suddenly shattered to pieces, tea
splashing all over the table and Tom's clothing. There was silence around the
table as everyone stared at the scene; Henry's mouth was hanging agape in shock
while Hannah and Amy wore matching expressions of confusion. Even Tom's eyes
were wide as he stared at Harry, but then they slowly began to narrow. Harry
suddenly felt very nervous. He shifted in his seat and his heart twanged
wildly. 
"What is going on in here? What was that sound I heard?"
Mrs. Cole was now in the dining room, her suspicious gaze sweeping over each
child. When it landed on Tom, her eyebrows rose at the state he was in. The
whole front of his shirt and his lap were soaked with tea. She sighed and put
her hands on her hips, her stare rapidly becoming sharp and disapproving.
"What happened?"
Tom's expression made a rather fluid transition from angry and hateful to
passive and neutral. Harry's stomach instantly sank — Tom was going to pin the
entire incident on him. He was already dreading the amount of cleaning Mrs.
Cole would give him as punishment.
"It was an accident," Tom answered plainly, making Harry look at him in
surprise.
Mrs. Cole shook her head, her lips pressed together disapprovingly. "Must you
children be so careless? Have I not taught you to take good care of your
things? Well, go on then, clean this mess up and change your clothing."
It was obvious that Tom had no intentions of doing any such thing. Once Mrs.
Cole had left, Tom shot Harry a rather dangerous glare and then walked out of
the room as well. Harry realized that Tom actually blame him for what'd
happened. That was absurd! He hadn't even touched Tom or the cup! Frowning, he
looked down at the shattered pieces of porcelain littering the floor. With a
sigh, Harry went to grab the broom so he could sweep it up.
"That was so weird," Amy said as she mopped up some of the spilled tea with a
cloth. "That cup just broke for no reason."
"Serves him right," Henry replied. "I just wish Mrs. Cole had punished him
more. PerfectTom never gets punished."
"Well, it was an accident," Harry said with a shrug, sweeping the broken shards
into a dust pan.
"So?" Dennis said, his eyes hardening. "Tom is always getting us in trouble for
stuff hedoes."
"Good luck proving that," Harry said with a humorless laugh. When he was done
sweeping, he went to dump the broken pieces into the rubbish bin. He didn't
return to the dining room afterwards, his appetite completely gone now.
Instead, he went up to his room, kicked off his shoes and climbed into his
rickety old bed. Sniffling some more, he curled up under the blankets and
decided to rest a bit. He was starting to feel a bit sick again.
'Stupid Tom,' he thought petulantly as he watched the shadows from the snowfall
on the opposite wall. It wasn't long before his eyes became heavy and his mind
started to drift off.
He was standing near the doorway to the dining hall, just out of view. Voices
from inside the room were laughing and teasing. He could hear Amy ranting about
him, calling him mean, awful names.
The surroundings faded into a bedroom next, his attention directed down at a
green, medium sized snake coiled around his hands. He was whispering something
to it, and the snake was whispering back.
"Do you understand what you're supposed to do?" he hissed to the snake.
"Yes," the snake hissed back, flicking its forked tongue at him.
"Don't get seen by anyone else," he commanded, placing the snake on the floor.
The snake slithered across the room and disappeared out the door.
Harry's eyes snapped open and he sat up, looking around the room in confusion.
That dream had felt so real — he could still vividly recall the smooth, scaly
feel of the snake's lithe body in his hands. A jarring realizing suddenly hit
him just then. The snake! What if it had been real? Hurriedly, Harry threw the
blankets off and climbed out of bed. He walked over to the door and poked his
head out, peering down the hallway — it was empty and quiet, save for a tiny
hissing sound coming from one of the rooms.
Curious now, Harry began following the mysterious sound. The farther he walked,
the louder and louder it became. Realizing the sound was coming from Amy's
room, Harry stopped and looked inside.
*I smell a human. Someone has come into the room.*
Heart skipping a beat, Harry hurried into the room and searched for the source
of the voice. When he spotted a rather strange lump on the bed, Harry swallowed
and pulled the blankets back. His eyes widened. The snake was lying there,
coiled up in Amy's bed.
"The snake isreal!"
*You are not the girl I am supposed to be waiting for,* the snake, much to
Harry's shock, replied.
"You...you can talk?" Harry asked, dumbfounded. He had accepted the snake
talking in the dream, because well...it'd been a dream. This was real life and
snakes weren't supposed to talk.
*Of course I can talk, stupid boy!*the snake said in annoyance. *It is more
curious that there is another human who can speak my language.*
"You mean, someone else can talk to you? Besides me, that is?" Harry questioned
curiously. For some reason, talking to the snake felt quite natural.
*Yes, my master talks to me all the time, he is the one that sent me here,*the
snake replied and Harry could have sworn he saw it nod its head too.
"Who's your master?" Harry already had an inkling who it might be. There was
only one person in the whole orphanage whose head he was able to see into.
*My master's name is Tom.*
"How did I guess?" Harry rolled his eyes. If there was anyone who'd send a
snake into a little girl's bed, it was Tom. "Listen, you shouldn't be here,
okay? Amy is a really nice girl, I don't want to see her get scared."
*But my master told me to stay here,*the snake hissed.
"I know, I'm sorry," Harry said. The snake made a noise of annoyance and
aggravation as he picked it up; he just hoped it wasn't the biting kind of
snake. "I promise I won't hurt you, I just can't let you do that to—"
"What on Earth do you think you're doing?!"
Harry's heart plummeted to his feet at the angry voice. Slowly, he turned
around and looked up at Mrs. Cole with wide eyes. He knew it was too late to
hide the snake; she had already seen it. Before Harry could explain the
situation, he was roughly grabbed by the collar of his shirt and yanked out of
the room.
"N-no, Mrs. Cole, it wasn't-"
"Be quiet! Of all the despicable, vile things I've seen!" Mrs. Cole seethed,
keeping a firm grip on on his collar as she dragged him down the hall. "Did you
think it would be funny to scare poor Amy by putting a snake in her bed?"
He wasn't given a chance to answer, nearly stumbling over his own feet as he
was pulled into the kitchen. Mrs. Cole marched him over to the door that led
into the back alley and threw it open. "Get rid of that thing this instant!"
Harry's eyes widened and he shook his head rapidly. "No! It's too cold. It'll
die!"
"Now!" Mrs. Cole yelled. "Do not make me tell you again!"
Harry shakily walked out into the alley and looked around for the warmest place
to put the snake. Upon spotting a pile of newspapers and cardboard boxes, Harry
set it down there.
"I'm so sorry. Please try to find shelter fast," he whispered to the snake.
"Get back inside, now!" Mrs. Cole shouted to him. Harry jumped up, spared one
last look at the snake and then ran back to the door. He was immediately
grabbed by Mrs. Cole and yanked into the kitchen. She positioned both of his
hands so they were held out in front of him, palms down.
"Keep your hands like that," she ordered, walking off.
When she returned, she was carrying a heavy, wooden spoon. Harry's stomach
clenched with fear. He knew what was about to happen. Squeezing his eyes shut,
he tried to keep his hands steady as he waited for the first strike. Even
though he knew it was coming, it still took him by surprise when the spoon made
contact against his knuckles with a resounding whack. Sharp pain traveled
through his hand and he bit into his lip to keep from crying out. It last for
five more strikes against both hands, each more painful than the last. By the
time it was over with, Harry had tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes.
"You will do double chores for the entire week," Mrs. Cole told him, staring
down at him with a stern expression. "I hope this teaches you a lesson about
doing such cruel things to others."
"Yes, Mrs. Cole," Harry said, cradling his hands. They were throbbing
unbearably and bright red welts had formed around his knuckles. One was even
bleeding a little bit.
"You may go," she said, giving him a light pat on the back.
Harry rubbed the tears from his eyes and shakily walked out of the kitchen. As
he headed back upstairs, he noticed Tom standing there, watching him with an
unreadable expression. Harry narrowed his eyes and waited for the smug remark
he was sure to come. Surprisingly, however, Tom didn't say anything — he just
glanced down at Harry's swollen hands and silently stepped aside.
Pausing, Harry turned his eyes away and released a soft breath.
"Happy birthday, Tom."
He didn't wait for a response.
***** Chapter 4 *****
July 31st, 1937
There wasn't a single cloud in the sky, which allowed for an abundance of
sunshine to play in. The air lingered with the scent of green grass and a hint
of the rain that had fallen the previous night. It was a wonderful reprieve
from the musty decay of the old orphanage and it would be hours before they had
to deal with the suffocating smell of cleaning chemicals again. Mrs. Cole had
decided to let the children have a day out to the park where they could get
some exercise and fresh air. The girls were playing hide and seek while Harry
was kicking a ball about with the boys. The only one not joining in with the
games was Tom, who was sitting off to the side on one of the benches.
A light bead of sweat trickled down Harry's temple as he kicked the ball when
it came his way and sent it flying towards Dennis. At first, it looked liked it
was going to fall harmlessly onto the grass, but something odd occurred, and
the ball suddenly changed directions. It hit Dennis square in the face. Harry's
eyes widened as the boy stumbled backwards and fell onto his butt, clutching
his face. Harry ran over to him and knelt down next to him.
"Dennis! I'm so sorry! Are you alright?" Harry asked, thinking perhaps he had
kicked the ball a little too hard. Dennis rubbed his face with his hands and
looked up at Harry with slightly watery eyes. There was an angry red mark on
his nose, but he looked otherwise unharmed.
"I think so," Dennis responded with a sniff. "That was some kick, Harry."
"I hadn't realized I'd kicked it so hard," Harry said, offering his hand out to
help Dennis back to his feet. "I'm really sorry."
"Next time, you're on my team," Dennis chuckled, rubbing his nose one more time
before moving back into the game.
Harry's attention was on Tom now. Despite the whole thing appearing to be an
accident, it'd been a very strangeaccident. And whenever something strange
happened, Tom was usually behind it. Harry just couldn't figure out how. 
"Watch out, Harry!"
Harry turned to see the ball flying towards him and he managed to dodge it just
before it hit him. It landed on the grass and rolled until it came to a stop
directly next to Tom's feet.
All the other boys glanced at each other nervously, quietly arguing over who
would go over and retrieve it. Harry just rolled his eyes and, without
hesitation, marched over to where Tom was. He stared Tom dead in the eyes as he
bent over and grabbed the ball, practically daring him to try something. Tom
just met his stare evenly and in the next moment, the ball exploded in Harry's
hands. A gust of air hit him in the face and Harry jumped back in surprise.
"What...?" Harry looked down at the shredded pieces of the ball in his hands.
Harry looked to Tom suspiciously,certain that he'd had something to do with it
this time.
"Good going, Harry!" Eric called over to him. "That was our only ball!"
Harry gave Tom one last suspicious glance before turning to his friends and
smiling sheepishly. "Sorry! I don't know how that happened."
When Harry rejoined the other boys, they were already discussing what they
should play next. Before they could decide on anything, they were interrupted
by several large shadows that loomed over them, practically blocking out the
sun. Harry looked up to see four boys he didn't recognize at all They were
quite large, appearing to be around twelve or thirteen years old. They'd formed
a circle around Harry and the others in what could only be construed as a
threatening manner.
"This is our field," the biggest one, presumably the leader, said. "You kids
better leave."
"We were here first," Harry replied defiantly, crossing his arms over his
chest, "besides, I don't see your name around anywhere."
"You think you're tough?" the big kid said, advancing on Harry. "I'll give you
one more chance to get off this field or you'll regret it."
"I think I'll stay right here, thanks," Harry said, not budging from his spot.
He could practically feel the others shifting nervously beside him. They
weren't used to standing up to bullies like Harry was.
The largest boy shoved Harry roughly in the chest, which caused him to fall
back and land on the ground with a loud 'oof!' One of the other kids had
grabbed Henry by the front of the shirt, fist drawn back like he was about to
hit him. Poor Henry was petrified from fear.
"Leave him alone!" Harry yelled out. Jumping to his feet, Harry rammed his
shoulder into the bully. Henry was dropped as his attacker fell to the ground
with a thud. There was a moment of complete silence as everyone stared at the
scene in disbelief. When the kid got back to his feet, his face was red with
anger and he advanced on Harry with his hands out.
"You'll pay for that!" he growled.
'Oh hell.'
Not knowing what else to do, Harry took off running. Heart beating wildly, he
could hear the other kids making chase right behind him. He needed to find
somewhere to hide! It seemed to happen in a blink of an eye — one moment, Harry
was running for his life, and the next he was suddenly high up in a tree,
safely out of reach. Confused, he peered down at the group of boys almost
directly under him.
"Where did he go?!"
"He was just here!" 
"Don't just stand there! Go find him!"
Once they were out of sight, Harry breathed a sigh of relief. Now he was just
left with the curious question of how he'd gotten up into the tree. He couldn't
remember climbing it at all. The only reasonable explanation he could think of
was that he'd blanked out and climbed the tree out of pure instinct. Either
that, or he'd flown somehow — which, of course, was just ridiculous. Checking
once more to make sure the bullies hand't returned, Harry slowly started
climbing down the tree one branch at a time. When his friends found him, they
were staring up at him with pure amazement.
"Wow, how did you get all the way up there, Harry?" Henry called up to him.
"I don't kn—ah!"
There was a loud snap under his foot, and Harry was suddenly toppling out of
the tree. Feeling his stomach plummet along with him, Harry squeezed his eyes
tightly shut and waited for the impact. Strangely, however, he felt his descent
start to slow dramatically. His body only made a soft flump against the grass
by time he hit the ground.
"Harry! Cripes, are you okay?"
"That was some fall!"
The blurred faces of Henry, Dennis and Eric all gathered around above him.
Harry pushed himself into a sitting position and rubbed the back of his head,
where he could feel twigs and leaves sticking out of his messy locks. Eric
helped him to his feet and pressed something into his hand. Realizing that they
were his glasses, Harry slipped them back on and blinked a couple times to
clear his vision. It was then that he became aware of all of the scrapes and
bruises that were littering his arms. He'd even managed to make a couple of
tears in his trousers.
"Mrs. Cole will kill me," Harry groaned as he fingered one of the rips.
"That's some bad luck," Dennis said, shaking his head. "Last time I ripped my
clothing, she made me work in the kitchen for two weeks, scrubbing pots and
pans!"
"Martha should be able to sew those up for you, at least," Henry offered a
sympathetic smile. "She's really good."
"After Mrs. Cole is done flaying me alive, of course."
Sighing, Harry just pulled some leaves out of his hair and began making his way
back across the park with the others. That was when he noticed Tom, standing
only a few feet away and watching them closely. Harry briefly met Tom's gaze
and, before he could realize his mistake, it happened again. The images came
like flashes — Harry playing ball with the others, Harry running from the
bullies and finally, Harry falling out of the tree. There was a sense of
urgency within Tom's memories, almost as if he'd willed Harry's body to slow
before it'd hit the ground.
The images faded away and Harry stared at Tom in confusion. He couldn't make
sense of what he'd seen — it'd almost appeared as if Tom had saved him. Of
course, that was utterly ridiculous; Tom absolutely despised him and probably
would have taken great joy in seeing Harry badly injured. He'd never choose to
help Harry.
Shaking his head, Harry just ran off and joined the others in a game of tag.
                                     xxxxx
As predicted, Harry was punished quite severely for his ripped clothing. He'd
received a good smacking on the behind and was put to work scrubbing the floors
with a promise of no meals until he was finished. With a sore bum and a sour
attitude, Harry set to work. He started on the upper floors and slowly worked
his way down. It was especially tedious considering people kept accidentally
walking along the spots he'd already cleaned, forcing him to double back and
start all over.
The entire time, Harry was bemoaning the unfairness of his situation. He'd
nearly been beaten to a pulp by a gang of bullies and yet he was being punished
for it! Mrs. Cole was not a cruel woman by any means but she could be quite
strict with her punishments. She often told them that it was to instill in them
a 'sense of respect and responsibility'.
'I hate when she says that! I have plenty of respect. It wasn't my fault my
clothing got ripped!'
By the time he reached the foyer, the sleeves of his jacket were almost
completely soaked through with water. Needing a break, Harry dropped the
scrubber into the bucket and wiped some sweat from his forehead. His back was
sore from bending over and his knees were already bruising from hours kneeling
on them. He looked down at his hands to see that they were pruney and covered
in fresh sores. They would eventually turn into callouses just like all the
rest.
When his stomach started to rumble, Harry picked up the scrubber and continued
working. He only had a bit more to go and then he'd finally be able to eat
something. He was so busy scrubbing and daydream about food that he almost
didn't notice someone walk past, trekking dirty foot prints all over his
freshly scrubbed floor. Glancing up, Harry saw that it was Tom and it didn't
take a genius to figure out he'd dirtied up the floor on purpose. Growling,
Harry jumped to his feet and threw the scrubber down aggressively.
"Watch where you're walking with your dirty feet!" Harry practically yelled at
him. "It took me all day to clean this floor!"
"Well, then maybe you should work a little faster," Tom replied with
infuriating smugness. "What's this, the fifth time this month that you've been
punished? At this rate, you'll end up the permanent maid."
Harry narrowed his eyes. "Half the time it's because of something youdid, Tom!"
"Maybe you should work on not getting caught," Tom countered. "Though, I doubt
you're clever enough for that."
Harry's hands curled into fists as his cheeks flushed with anger. The bucket
next to them began rattling dangerously, suddenly tipping over and sloshing
sudsy water across the floor. Tom quickly tried to step away, but he merely
ended up slipping on the puddle and falling onto his back. Hard. Harry had to
slap his hands over his mouth, his shoulders shaking uncontrollably. 
When Tom sat up, his clothes were soaked through and his normally controlled
expression was visibly flustered. He was glaring at Harry, who was still
laughing despite his best efforts not to. The laughter was cut short when the
bucket suddenly flew up and slammed Harry in the stomach, knocking the wind out
of him. Harry fell to his butt and clutched his midsection, shooting Tom with a
hateful glare. Tom returned it with equal fire.
I'll make everyone stop laughing at me!
Harry's glare faltered. That thought had definitely not been his own, which
meant it must've come from Tom. He almost couldn't believe that — surely cruel,
heartless Tom was incapable of having his feelings hurt. For a moment, Harry
almost felt guilty. However, he quickly squashed it down when he remembered
that Tom had never cared about hisfeelings.
'He deserves to know what it's like to have your feelings hurt.'
Tom suddenly frowned and got to his feet, not even sparing Harry another look
before striding out of the foyer. Feeling the guilt returning, Harry pretended
not to notice it and turned his attention to the large puddle of water on the
floor. He inwardly groaned, knowing this would take at least an extra hour to
clean up.
'So much for getting supper.'
                                     xxxxx
When Harry finally trudged up to his room, it was dark and his whole body was
aching. He wanted nothing more than to change into his pyjamas and crawl into
bed, perhaps sleep for a whole week. He had no doubts that he'd pass out as
soon as his head hit the pillow. However, when he walked into his room, he
stopped dead — Tom was already in there, standing calmly with his hands behind
his back.
"Tom?" Harry said suspiciously. "What are you doing in my room?"
Tom's expression showed a rare vulnerability that Harry had only ever seen once
before. "Do you think your parents loved you, Harry?"
"What?" Harry was taken aback by the completely unexpected question. He looked
down in thought. "I...I don't know, I like to think they did."
"I used to think the same," Tom said quietly, causing Harry to look up again.
"But then I realized how stupid I was for believing that. My father never
wanted me and my mother left me here to rot."
"Didn't your mother die?" Harry asked, furrowing his brows. Tom never talked
about his parents, so he wondered why he was doing so now.
"She choseto die," Tom said harshly, his voice practically trembling with
barely constrained hatred. "She was weak."
Harry stared at Tom with bewilderment and slight alarm. Tom was a cruel, cold-
hearted person, but he was always composed. Never before had Harry seen him get
so...emotional.He really didn't know how to react to it.
"People don't just choose to die, Tom," Harry said softly. "Sometimes it just
happens..."
Tom's features melted into his normal mask of indifference and he smiled at
Harry, though it wasn't the least bit pleasant. "I suppose what happened to you
is even worse, though, isn't it?"
"What do you mean?" Harry asked, confused again.
"Well, your parents just dumped you on the streets," Tom said. "They didn't
even bother to bring you inside the orphanage. They'd just left you to die in
the rain."
Tom's words felt like a knife to Harry's stomach. The worst part of it, there
was actually some truth to them. All of his life, Harry had been haunted by the
knowledge that his parents had abandoned him — like he was just some burden to
be gotten rid of. It was difficult to fully accept that. Part of him still
desperately believed that his parents must've wanted him. If even just a
little.
At that moment, Tom revealed that he'd been holding something behind his back
the entire time. It was Harry's stuffed black dog. Harry's eyes widened and his
chest constricted in panic.
"Were you going through my things?" he asked fiercely, taking a step forward.
"Give that back, now!"
"Not until you apologize for laughing at me!" Tom said, his eyes flashing with
anger.
That caused Harry to falter. "Apologize to you? You've got to be kidding! After
all the things you've done to me?"
Tom pressed his lips together, gripping the stuffed dog tightly in his hand.
"Do you really think I deserved it?"
Harry stared at him, wondering where all of this was coming from. 'Can he read
my mind like I can read his?'
"Yes, Tom, you deserved it!" he shouted, his anger overriding his rationality.
As soon as those words left his mouth, he suddenly regretted them.
Tom's expression turned dark and the stuffed dog in his hand suddenly burst
into flames. Within seconds, it was nothing more than a pile of smoldering ash.
Harry was in far too much shock to fully comprehend what'd just happened. He
just stood there for what felt like an eternity, his ears ringing loudly as he
stared at the burnt remnants of his one true possession. Vision turning black
with rage, Harry was across the room in a second, forcefully grabbing Tom by
the front of his shirt.
"Why?! Why do you do this to me? Why is it always me!?" Harry screamed at him,
tears building up in his eyes. "What did I everdo to you?"
"You wouldn't understand," Tom said, looking back at Harry with his impossibly
impassive face.
"Of course not! Who could ever understand whatever demented thoughts go through
your head!" Harry's voice was so venomous that it even caught him by surprise.
"I hateyou."
He released Tom and furiously rubbed at the tears streaming down his fae. He
was so angry he could barely breathe, barely think. He was sure his heart as
going to explode right out of his chest it was beating so hard.
Harry's words seemed have struck Tom, because his expression turned into wide-
eyed surprise. He could feel Tom's emotions in that moment — shock, confusion,
hurt and finally apathy. Harry didn't care, though. For once, he found he
really did not care. In the past, he'd tried to view Tom as a lonely person who
resorted to extreme tactics to get people to notice him. For that, Harry had
always had a shred of sympathy for him. Not this time, though. Not ever again.
The silence in the room was heavy.
***** Chapter 5 *****
 July 24th 1938
Tom destroying his stuffed dog had been the breaking point for Harry. Even a
year later, he still couldn't let it go. It hadn't just been the simple actof
what Tom had done, but rather the vicious cruelty behind it. It'd meant to
hurtHarry beyond the normal bullying and it'd worked. Every time Harry looked
at Tom now, all he could think of was the remnants of his unknown past turning
to ash in his hand. He absolutely, positively hated the other boy — the two of
them couldn't even be in the same room without a fight breaking out.
Which, of course, meant Harry was getting punished almost every day now. Most
of the time, he got blamed for starting the fights, but even Tom had gotten
into trouble a few times — something that'd been a rarity in the past. Mrs.
Cole's capacity for patience with the two boys had fast reached its limit.
"You will stay in here and clean EVERY last pot and pan until they are
spotless," she ordered as she shoved them into the kitchen. "Then you will peel
and cut that entire sack of potatoes."
Harry and Tom looked over to the seemingly endless stack of dirty dishes, and
then to the overflowing sack of potatoes. Harry inwardly groaned and even Tom
looked like he wanted to complain.
"You two will learn to get along," Mrs. Cole said dangerously. "If I hear any
more fighting, you'll be getting the paddle!"
The kitchen door slammed closed behind her, making Harry flinch. She was
angrier than usual. Throwing Tom a spiteful look, Harry headed to the sink and
dragged a stool over to stand on. He was rather short for his age, unlike Tom
who was infuriatingly tall. He could feel Tom hovering behind him, his mere
presence making Harry's skin crawl with annoyance. While filling the sink with
soapy water, he glanced over his shoulder and narrowed his eyes at Tom.
"Well? Are you just going to stand there?" he shot at him. "I'm not doing all
of this by myself."
"Oh, don't get yourself so worked up," Tom replied coolly. "Last thing you need
is to get in trouble again."
"In case you haven't noticed, you're also being punished here," Harry said,
gritting his teeth. He snatched up one of the sponges and chucked it at Tom
forcefully. Unfortunately, Tom caught it effortlessly before it could hit its
intended target: his face.
"Well, maybe if you hadn't lunged at me like a great brute, we wouldn't be
here."
Tom walked over to the sink, standing so irritatingly close to him that Harry
was sure he was doing it on purpose. Their shoulders were practically touching
from their proximity. That small amount of contact caused a slight tingle down
Harry's arm and he jerked himself away instantly. Unsure of what that'd been
about, he put some distance between the two of them and began furiously
scrubbing at a pot.
"I know it was you who ruined school workbook. On purpose!" Harry ground out,
his scrubbing getting angrier and more aggressive. The muscles in his hands
were starting to burn from the amount of force he was using. "Haven't you
destroyed enough of my things yet?"
"You shouldn't make such wild assumptions, Harry," Tom replied, casually
washing a cast iron pan, "it makes you look like an idiot."
'Don't react. Don't react. Don't react,'Harry thought repeatedly while
scrubbing even faster.
He suddenly faltered when the pot bottomed out on him and his hand went sliding
through. Forearm now soaked in water, Harry lifted the pot out of the sink and
blinked in confusion. The bottom of the pot looked like it had been melted
completely through.
"What the...?"
There was a snort beside him and Harry whipped his head in Tom's direction. The
bastard appeared to be laughing at him. Harry was sure he had never heard Tom
laugh before. What really caught him by surprise was the fact that the laugh
was neither malicious or cruel like he would have expected. Rather, it sounded
like Tom was genuinely amused by Harry's predicament. Harry thought Tom
actually had quite a nice sounding laugh — very pleasant and almost calming. It
was just too bad it belonged to the most unlikable person in England.
"See? I told you that you were a brute," Tom commented, sounding more like his
taunting self again.
'Oh, good. For a second there, I was almost concerned he had an actual human
soul.'
"Just shut up and wash your stupid pan."
Harry inspected the bottom of the pot again. The thing was, the older he got,
the more strange occurrences like this had started to happen. Most of the time,
he wasn't even consciously aware of what he was doing until after he'd already
done it. This hadn't been the first time he'd destroyed something without
meaning to.
He wasn't the only one who constantly had strange things happen around him,
either. Tom had always been able to make inexplicable and illogical things
happen. The only difference was, Tom never did them by accident — he always
seemed to be in complete control of himself and his surroundings. It made it
really difficult to actually seeTom do anything, which meant he got away with
it a lot more than Harry did.
The pair of them spent the next half hour cleaning dishes in near silence. Tom
continued to make subtle attempts at being annoying, while Harry tried his best
to ignore his existence altogether. He kept his focus on the sink instead,
playing a mental game counting how many bubbles popped while he cleaned. It was
near impossible to keep track but it was a good distraction from wanting to
strangle Tom to death.
By the time they finished, the dishwater was a dirty brown color and the entire
front of Harry's shirt was damp. Putting the last pot away, Harry dried his
hands on a towel and moved to step off the stool. He took a misstep, however,
and lost his balance. Before he could tumble right off, Tom grabbed him by the
collar of his shirt and righted him on the stool again. Harry stared at him in
shock — normally, Tom actively looked for ways to humiliate Harry. The fact
he'd done the complete oppositeby helping him had been unexpected. Tom just
averted his eyes and scoffed. If Harry hadn't known better, he would have
thought he saw a slight flush on Tom's cheeks.
"You are the clumsiest person I know, Whitley," he said with a shake of his
head, releasing Harry. "It's a wonder you're functional at all."
"Not all of us can be graceful princesses like you, Tom," Harry retorted,
though it lacked its usual bite. He supposed he was just grateful that Tom had
kept him from cracking his skull open.
"Nor come up with witty insults, apparently."
Harry glared, his appreciation towards Tom depleting at a rapid pace. Deciding
to ignore him, Harry dragged the stool over to the sack of potatoes and sat on
it with his back turned to Tom. He didn't want to spend the remainder of his
punishment looking at that smug, arrogant face. Otherwise, he was sure he would
end up doing something he'd later regret — like beat Tom to death with a
potato.
'How does he get to me so easily? It's frustrating!'
Harry grabbed the first potato and started practically whacking at it with his
peeler. The repetitive action was oddly therapeutic, finding a sense of
satisfaction in watching the chunks of potato go flying. Perhaps it was because
he was imagining it was Tom's face.
"Good Lord, what are you doing to that potato?" Tom spoke from behind him.
"There won't be anything left once you've finished with it."
Harry's shoulders tensed up and he spun around, tightly gripping the potato in
an attempt to resist chucking it at Tom's face. "Oh, I'm sorry. How does the
perfectTom Riddle peel a potato? Please educate the rest of us lowly, inferior
potato peelers! Ugh!"
"It's not like it's difficult work," Tom replied casually. "After all, who has
trouble peeling potatoes?"
It was a direct jab at his intelligence and Harry knew it. His knuckles
practically turned white from how hard he was gripping his peeler. He fumbled
around for a decent retort, but his brain was utterly failing at the task. The
end result was Harry looking very frustrated and rather stupid. With a
strangled noise of irritation, Harry turned back around and continued with his
potato. However, it suddenly flew out of his hand, hitting several jars and
containers in the process. Harry winced at the loud clattering sound and spent
several horrified moments staring at the door, anticipating Mrs. Cole to come
bursting in screeching. When she didn't, Harry whipped around and glared hard
at Tom.
"I know you did that!"
"Sounds like the first time you've ever known anything."
With a growl of irritation, Harry stomped over to retrieve the potato and clean
up the mess it had made. By the time he returned to his seat, he was
practically boiling with anger.
'You wouldn't be saying those things if you knew what I was imagining doing to
your face. Ha! Take that potato-Tom!'
Just as he stabbed the entire peeler through the potato, the door opened. Harry
looked up to see that it was Mrs. Cole. He hurriedly ripped the peeler back out
and averted his eyes down, trying to look busy. If the matron found out they'd
been bickering again, they'd get at least another two days of chores tacked
onto their already endless list. The very last thing Harry wanted was to spend
that much time with Tom.
"Tom," Mrs. Cole called, making both of them look up. "There's a visitor here
for you."
Harry's eyebrows rose and he watched Tom as he walked out of the kitchen. He
was left sitting there alone, confused and practically burning with curiosity.
Tom never got visitors. In fact, none of them ever got visitors! Was someone
there to actually adopt him? It seemed very unlikely, as hardly anyone adopted
children anymore; especially not ones that were nearly twelve years old. The
only other thing he could figure was that it was a psychologist finally there
to take Tom away.
'I can only hope.'
Harry started on a new potato, humoring himself with the thought of Tom being
locked up in a mental hospital. Maybe they'd put him in a straight jacket or
give him electric shock therapy. He wasn't able to enjoy those wonderful
thoughts for long, however. It was quite suddenly that he was hit with a
barrage of different images.
He was sitting in Tom's room. He wasn't alone, though. There was another man
there. He didn't look like a psychologist. He had greying hair, a matching
beard, and vibrant blue eyes that twinkled behind a pair of half-moon
spectacles.
"You can do things other people can't, isn't that right, Tom?"
"I can make things move without touching them, I can make people do what I
want, I can hurt them if I wish to."
-
"Hogwarts is a school of magic, Tom. It is a place where you will go to learn
to control your abilities."
"I knew it. I always knew I was special. Different from the rest."
-
'I can speak to snakes, too. They find me. Is that normal?'
At that point, the images shattered completely, leaving Harry feeling a bit
dazed. His mind was reeling as he tried to make sense of what he'd just
witnessed. What had been all of that talk of magical schools? That in itself
sounded like complete insanity. He was wondering if he'd seen the vision wrong
or if it was some kind of sick joke. Yet...the more he thought about it, the
more the possibility didn't seem quite so absurd. Perhaps magic was the answer
to all of the strange things that had been happening to them?
Harry suddenly stood up from the stool and went over to the door. Opening it a
crack, he peered out into the hall and saw the strange man descending the
stairs. Realizing that he was about to leave, Harry made a split-second
decision — he wrenched the door open and ran out after him.
"Is it true?" he called to the man's retreating back. "About magic? And...and
Hogwarts?"
The man paused his stride and slowly turned around to look at him. There was an
odd expression on his face, one that appeared a cross between surprise and
intrigue. Harry felt nervous the instant those piercing blue eyes landed on him
but he refused to look down. With a determined frown, he kept his gaze set
intently upon the strange man.
"How did you come to know about that, child?" the man finally spoke. "Were you
perhaps eavesdropping on my conversation with young Mr. Riddle?"
Harry shook his head wildly. "No, sir. I was in the kitchen this whole time! I
saw it...I saw it in my head."
The man's gaze pierced right through him and Harry suddenly felt very
vulnerable. It was like all of his thoughts were laid out on the surface and
this man could see every single one of them.
"What's your name, my dear boy?" the man asked him with a genial smile.
"Harry, sir, Harry Whitley," Harry replied, his heart doing gymnastics in his
chest.
"Well, Harry, I am Professor Dumbledore," the man, Dumbledore, introduced
himself, taking a step closer. "Tell me, Harry, do you ever find strange or
unusual things happening around you? Perhaps done anything that you couldn't
explain?"
"All the time, sir." Harry nodded. "Just a little while ago I melted a pot and
I don't know how!"
Dumbledore chuckled at that. "I'm sure it can be replaced."
"So, is it true then...?" Harry repeated timidly. "Is there really such a thing
as magic?"
"Indeed, it's true, Harry." Dumbledore continued to smile at him. "I can see
that you are not lying — in fact, I can see that there is something very
special about you — but it's interesting that your birth was not written down
in the Hogwart's records."
Harry blinked at that slew of incomprehensible information. "Records, sir?"
"Ah, you see, Harry, whenever a magical child is born in Britain, they are
instantly recorded in the Hogwart's book of admittance," Dumbledore explained
jovially. "Perhaps an oversight has occurred? Goodness knows that book is
getting on in years; indeed, it does make one wonder the possibility of a
senile book."
"Wait, so, if I'm not in the book, does that mean I can't learn magic?" Harry
asked, his excitement turning into a dreadful sinking feeling.
"I think this is just a simple matter of correcting an error in the records,"
Dumbledore responded with a smile, causing Harry's hope to rise again. "Tell
me, how old are you?"
"Eleven, sir," Harry replied promptly. "I'll be twelve in October."
"That is wonderful news." Dumbledore clapped his hands together. "Yes, indeed,
this is very curious but a bit of mystery here and there keeps the heart young,
don't you agree?"
"Er, I think so." Harry stared at Dumbledore strangely.
"Well, my boy, I clearly have much to discuss with Headmaster Dippet!"
Dumbledore declared. "If he decides to allow your admittance to Hogwarts, you
will receive a letter by owl."
"Owl?" Harry repeated weakly, struggling to understand everything Dumbledore
was saying.
"Of course, you would not know about that." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "It's
how wizards send and receive mail. You need not worry, the owls are quite
intelligent and know what to do."
"Oh, okay." Mail by owl delivery? Harry was beginning to wonder if he was
losing his mind. There was no way all of this could be real!
"I must be going now, Harry," Dumbledore said, placing a hand on Harry's
shoulder. "However, I suspect we'll be seeing each other again quite soon."
Giving Harry a wink, Dumbledore walked away and popped something that looked
suspiciously like a sweet into his mouth. For a good while, Harry still stood
there and stared at the spot Dumbledore had last been. He was wondering if he'd
hallucinated the whole exchange — the entire concept of magic and magical
schools being real was far too bizarre and surreal. But, he hadn't hallucinated
it, had he? Magic was real. With a smile slowly spreading on his face, Harry
turned and ran back up the stairs.
He ran into Tom at the top of the steps. Harry realized that Tom had most
likely heard the entire exchange between himself and Dumbledore. He didn't look
to happy about it, either — Tom's eyes were narrowed and he looked more hateful
than usual. It'd probably really vexed Tom to find out that he wasn't the only
special person at the orphanage.
In too good of a mood to let Tom get to him, Harry just stepped around him.
Once in his room, he immediately went over to the window and stared out at the
sky. He knew an owl wouldn't be arriving already, considering Dumbledore had
left a mere two minutes ago, but he still couldn't quell his excitement. He
knew the next several days were going to involve a lot anxious waiting and
watching out the window. He just hoped that the owl that delivered his letter
was the friendly sort.
***** Chapter 6 *****
Chapter Notes
     Thank you so much for all of the kudos and comments. I'm so glad so
     many people like this story. I've been putting off posting it for
     months because I just wasn't sure about it.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
"TOM!"
The door to Tom's room slammed open and Harry furiously stormed inside. Tom
turned to look up at him, his normally neutral expression instantly breaking
with a snort of laughter.
"Wow, I didn't think your hair could get anymore ridiculous, Harry," Tom said
with an irritating smile.
"What do you mean?" Harry nearly yelled. "YOU did this!"
Harry had woken up that morning to find that his hair was a disgustingly bright
purple color. After staring at his reflection in horror for several long
minutes, he'd realized just what, or who, had been responsible. With the
culprit now sitting before him and laughing, it was all Harry could do not to
strangle him to death.
"I bet you did it to yourself," Tom stated plainly. "That sounds like the kind
of idiotic thing you'd do."
"Don't try to play innocent, it doesn't suit you one bit!" Harry stalked over
to Tom. "Change it back! Now!"
Tom raised his eyebrows at him. "Sorry, Whitley, you're stuck like that. It'll
wear off in a few hours...or days."
"Days?" Harry buried his face in his hands and groaned. "You are such a pain in
the—"
Harry threw his hands up in the air in defeat and spun around, stomping out of
the room. There was no use in arguing with Tom — he'd only take smug
satisfaction out of seeing Harry riled up. Things had been like this ever since
they'd found out that they could do magic. In a lot of ways, it'd changed the
dynamic of their relationship, but not in a good way. Tom seemed to hate him
now more than ever, if that was even possible.
It'd sparked a rivalry of sorts between the two of them. The purple hair wasn't
an isolated occurrence — there'd been incidences of bugs in their morning
porridge, tea turning scalding hot while drinking it, and clothing disappearing
right off their bodies. It was like they were trying to see who could do the
absolute worst thing to the other using their magic. Tom was a complete show
off, of course, always one-upping Harry in his tireless endeavor to prove he
was better than him. Even though Harry would never admit it out loud, Tom
really was better at it than him. He could make things move and disappear at
will, while Harry only managed to do things when he was angry or upset (which
happened a lot whenever Tom was around). 
The purple hair had earned Harry a punishment of cleaning every window in the
orphanage, despite his best efforts to explain that he hadn't done it to
himself. Amy and Henry seemed to be the only ones who sympathized with him,
while the rest of the orphanage teased him mercilessly. Even wearing a hat did
nothing to hide the wild purple hair. The only thing that made him feel the
slightest bit better was imagining all of the things he'd do to Tom once he
learned more magic.
'Maybe that magical school teaches how to set people's trousers on fire. That'd
show Tom who's boss.'
After finishing what felt like the hundredth window, Harry sighed and stared
past his reflection onto the streets. It wasn't very late but it was already
getting dark due to the storm clouds rolling in. Harry frowned — he hated the
rain. He flicked his eyes up towards the sky and searched for any sign of an
owl flying towards the orphanage. Despite the amount of time that'd passed
since talking to Dumbledore, Harry still held hope that a letter would come for
him. He wasn't exactly sure where magical owls delivered mail, so he was
constantly checking out the doors and windows. He'd probably spent nearly two
hours standing outside the orphanage the other day, just staring up at the sky
and waiting. He'd gotten some rather odd stares from a few passerby. By the
third day of nothing, he was starting to wonder if the entire thing had simply
been a product of his over-active imagination.
'Maybe the owl got lost, or the headmaster decided I wasn't magical enough.'
Knowing his luck, both of those options were a distinct possibility. It seemed
like whenever things were going reasonably well in his life, something usually
happened to ruin it. Just as Harry picked up the rag to resume his work, the
window suddenly flew wide open. With a startled gasp, he tumbled right through
and landed in the bushes just outside. Looking up, Harry saw the window slam
shut of its own accord.
"Tom!"
Scrambling out of the bushes, Harry pushed on the window but found that it was
locked. Growling, he stomped up the front steps of the orphanage and pulled on
the door. His eyes widened when that wouldn't open either. After yanking on the
door with all of his might several more times, he finally gave up and started
banging on it with his fists instead.
"Tom! Open the door!"
When there was no answer, Harry kicked the door furiously. He was going to kill
Tom! The door suddenly burst open with an impressive amount of force and Harry
stared in momentary surprise before storming inside. He looked around for Tom
and spotted him sitting at the top of the stairs. There seemed to be a hint of
surprise on his face as well, as if he hadn't expected Harry to actually get
back inside.
"What is yourproblem, Tom?" Harry yelled as he stomped up the stairs. "Oh,
wait, I forgot, you're a complete psychopath!"
Tom was on his feet as soon as Harry lunged at him. Harry practically rammed
him into the wall, the force of the impact making Tom gasp. In an attempt to
wrestle Harry off of him, Tom shoved him roughly in the chest and Harry
stumbled backwards. Harry hadn't realized how close they were to the stairs
until there was suddenly no floor underneath his feet. The next couple of
seconds happened in a blur. Tom's hands shot out to grab Harry by the front of
his shirt but it wasn't enough to stop his fall, and they both went tumbling
down the stairs. There were several long moments of falling, their limbs
smacking painfully into the steps, before they finally came to a stop at the
bottom of the stairs.
The silence was stretching as they lay motionlessly on the floor. Harry refused
to open his eyes, which were clenched shut. He was breathing hard and he could
hear Tom doing the same next to him. His body hurt — his arms and legs were
throbbing terribly, as they'd taken most of the damage. He must have hit his
head at some point too, because there was sharp pain in the back of his skull
and the ground felt like it was still spinning.
'I think I'm still alive...'
When he finally dared to open his eyes, he became aware of just how close he
and Tom were lying next to each other. Tom's breath was blowing shallowly
against his face, and his hands were still tightly clenched in Harry's shirt,
as if he couldn't, or wouldn't, let go. When Harry's eyes trailed up to Tom's
face, his stomach did a sudden and painful flip. Rivulets of blood were
streaming from a huge gash on Tom's forehead. His eyes were open, but he was
blinking slowly, as if dazed.
"Tom!"
With a jolt of panic, Harry sat up, ignoring the shooting pain in his arm as he
leaned over Tom to inspect his head. Doing the only thing he could think of, he
placed a hand over the gash to slow the bleeding. He could feel the warm,
sticky fluid seeping through the cracks in his fingers. His heart was beating
so fast in his chest that he thought he was going to be sick.
"Hold on, Tom, I'll get help," Harry said in a shaky voice. Turning his head
over his shoulder, he yelled out, "PLEASE, SOMEONE HELP. TOM'S HURT!"
Turning back to Tom, Harry brought his hand away, only to see that it was
completely covered in Tom's blood. Definitely feeling sick now, Harry covered
the wound again and tried to keep from vomiting. All of the anger and hatred
he'd felt only minutes ago now seemed far away, having vanished in a whirlwind
of panic and worry. The idea of Tom dying — of Tom not being in his life
anymore — was the most terrifying prospect Harry could imagine. It was
suddenly, desperately important that Tom stayed alive. He had to.
Tom's hands never left Harry's shirt, his fingers trembling slightly as he
gripped the fabric. Harry could feel tears building up and he closed his eyes
in an attempt to squeeze them back.
'Please, please don't let him die. I know he's terrible and awful but that
doesn't mean he deserves to die. Please. Please. Please.'
When Harry felt a warmth start building underneath his palm, he opened his eyes
and looked down through the blur of tears. The warmth continued to grow in
intensity until it looked like his hand was practically glowing. Harry could
only sit and watch in shock as the bleeding started to slow. Carefully, he
brought his hand away and saw with surprise that the gash was completely
healed!
"What is — OH MY GOODNESS, WHAT HAPPENED?" Mrs. Cole nearly screamed when she
came upon the scene.
Mrs. Cole ran over to them and began frantically checking Tom over for injury.
When she found none, her concern turned to confusion.
"I don't understand where all of this blood has come from — there's not a
scratch on you, child" she said, shaking her head as she helped Tom into a
sitting position. "What on Earth happened?"
As the shock of the situation began to wear off, Harry became more aware of the
state of his own body. His wrist was throbbing in pain and there were fast-
forming bruises appearing on his arms and legs. It was obvious he'd taken quite
a beating in the fall and Tom looked to be faring about the same.
"We fell down the stairs," Harry explained.
"Fell down the stairs! Good lord, children, you weren't fighting again, were
you?" Mrs. Cole asked sharply.
"No, ma'am," Harry lied through his teeth. He glanced over to Tom, who seemed
to be purposely avoiding looking at Harry. "Tom...Tom was actually trying to
help me. I lost my balance."
"Oh, is that so? Well, that's certainly refreshing," Mrs. Cole sighed, turning
her attention to where Harry was gingerly cradling his wrist. "Let me take a
look at that wrist."
Harry winced as Mrs. Cole grabbed hold of his arm and inspected it. His wrist
looked a bit swollen and oddly shaped. "I think I landed on it."
"It appears to be broken," Mrs. Cole tutted. "Come on, dear, let's get you to
hospital."
Harry gingerly got to his feet, his body aching and protesting at the movement.
All in all, he was quite fortunate his injuries hadn't been more severe,
considering what had happened to Tom. Suddenly acutely aware of Tom's drying
blood on his hands, Harry's stomach did another turn. He tried not to think
about the fact that Tom had almost died. Harry had never felt so scared in his
life.
"Come, Tom, we'll get you looked at as well," Mrs. Cole said, holding her hand
out to the boy. Tom just took it and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.
"I still don't understand where all that blood came from. Nearly had a heart
attack when I saw the state of you."
Harry wondered what Tom was thinking in that moment. He wanted to know if Tom
had also felt the same irrational fear at being separated Harry had. It made no
sense in the context of their relationship, yet it had been a very real
feeling.
They were both quiet as Mrs. Cole lead them out the front door.
                                     xxxxx
Later that night, Harry sat up in his room, staring at the sterile white cast
that was plastered around his wrist. He'd tried several times to heal it like
he had Tom's head, but it was to no avail. He was stuck with this heavy, itchy
thing for the next few weeks. Why did it seem like the stupidest things always
happened to him? And why did 80% of those stupid things always involve Tom in
some way? Flopping his head against the pillow, Harry stared up at the ceiling
and watched the shadows move across it. It was a bit past bedtime, but he found
he was too restless to sleep. His head was still spinning with the events of
the day.
Harry was starting to wonder if maybe his and Tom's rivalry had finally gone
too far. Before, it'd only been pranks that sometimes bordered on mean, but
were still essentially harmless. This time, they'd both gotten seriously
injured. Harry felt the cruel sting of guilt when he realized the whole
incident had been his fault. Tom had played a part by bullying him, but that
didn't change the fact that he was the one who'd lost his temper and started
the fight. He was also bothered by the fact that Tom had tried to help him. He
could have easily just let Harry fall. Heck, Harry kind of wished that'd been
the case — at least then, the world would still make sense.
Scratching at the cast, Harry rolled over onto his side and stared at the wall
blankly. He didn't know how long he'd been lying there like that, but he broken
out of his reverie only when there came a tapping at the window. Blinking,
Harry saw that there was an owl sitting outside the window. He immediately sat
up. An owl! Scrambling out f bed, he released the latch on the window and
stepped back as the owl fluttered into the room. It ruffled its wings and
dropped an envelope onto Harry's desk.
With shaky hands, Harry picked it up and looked down at the writing on the
front.
Mr. H. Whitley
Bedroom 7
Wool's Orphanage
London
Turning it over, Harry looked at the wax seal on the back. It was red and had a
big letter 'H' on it. Heart twanging against his rib cage, Harry peeled open
the envelope and pulled its contents out. There were three pieces of parchment;
the first was his acceptance letter into Hogwarts, signed by Deputy Headmaster
Albus Dumbledore. The second appeared to be a list of his school requirements,
all of which sounded quite expensive — Harry had no idea how he would pay for
all of that. The last piece of parchment was also from Dumbledore — this time a
personal letter.
Dear Harry
I do hope this letter finds you well. As you can see, Headmaster Dippet has
permitted your admittance to Hogwarts. Congratulations, dear boy! There are now
a few things that I must explain to you. All of the items on your list can be
purchased in Diagon Alley. If you go to Charing Cross, London, and find the
Leaky Cauldron, the innkeeper Tom will be able to assist you in finding the
entrance to Diagon Alley.
It has come to my attention that neither you or Mr. Riddle have the means to
purchase the listed items. Fear not, Hogwarts has a fund for students who are
in need of financial assistance. I have included a voucher in this letter. Mr.
Riddle has received one of his own as well. All you need to do is take it to
Gringott's bank in Diagon Alley and present it to one of the goblins. It should
be enough to cover everything you need for the term, though you may have to buy
a few things secondhand.
I have explained all of this to Mr. Riddle as well. I offered to take him to
take him to Diagon Alley myself, but he assured me that he could manage on his
own. I figured the two of you would prefer to take the trip together. However,
if you feel you'd rather go with me, I would be more than happy to accompany
you; all you need to do is ask, my boy. If you have any further questions, do
not hesitate to contact me via owl.
Have a lovely remainder of your summer holidays.
Albus Dumbledore
Curiously, Harry checked the envelope again. Sure enough, there was a voucher
for Gringott's bank in there. At least that solved that dilemma. Now he just
had to figure out how to get to that Diagon Alley place. He was tempted to take
Dumbledore up on his offer, but if Tom felt like he could do it all on his own,
then Harry was sure he could too. Rereading his acceptance letter, Harry
noticed that it stated he had to respond by no later than 31st July. Hurriedly,
he ripped a piece of paper out of one of his notebooks and scribbled down a
reply. Folding it up, Harry turned to the owl and awkwardly held the note out
to it.
"Er...here."
When it just stared at him, Harry decided to try something else.
"Can you take this back to Dumbledore?"
That seemed to do the trick. The owl grabbed the paper in its beak and took off
out the window. Harry stood up and watched it fly off until he could no longer
see it against the inky black sky. WiIth his stomach rolling with excitement,
Harry crawled back into bed. He could hardly believe that this was all really
happening. He just hoped he didn't wake up the next day, only to discover that
this had all been a dream.
For that reason, he stayed awake the entire night.
Chapter End Notes
     Next chapter, our boys go to Diagon Alley.
***** Chapter 7 *****
"How are we even supposed to get there anyway?"
"I don't know. Walk?"
"Do you even know how to get to Charing Cross Road from here?"
"How hard could it be to figure out?"
Harry sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead to ward off the oncoming headache.
Their first day of Hogwarts would be starting soon and they'd yet to buy any of
their required materials. The main issue was finding Diagon Alley. Neither of
them had ever been there, obviously, and they weren't exactly sure how to get
to the Leaky Cauldron in the first place. Dumbledore had explained to Mrs. Cole
that they would be going to a private boarding school, but since she didn't
know it was a magical school, she wouldn't be of any help to them.
"Right, okay," Harry gave in. "Let's just get going."
The two of them made their way down the steps of the orphanage and onto the
streets. The actual last thing Harry wanted to do was take a stroll through
London with Tom, but it seemed he had no choice in the matter. Things hadn't
changed all that much between them after the fall, not that Harry had expected
them to. Tom seemed determined to pretend the whole thing hadn't happened. In
fact, Tom hadn't even thanked him for saving his life.
'I wonder if he even knows those words exist.'
It hadn't taken them long to get completely lost. Harry hadn't even realized
just how big London was until he got lost in it. They had to stop and ask a few
people how to get to Charing Cross — though Harry had made the mistake of
mentioning the Leaky Cauldron. All he received in reply were some very strange
looks. Apparently no one knew that the Leaky Cauldron existed.
"Well, that just makes things more complicated," Harry sighed.
"I've got a better plan," Tom suddenly said, causing Harry to raise his
eyebrows.
"Oh? Do enlighten me."
"Just watch."
Tom turned away from him and started searching through the crowd of people
walking past. It seemed he found what he was looking for because his eyes
landed on one person in particular. There was a stretch of silence while Tom
concentrated on something very hard. When he finally turned back to Harry, he
held out his hand to show that he was now holding a shilling's worth of
pennies. Harry's eyes widened and his mouth almost dropped open. He'd never
seen that much money in his life.
"You stole that?" he said more like an accusation than a question.
"The man was quite wealthy, he won't miss it," Tom responded dismissively.
"How do you know he was rich?" Harry asked incredulously.
"The way he was dressed," Tom explained. "We're going to take the bus."
"You did not need to steal twelve pennies to take the bus." Harry crossed his
arms (a task made quite difficult due to his cast).
"Oh, don't get so worked up," Tom said, jingling the pennies in his hand. "I'm
willing to split it with you."
Harry hesitated for a moment. The most money he'd ever had in his possession
was a penny that he'd found on the ground once. Tom was offering him half a
shilling,and that could honestly buy a fair bit. The idea was horribly
tempting, but after a great deal of agonizing, Harry just shook his head.
"No, thanks. You can keep it."
"Suit yourself." Tom pocketed the coins. "Come on."
The pair of them wandered around until they found a bus stop to wait at. There
was already a crowd of adults standing there, but they barely paid any mind to
the two children. Considering it was his first time taking the bus, Harry felt
a little nervous and excited at the same time. He kind of felt like a grown
adult navigating the big city alone. Well, he wasn't entirely alone, but Tom
didn't count.
The bus arrived a few minutes later, and the boys scrambled aboard with the
group of adults. Tom gave the driver a couple of pennies and they proceeded to
sit down near the back. Harry instantly pressed his face to the window and
watched with intrigue as the bus started moving again. He'd never seen this
much of London before, and he couldn't believe how many buildings and shops
there were. For a city he'd lived in his entire life, it was strange to realize
just how little of it he'd actuallyseen.
When the bus jostled over something bumpy, Harry's forehead smacked into the
window and he nearly toppled right out of his seat. Hearing a faint snort from
beside him, Harry righted himself and turned to look at Tom. His eyes were set
forward, but Harry could make out the faintest smile at the corners of his
lips. He honestly couldn't tell if it were genuine or mocking. Either way,
Harry just huffed and stared back out the window.
The bus rolled to a stop at their destination several minutes later and the
boys climbed off. They were nearly mowed down by a stream of passerby, so they
immediately started walking to join the flow of traffic. Harry stared up with
wide-eyed interest at all of the shops they walked past. Part of him wanted to
go inside and check out a few of them, but he was more eager to get to Diagon
Alley.
It took a bit of searching but they eventually came across a little pub that no
one seemed to be going into. Looking up at a creaky sign swaying in the breeze,
Harry saw that it read 'The Leaky Cauldron.'
"This must be it," he said, pointing up at the sign. "I wonder why no one is
going in there?"
"Other than the fact that it's a dirty, dingy little pub?" Tom arched a brow.
"I'm going to assume something to do with magic."
"Oh, right." Harry rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "I keep forgetting
about that."
"Come on, let's just go inside," Tom said, pushing the door open and stepping
inside.
Harry walked in after him. The place was nothing like he'd expected. With its
dark atmosphere and dingy appearance, it didn't look very magical. Nonetheless,
there was a warm, welcoming fire cracking in the fireplace and the scent of
wholesome food lingered in the air. A couple of odd looking people turned to
stare at them as they walked in, but otherwise no one paid attention to them.
"What do we do now?" Harry asked in confusion.
"Dumbledore said to ask for a man named Tom," Tom said. Harry didn't miss the
slight look of disgust the name brought to Tom's face.
"What? Don't even like your own name?" Harry teased.
"It's a plain, common name," Tom replied bluntly.
Harry rolled his eyes. "God forbid his highness be plain or common in any way."
Tom just shoved past him and walked up to the bar. Harry rolled his eyes and
followed after him.
"How may I help you, young sirs?" a man from behind the bar greeted them.
"Are you Tom?" Tom asked, sounding polite and well-mannered despite having
literally insulted the name not ten seconds ago.
"Why, yes I am!" the man, Tom, replied cheerfully. He looked between the pair
of them curiously. "Hogwarts first years, I presume?"
"Yes, sir." Harry nodded. "We're trying to uh...well, we're trying to get
into—"
"Diagon Alley?" the innkeeper finished kindly.
"Yes," Harry said with a slight flush. He had to admit he definitely wasn't as
eloquent as Tom was.
"Right, right, follow me." The innkeeper ushered them across the pub.
Harry and Tom just glanced to each other before following behind the innkeeper.
He lead them to a door that opened up into a backyard behind the pub. Harry
looked around in confusion when they came to a stop in front of a brick wall.
There was no where else to go. Surely he'd taken them out the wrong door?
"Here, watch carefully," Tom the innkeeper said, pulling out a long, wooden
stick from his pocket. Harry assumed that must be a wand, considering they'd
been mentioned on his list of school requirements.
The two boys watched intently as the innkeeper tapped his wand against a rather
specific brick. Their eyes widened when the wall started to give way to a large
archway. They were greeted with the tumultuous sound of chattering voices and
people bustling through the vibrant alley. Harry hardly dared to believe his
eyes.
"Welcome to Diagon Alley, boys," Tom announced with a smile.
Stepping through the archway, Harry and Tom were immediately swept up in the
commotion. Harry honestly didn't know where to look first. Every shop displayed
unusual items that Harry had never even heard of before, let alone seen. Even
the people were strange and interesting to look at. Many of them were wearing
very odd, very colorful garments and strange, pointed hats. Some of them didn't
even look entirely human.
One glance at Tom told Harry that he was also a bit overwhelmed by their
peculiar surroundings. There was the occasional note of surprise on his
normally impassive, hard-to-read face. Harry found that he enjoyed seeing Tom
express interest like a normal kid — it made him more relatable. 
"I s'pose we should get money first," Harry said, still looking around. "I
wonder where the bank is."
"Maybe there," Tom responded, pointing to a large, white building in the
distance. It was easily the biggest and most noticeable building in the entire
alley.
The pair of them wound their way through the crowd, and Harry had to
concentrate on not getting separated from Tom. It wouldn't have been the worst
thing in the world to happen, but he figured he'd much rather explore a new
place with someone he knew (even if it was Tom) than go it alone. When they
finally made it to their destination, they found that their assumptions had
been correct. The sign outside the building read 'Gringotts Bank.' Walking up
the marble steps, Harry's eyes widened slightly when he saw a pair of strange
creatures guarding the large, bronze doors.
'They must be the goblins Dumbledore had mentioned in his letter.'
Feeling slightly nervous, Harry followed Tom past the guards and through the
front doors. They opened up into a grand marble hall with numerous counters
stretching along the entire length of the room. Completely awestruck by his
surroundings, Harry failed to notice when Tom stopped walking until he slammed
right into his back. Stumbling away, he flushed at the glare Tom shot at him.
He grinned sheepishly. "Sorry."
Tom just turned away from him and stepped up to one of the counters. The goblin
behind it looked up from a book it'd been writing in and gave the pair of them
a rather penetrating stare.
"How may I help you?" he asked gruffly, giving Harry the impression he wasn't
very friendly.
"We're here to withdraw some money from the Hogwarts school fund," Tom answered
in a rather business-like tone. "We were told you would be able to assist us."
"Do you have your vouchers?" the goblin asked, setting down a large-feathered
quill and holding his hand out.
Harry and Tom both presented their vouchers. The goblin inspected them rather
closely before disappearing through a door directly behind him. Forced to wait
in awkward silence, Harry allowed his attention to wander around the room
again. He was still trying to wrap his head around the existence of goblins.
Goblins that worked in banks. He wondered what other bizarre things he was
going to discover in the magical world. When the goblin finally returned, Harry
snapped attention back over to him.
"Fifteen galleons each," the goblin said, handing Tom and Harry both a little
pouch.
Harry immediately opened his and took a look inside. To his delight, there were
several large, gold coins resting at the bottom. If he'd thought the twelve
pennies had been a lot of money, he was certain this was a lot more.
"Thank you," Tom said courteously.
'Oh, so hedoesknow those words exist,' Harry thought in amazement.
The goblin gave a curt nod in response and returned to his work. The two boys
proceeded to walk back out of the bank, the galleons jingling merrily in their
little pouches.
"What should we buy first?" Harry asked as he pulled out the list of
requirements from his pocket.
"Let's get our wands," Tom said without hesitation.
Harry brightened up instantly. "Good idea."
Owning a wand was one of the things Harry had been most looking forward to, and
it seemed Tom felt the same way. It'd mean they'd be official wizards and could
start doingreal magic. With excitement, they made their way down the steps of
the bank and back into the throng of people. Considering just how many shops
there were, it took several minutes to find one that sold wands. Upon walking
inside, they saw that the place was quite dusty and disorderly, with hundreds
upon hundreds of boxes piled on the shelves.
"Good evening," a man greeted from behind the front desk, his pale, silvery
eyes settling on the children. "Hogwarts first years?"
"Yes," Harry nodded, feeling a touch uncomfortable with those strange eyes
locked on him. "We need our wands."
"Well, you've come to the right place," the man announced. "I am Mr.
Ollivander, and you will find no finer wands anywhere else."
"I'm Harry Whitley and this is Tom Riddle," Harry introduced a little
awkwardly.
"Indeed." Ollivander's curious gaze remained on Harry a bit longer, before he
gestured towards a spindly chair in the corner of the room. "Go on, have a seat
while I take care of Mr. Riddle first."
Harry nodded and took a seat on the chair. He watched as Mr. Ollivander started
taking Tom's measurements; or rather, as the tape measure took Tom's
measurements byitself. Harry had to keep from giggling when it started
measuring between Tom's eyes and nostrils. Surely the distance between ones
eyes had nothing to do with wands? He had a feeling magic was going to be doing
really odd things a lot.
When the tape measure was finished, it rolled itself up and dropped to the
floor. Only moments later, Ollivander returned from the back of the room,
several boxes piled in his arms. He opened up the first box and handed Tom the
wand from inside. Leaning forward in his seat, Harry watched with interest to
see what would happen. However, to his surprise, Ollivander almost immediately
snatched the wand back. Something must've been wrong with it, but Harry
couldn't figure out what. Tom was given a new wand, but just like the first
one, it too was quickly taken away. It went on like that for a little while
longer until— 
"13 1/2 inches, yew, Phoenix feather," Ollivander said, handing Tom one last
wand.
Finally, this one seemed to have the desire reaction. Tom's eyes widened and
Mr. Ollivander clapped his hands together cheerfully.
"What happened?" Harry asked curiously.
"The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Whitley," Ollivander said, turning to look at
Harry. "And it seems Mr. Riddle has found his match."
When it was Harry's turn, he and Tom traded places. While Harry was being
measured, Ollivander started picking out several boxes from the shelves. Harry
took the first wand handed to him, but just as it'd been with Tom, it was
immediately plucked from hand again. The same thing happened with next one, and
the one after it. It went on like that for what felt like an eternity. After
the ten minute mark, Harry was beginning to wonder if any of the wands would
choose him.
"Hmm, a very difficult customer, I see," Ollivander observed, eyes turning to
Tom once more. "I wonder..."
As if getting a sudden idea, the man turned and disappeared into the back of
his shop for a few moments. When he returned, he was holding another box.
Taking the wand out from it, he held it out to Harry. "11 inches, holly,
Phoenix feather. Very unusual combination of wood and core, but let's give it a
try."
Harry noticed that Ollivander was watching him rather closely as he took the
wand. As soon as Harry's fingers closed around it, a warm, tingling sensation
traveled all the way up the length of his arm. Somehow, knew in that instant,
he'd formed a very strong, very personal connection with this wand.
"Wow," he said, staring at the wand with wide eyes.
"Interesting," Ollivander said, glancing between Tom and Harry. "Very
interesting."
"What's interesting?" Harry asked, confused.
"You see, Mr. Whitley, the feather in your wand belonged to a phoenix that gave
only one other feather," Ollivander explained softly, "and that feather just so
happens to be in Mr. Riddle's wand."
Harry couldn't quite comprehend what the wand-maker was telling him. "Does that
mean anything?"
"It means you and Mr. Riddle share brother wands," Ollivander said. "Perhaps
you have a connection of sorts."
Frowning, Harry turned to look at Tom. The other boy also seemed to be in deep
contemplation over what Ollivander had told them. Harry thought about his
ability to read Tom's mind and the way he often felt drawn to him in a very
weird way. It was obvious that they did share some sort of connection, but he
had no idea what that meant or why that would be. He couldn't imagine a single
reason why he'd have a connection with Tom Riddle of all people. They were
exact opposites in almost every regard and hated each other to boot. Deciding
it was best not to mention any of that to Ollivander, Harry just shrugged his
shoulders.
"Well," Mr. Ollivander said, taking Harry's wand from his hand and packaging it
up for him. "That'll be five galleons each."
Harry and Tom paid for their wands and left the shop. Tom didn't say a thing to
Harry on the way out. In fact, he seemed rather angry about something. There
was a deep scowl on his face and he was walking so fast that Harry had to jog
to keep up with the taller boy's long strides. It was almost as if Tom was
purposely trying to lose him.
"Why are you walking so fast?" Harry puffed after him. "Slow down!"
Tom didn't respond or acknowledge him in any way. In his attempts to weave
through the crowd, Harry ended up getting knocked over and went sprawling onto
the ground. Mumbling his apologies, Harry hurriedly gathered up his fallen
purchases and scrambled to his feet. Craning his head, Harry tried to look
through the crowd of people, but he couldn't spot Tom anywhere. Realizing he
was now utterly alone, Harry let out a sigh. If Tom wanted to have a tantrum
and go off to God-Knows-Where, then good riddance.
Continuing down the alley, Harry made a couple more stops, as he still needed a
few things off his list. He bought a very used but still sturdy cauldron at a
cauldron shop, and some glass phials from a wizarding supply shop. After
wandering around aimlessly for a while, he eventually stumbled across a place
that sold secondhand robes. The robes weren't nearly as nice as some of the
ones he'd seen at Madam Malkin's, but they would have to do. As he was waiting
for his purchases, he noticed another kid standing off to the side — probably
also waiting for robes. The first thing Harry took in about him was his rather
shocking head of red hair. He was also taller than Harry by a couple of inches,
but his warm, brown eyes suggested he was of the friendly sort.
"Are you going to Hogwarts too?" Harry asked, deciding to strike up a
conversation.
The boy looked at him and then nodded. "Yes, I'm a third year. You?"
"This is my first year," Harry replied with a smile. "My name's Harry Whitley."
"Septimus Weasley," the boy replied, sticking out a hand. "Nice to meet you."
"Same for you," Harry said, taking the hand and giving it a slight shake.
"Neat scar, by the way," Septiums indicated towards Harry's forehead. "How'd
you get it?"
"I have no idea," Harry replied, touching his fingers to his scar. "I've had it
forever."
"It kind of looks like a curse scar," Septimus said thoughtfully.
Harry gave him an odd look. "Curse scar?"
"A scar created by a magical curse." Septimus nodded. "I've seen a few before,
but never one quite like that."
"Well, I don't think I was ever cursed," Harry said, furrowing his brows. "I
can't remember, anyway."
"I could be wrong, I'm definitely no expert." Septimus shrugged. "So, do you
have any idea what house you'll be in?"
"House?" Harry repeated in confusion.
"You know, the school houses," Septimus explained, then stared at him
curiously. "Are you a muggleborn?"
"Muggleborn?" Harry repeated again, slightly embarrassed by how stupid he must
look right now.
"A wizard with non-magic parents," Septimus clarified helpfully.
"Oh." Harry blinked, having not put much thought into his heritage. "I...don't
know. I never knew my parents. They abandoned me when I was a baby."
"I'm sorry to hear that," Septimus said with genuine sympathy. "I do hope you
end up in Gryffindor, though. That's the house I'm in."
Harry could hardly keep up with the slew of strange information Septimus was
throwing at him. Muggleborn. Gryffindor. It all sounded like mumbo-jumbo to
him. Judging by the context of the conversation, he could only assume
Gryffindor was one of the school houses, but he had no idea what else being a
Gryffindor implied.
Harry rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm not sure what house I'll be in."
"Well, you certainly don't seem like a Slytherin at least," Septimus said with
a smile. "They tend to be a really unsavory, arrogant bunch of people."
"I'll try to remember that," Harry chuckled. 
He decided that he rather liked Septimus. He was definitely a lot better
company than Tom was. There was just something very warm and inviting about him
that made him enjoyable to be around.
"So, are you here alone, then?" Septimus asked as they retrieved their robes
and paid the lady at the front.
"Well, I was with someone," Harry said, frowning, "but he kind of ditched me."
"Friend?" Septimus asked curiously, opening the door to let Harry out.
"Not really," Harry laughed, finding the idea absurd. "He kind of hates my
guts, and I'm not too fond of him either."
"Well, you can finish your shopping with me," Septimus offered. "I can show you
where to get everything, if you like."
"That'd be great, thank you," Harry said, feeling relieved. "I've done almost
nothing but get lost here."
"I'm surprised you've done as well as you have by yourself," Septimus chuckled
at him. "What's next on your list?"
Harry glanced down at the parchment in his hand. "Books."
"Come on, I'll show you a really good place to get cheap, secondhand books,"
Septimus said, taking Harry's wrist and leading him down the alley.
Harry followed after him, a million questions roaming his mind. "So what are
the other houses besides Gryffindor and Slytherin?"
Septimus paused outside the door to the bookshop. "Well, there's Ravenclaw —
that's where all the intelligent, studious kids go," he said, opening the door
for Harry. "Then there's Hufflepuff. They're known for their loyalty, but most
consider them complete pushovers."
"What are Gryffindors known for?" Harry asked as they entered the shop.
"Bravery, mostly."
"So, Gryffindors are brave, Hufflepuffs are loyal, Ravenclaws are smart, and
Slytherins are arseholes?" Harry asked, wanting to make sure he got that right.
Septimus burst out laughing. "You definitely hit the nail on the head with that
last one."
"I think I know which house Tom is going into," Harry snickered.
"Tom?" Septimus raised a brow. "Is that the boy who left you?"
"Yes." Harry nodded. "We live at the same orphanage."
"Sounds like a rough life," Septimus said sympathetically. "If it helps any, my
family is really poor too."
"I suppose." Harry shrugged. "It's not so bad most of the time. It's just Tom
who makes it awful."
"Well, at least you'll be able to get away from him at Hogwarts," Septimus
pointed out kindly. "Now, let's see what books you need."
They spent the next several minutes searching through the shelves of secondhand
books. Most of them had seen better days, and considering Harry had very little
money left, he had to settle for some of the most tattered ones there. The ones
that Septimus picked out weren't in much better shape. The older boy hadn't
been kidding when he'd said his family was poor. After they made their
purchases, Harry continued browsing for a little while longer, wanting to take
in as much about the magical world as possible.
When they came across a book full of creative prank spells, Harry and Septimus
took it to a secluded corner of the shop and sat down to flip through it
together. They joked about which spells they'd like to learn and who they'd use
it on. Of course, for Harry, it was Tom 95% of the time.
"Oh, I'd just love to get Tom back for turning my hair purple with this one,"
Harry said as he read over a spell that turned a person's skin purple with
orange spots.
"He turned your hair purple?" Septimus asked, raising his eyebrows. There was a
moment where he stared at Harry as if imagining this, and then burst out
laughing. "That's impressive."
"Don't laugh!" Harry said, swatting Septimus on the shoulder with the book.
"You're supposed to be on my side."
"I am, I am," Septimus snickered. "But, I mean...come on...purple hair."
Septimus's laugh was infectious and Harry found himself laughing along with
him. "I suppose it was kind of funny."
Their laughter was cut short when a hand suddenly grabbed Harry by the arm and
started dragging him across the shop. Looking up, Harry was surprised to see
that it was Tom.
"Tom?" Harry asked, completely bewildered.
"It's time to go," Tom said without a hint of emotion.
Looking over his shoulder, Harry saw that Septimus was staring after him
questioningly. He barely managed to give him a smile and wave goodbye before he
was pulled out of the shop. Annoyed, Harry forcefully wrenched his arm free
from Tom's grasp.
"If you're quite done manhandling me," Harry said, glaring at Tom. "Care to
tell me what that was all about?"
Tom didn't say anything. Sighing, Harry followed silently as Tom lead them back
through the Leaky Cauldron and onto the streets of London. It almost felt
strange to enter the 'normal' world again. After experiencing the eclectic,
energetic atmosphere of the magical world, everything else felt surreal.
The sun was already starting to go down, so the boys knew they needed to get
back to the orphanage quickly. Mrs. Cole had always been rather strict with
their curfew and punishments for breaking it were never pleasant. Harry also
didn't want to miss tea. He'd gone all day without eating and his stomach was
starting to make strange, gurgling noises. It was only made worse by all of the
tantalizing smells coming from the many restaurants and bakeries that lined the
street. When his stomach made a noise that sounded a bit like an angry cat, Tom
gave him an odd look and Harry flushed in embarrassment. Tom came to a sudden
stop, and Harry had to actively avoid colliding with him again.
"Wait here," Tom said before disappearing into a shop.
Harry watched him go with confusion, but decided to take a seat against the
wall of the shop. His legs were quite tired from walking around all day, and
his energy was low from lack of food. Tom emerged from the shop a few minutes
later, holding a little paper bag in his hand. To Harry's surprise, Tom sat
down on the ground next to him and handed him the bag. Peeking inside, Harry
saw that there was a sticky, still steaming pastry sitting at the bottom. He
practically drooled at the smell of it.
Feeling unsure, Harry turned back to Tom and noticed that he was pointedly
keeping his gaze set forward. Harry was definitely at a loss, seeing as it was
quite unlike Tom to do anything remotely nice for him. Taking the pastry out of
the bag, Harry cautiously brought it to his mouth, keeping his eyes on Tom the
entire time. However, just before taking a bite, he suddenly paused, a
different thought occurring to him. Turning to Tom, Harry carefully broke the
pastry in half and handed him the larger piece.
Tom stared down at it strangely. The look on his face said it all — he wasn't
used to people doing kind things for him either. Harry just continued to hold
it out until Tom finally took it, albeit a bit warily. Too hungry to wait any
longer, Harry bit into his and closed his eyes at the rush of flavor. It'd been
so long since he'd last had anything so fresh and good. He practically devoured
it in thirty seconds flat, not even caring that he'd gotten jam all over his
chin and fingers in the process.
Looking over to Tom again, Harry noticed he was taking smaller, more sensible
bites — as if he was savoring every last bit of it. Harry just smiled and sat
there quietly with him, watching the sun sink lower on the horizon.
***** Chapter 8 *****
The corridors were lit only by the flickering flames in the torches. It was
silent save for his footsteps echoing off the dark, empty walls. His prefect's
badge glistened in the dim lighting and his dark robes rustled in still
quietness of the halls. It was the middle of the night and he was the only soul
wandering the castle. Or, he should have been.
When he rounded the corner, there was another boy standing in the corridor. He
was greeted with a beautiful smile and a pair of brilliant pair of green eyes.
All of the breath left his lungs and his heart gave a single, painful thump. He
couldn't remember a time when those eyes hadn't incited a similar reaction out
of him. The sensation reminded him of falling. Approaching the boy, he took his
face into his hands.
"Were you waiting for me?"
The boy breathed in deeply, green eyes meeting his own. "Maybe."
"Breaking the rules as usual, I see."
He closed the remaining gap between the two of them and pressed their lips
together...
Gasping, Harry suddenly hit the ground hard and his eyes flew open. Slowly
coming out of the fog of sleep, he stared up at the ceiling for several long
minutes. A strange ache started growing in the center of his chest, and the
more he recalled what'd occurred in the dream, the more the ache grew. It felt
familiar somehow, like the dream had been a memory, something lost long ago,
but he knew that wasn't possible. He'd never kissed anyone in his life.
His cheeks started to burn when he recalled the kiss — especially considering
the boy he'd been kissing had looked an awful lot like himself. That was just
too bizarre too fully comprehend.
"What are you doing now?"
Harry snapped his eyes over to the door, where he saw Tom standing with his
eyebrows raised quizzically. It was only then that Harry realized he was still
lying on the floor, completely tangled up in his blankets. Harry hurriedly
sorted himself out and tossed the blankets back onto the bed.
"May I help you with something?" Harry grumbled, straightening his pyjamas.
"Honestly, it looked like you were the one that needed help," Tom responded,
walking into Harry's room.
Harry sighed heavily. "Please, do come in, make yourself at home."
"So, why exactly were you on the floor?" Tom asked, ignoring Harry's obvious
displeasure at his presence.
Rolling his eyes, Harry started to make his bed up. "Oh, I don't know. That bit
of floor just looked extra comfortable."
"Or maybe you were having some rather interesting dreams," Tom stated.
Harry turned around and met Tom's gaze evenly. He'd originally intended to tell
him to 'shut up' or 'mind his own business' but then he suddenly got a very
different idea.
"Well, now that you mention it," he started, "what's it mean when you dream
about kissing yourself?"
The reaction was better than anticipated. Tom's eyes widened slightly and a
very prominent flush crept over his cheeks. Harry had to press his lips
together to keep from laughing. He hadn't meant to fluster him that much. He
couldn't deny that he was enjoying it nonetheless.
After a couple of moments, Tom managed to regain his composure. "You had a
dream you kissed yourself?"
Harry was the one blushing now. "Is that weird?"
Tom regarded him shrewdly. "I just never pegged you to be a narcissist."
"And why's that?" Harry crossed his arms.
"It's quite obvious that you don't care that much about your appearance," Tom
replied, gesturing towards Harry pointedly.
"I care about it plenty!" Harry defended, making a valiant, but futile, attempt
at flattening his hair.
"Harry, all the magic in the world couldn't tame your hair."
Reaching out, Tom idly plucked at one of the wayward strands sticking out from
the back of Harry's head. The unexpected physical contact had Harry's heart
doing barrel rolls in his chest. As if suddenly realizing what they were doing,
Tom snapped his hand back and the two of them jumped away from each other.
Cheeks aflame, Harry kept his eyes trained on anything but Tom. He could
practically feel Tom glaring at him, as if the situation was somehow hisfault.
"Harry, it's time for—oh."
Harry turned and saw Amy stopped dead in the doorway. She looked at Tom in
confusion and then turned to Harry questioningly. She most likely thought Tom
was harassing Harry or doing something horrible to him again. Normally, that
would be the case, but Harry just gave her a reassuring smile.
"Um...right, well, breakfast is ready," Amy said, still sending wary glances in
Tom's direction.
"Thanks, Amy, I'll be right down," Harry replied.
Amy started to leave but paused again. "Oh, by the way, Harry, I was wondering
if—"
She never finished her sentence due to the dark look Tom was giving her. All
the color drained from her face and she quickly backed out of the room; Harry
could hear her practically running down the hall. Sighing, he threw Tom a look
of exasperation. At this rate, he wasn't going to have any friends left in the
orphanage — which was probably Tom's goal, anyway.
"You can leave now, too," Harry said to Tom, pointing to the door. "I need to
get dressed."
Tom didn't say anything, just turned and left the room. Harry slammed the door
after him and quickly changed into his day clothing. By the time he'd made it
downstairs, everyone else had already gathered in the dining room. He groaned
when he saw that the only seat left at the table was the one next to Tom. That
was usually how it was — no one liked being the last one to meals because it
usually meant sitting next to Tom.
Plopping down, Harry scowled and kept a look of discontent on his face
throughout the entirety of breakfast. Henry and Amy were obviously trying their
hardest not to laugh at him. Harry just shot them a glare and started shoveling
porridge into his mouth at breakneck speed. It was the only way to ensure Tom
didn't do anything to his food.
Just as he was finishing up, Mrs. Cole walked into the dining room and started
listing off their designated chores for the day.
"Harry and Tom, you'll be mopping the floors."
Harry nearly choked on his spoon.
Mrs. Cole gave him a stern look. "No arguing, you hear me?"
Nodding, Harry spared a glance over at Tom. The bastard didn't appear affected
by the idea of working together one way or another. Harry, on the other hand,
was dreading it. He was already envisioning all the horrible ways Tom was going
to try to get him into trouble.
Everyone finished eating and then dispersed to start on their respective
chores. Harry and Tom went off to grab a pair of mops and filled a large bucket
with soapy water. They started in the dining room and moved their way out into
the halls. For the most part, Harry worked with his back to Tom. He figured if
he didn't look at him, he could create the illusion that he wasn't actually
there. It was pointless, though, as it was almost impossible to ignore Tom. The
other wasn't even doing anything, yet Harry was hyper aware of every single one
of Tom's movements, thoughts, breaths.
It was infuriating.
"What did that mop ever did to you?"
Harry blinked and snapped out of his annoyed daze of thoughts.
"Huh?"
Tom pointed to Harry's mop and Harry looked down. He'd literally been mopping
the floor so hard that pieces of string were starting to come off the mop.
"Oops." He eased up the pressure a bit. "I seem to be destroying things a lot
lately."
"You can't help that you're a brute, remember?" Tom responded.
Harry opened his mouth, a heated reply at the tip of his tongue. However, one
look at Tom had him faltering. There, at one corner of the other boy's lips,
was the faintest of smiles. Harry was stunned — Tom had justteased him, but not
in a malicious way. If Harry hadn't known better, he would have thought there'd
been a hint of fondness behind Tom's words. 
They finished up the remainder of their chores in silence. Surprisingly, Tom
hadn't tried to bully or harass him in any way for the rest of the morning.
After putting away the mops and bucket, they headed upstairs and parted ways to
their rooms. Harry flopped face first onto his bed and let out a heavy sigh
into his pillow. Closing his eyes, his thoughts started drifting back to the
dream he'd had the previous night. For some reason, he couldn't get the images
out of his mind. It'd meant absolutely nothing, of course, but all the same,
it'd felt so real. 
Rusty bed springs creaking under him, Harry rolled onto his side and tried to
focus his attention on something else. It was summertime, which meant he didn't
have any studying or homework to do. He didn't even have any of his Hogwarts
books to read because, thanks to Tom, he'd accidentally left them in Diagon
Alley. He wasn't looking forward to explaining that to his Hogwarts teachers.
'Why is Tom always messing up my life?'
Getting an idea, Harry sat up and hopped off his bed. He strode out of his room
and down the hall. He rather unceremoniously barged into Tom's room and spotted
him sitting at his desk. It appeared he was in the middle of studying, with
numerous books and parchment paper laid out in front of him. He was using a
white feathered quill to write with.
Tom looked over at him. "Yes?"
"I was wondering if I could borrow your books," Harry said without hesitation.
"And why would I let you do that?" 
"Because, it's your fault I don't have any of my books," Harry retorted, "and I
don't want to be the only one who doesn't know a single thing when we get
there."
"That's will probably be the case regardless," Tom said, dipping his quill into
the pot of ink. "I don't think a few days of reading will change that."
"You know, I'm not as stupid as you seem to think." Harry crossed his arms.
"Come on, you owe me."
Tom stared at him for several moments, his expression unwavering and difficult
to read. Harry just stood his ground and stared right back. Finally, Tom seemed
to give in; he set his quill down and picked up a couple of books from the pile
on his desk.
"You're not to leave my room with these," he said as he handed them over. "You
will read them here."
Harry's eyes narrowed. "What, why?"
"What was it you said earlier?" Tom said. "Something about you destroying
things a lot lately?"
Harry opened his mouth to make a retort, but then decided against it. "Alright,
you have a point."
Taking the books, Harry walked over to Tom's bed and sat down. He tried not to
think about how bizarre it was that he was basically having a study session in
Tom's room. Picking up the first book in the stack, Harry glanced at the title
and saw that it was about potions. He flipped it open and began to read. To his
surprise, he saw that Tom had already made dozens of notions in the margins of
the pages. It was hard to believe the other boy had already gone through so
much in such a short amount of time. Harry had barely read the first couple of
paragraphs before he'd gotten completely lost.
"Tom, what's a bezoar?" 
"It's a stone taken from the stomach of a goat," Tom answered, not even looking
up from whatever he was writing. "It acts as an antidote for most poisons."
"Oh." Harry made a slight face. "That's kind of gross."
"That's nothing," Tom said, glancing at him. "Wait until you get to the
flobberworm mucus."
Harry scrunched his nose. "You're joking."
Tom gave him a look that indicated he very much wasn't joking. Harry grimaced
and picked the book back up.
A comfortable silence settled over them as they resumed their work. With the
help of Tom's notations, Harry eventually worked his way through the first few
chapters of the potion's text. He had occasionally stopped to ask Tom
questions, and surprisingly, the other boy hadn't minded all that much. Tom had
even shared his notes on the Forgetfulness and Wideye potions. Harry wouldn't
have been surprised if it was just Tom's way of showing off how much smarter he
was, but Harry didn't care — he was just glad Tom wasn't treating him horribly
for once. He could be oddly pleasant to be around when he wanted to be.
Yet, while Tom had the capacity to pour over books for hours on end, Harry's
focus eventually started to wane. On the paper he should have been writing
notes, he started to doodling badly drawn stick figures. To further master his
procrastination skills, he turned each drawing into finely crafted paper
airplanes.
His attempts at making one fly had only ended with it bouncing off Tom's head
and landing on his desk. Harry's eyes widened and he hurriedly picked up a book
to shield himself from the murderous glare Tom was sending him. It also
reallydidn't help that the airplane was made from a stick figure drawing of
Tom. The body was too skinny, the head too large and the eyes too lopsided. He
could have played it off as a drawing of someone else, if it hadn't been for
the the fact he'd written 'TOM' in huge letters at the top. Tom's eyebrows had
practically flown up into his fringe when he'd seen it.
"Art is definitely not one of your talents," he commented, crumbling up the
paper and tossing it.
"Tom! I worked hours on that!" Harry frowned.
Tom picked his quill back up. "Clearly."
Harry suddenly had the very childish urge to stick his tongue out at Tom, but
managed to refrain from doing so. Flopping back onto the bed, he picked up a
book and flipped it open to a random page.
He must have fallen asleep at some point, because the next thing he knew, he
was being woken up by a repetitive tapping sound. Sitting bolt right, a book
flopped off his face and he looked around, still half asleep and disoriented.
The tapping came again and Harry whirled around, surprised to see a black owl
hovering just outside the window.
Tom stood from his desk and walked over to the window to let the owl in. It
fluttered into the room and dropped a parcel and envelope onto Tom's bed. 
Harry watched curiously as Tom picked up the envelope and inspected it. The
boy's eyes then narrowed and he thrust the envelope into Harry's hands.
Blinking, Harry took it and saw that, sure enough, it had his name written on
the front. Wondering who could be writing to him, Harry quickly ripped it open
and took the letter out.
Dear Harry
How are you?
I hope you don't mind that I took the liberty of sending your books to you. I
noticed that you left them at the bookshop the other day. You don't want to
show up to Hogwarts without them, trust me.
How's things at the orphanage? I hope that Tom fellow isn't giving you too much
trouble. You weren't kidding about him. I encountered him for all of five
seconds and I could tell he wasn't the pleasant sort.
I told Aegis to wait in case you wanted to send a letter back. I sort of got
the feeling you didn't have an owl of your own. I imagine it can get kind of
dull living at an orphanage, especially with people like Tom as your only
company. That's why I've taken it upon myself to be your pen pal for the
remainder of the summer.
School's starting soon. Are you excited? Nervous? If you have any questions,
feel free to ask me.
Do write me back, I could use the company myself.
Your friend,
Septimus.
By the time Harry reached the end of the letter, he was grinning from ear to
ear. Picking up the parcel that'd come with the letter, he ripped the paper off
and saw that they were indeed the books he'd bought in Diagon Alley. He
suddenly felt eternally grateful towards Septimus. He hadn't known what he
would have done without his books; he certainly didn't have the money to buy
more, nor could he have continued to borrow Tom's forever. Harry would have to
write Septimus a letter back, thanking him.
"Now that you have your own books, you can leave."
Harry looked up. Tom was sitting back at his desk, quill in hand as he appeared
to be copying something from one of his books. His disposition was unnervingly
apathetic — almost cold — and he wouldn't even look at Harry. The sudden change
in mood made Harry's stomach sink.
"But, Tom—"
"I said leave."
Harry had to duck as one of his textbooks suddenly went flying across the room,
just barely missing his head. He heard it land in the hallway with a loud thud.
Eyes wide, Harry stared at Tom for several moments in shock. He couldn't
understand why Tom was suddenly acting this way — but then he remembered this
was how Tom always acted. Mean. Cruel. Hateful.
Gritting his teeth, Harry gathered his things up and made to leave. 
"You know, for a minute there, I had almost liked you," he shot at Tom's back.
The other boy didn't even pause his writing. 
Exiting Tom's room, Harry made sure to pick up the book from the hall before
heading back to his own room. Once inside, he tossed the books onto his desk
and threw himself onto his bed. Burying his face into his pillow, he stupidly
felt tears prickling at the back of his eyes and he didn't know why. The last
time Tom had made him cry was when he'd burned his stuffed dog. It hadn't been
over something dumb like ignoring him and being his usual horrible self.
At the sound of wings fluttering, Harry lifted his head from the pillow and saw
Aegis perched on the edge of his desk. Remembering that he needed to write back
to Septimus, Harry pushed himself up off the bed. Going over to his desk, he
pulled out a piece of paper.
Aegis gave him an affectionate peck on the hand as Harry picked up a pencil and
began writing.
Dear Septimus
I'm doing alright, how are you?
Actually, that's a lie. Tom's being a real jerk, but I suppose that's not
surprising is it? It's really weird because he was actually almost nice to me
today, but then he suddenly had a massive mood swing and decided he hated me
again. I don't understand him at all. He gives me a headache.
Anyway, thank you so much for sending me my books. I honestly do not want to
imagine what would have happened if I'd shown up the first day without them!
That sounds like an absolute nightmare! Tom let me use his books for a bit.
There's so much more to magic than I thought there'd be. I already feel
overwhelmed.
I really hope I end up in the same house as you. It'd be nice to be with at
least one friend.
Write back soon.
Harry
When he was satisfied with the letter, Harry gave it to Aegis and opened the
window for him. The owl ruffled its feathers and then hopped out the window,
taking flight against the fading evening sky. Harry watched him until he
disappeared and then closed his eyes against the warm summer breeze. His
thoughts were filled with images of two boys kissing and embracing in secret
corridors. He couldn't figure out why the strange ache in his chest felt
similar to missing someone.
***** Chapter 9 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Harry sat nervously in the compartment, staring out the window to watch the
scenery pass by. There were about a hundred butterflies wrecking havoc in his
stomach and he was sure he was going to start puking them up any second now.
Tom was sitting across from him, appearing perfectly calm while reading a book.
It was like he wasn't even aware they were on a magical train that was taking
them to a magical school.
Harry had spent the remainder of the summer impatiently waiting for this day to
come, but now that it was actually here, he was suddenly unsure he could
actually do this. Septimus had filled him in on a few things about Hogwarts,
but what if it wasn't enough? A thousand insecurities and horrible thoughts
filled Harry's mind. What if he was literally so terrible at magic they kicked
him out of the school? Tom wouldn't let him live that down, ever. He could just
imagine his smug, stupid face now.
"What?" Tom snapped, looking up over his book.
Snapping out of his thoughts, Harry realized he'd been glaring at Tom for
seemingly no reason. He just shrugged his shoulders and continued staring out
the window. He heard Tom give a faint sigh of exasperation, but Harry didn't
care. Every time he annoyed Tom was a victory in Harry's mind.
The door to the compartment slid open a little while later and Harry
immediately perked up when he saw that it was Septimus. He'd been hoping he'd
see the older boy before they actually got to Hogwarts — he had about a hundred
more things he wanted to ask about.
"Hello, Harry," Septimus greeted, closing the door behind him. "I've been
looking for you."
"'Lo, Septimus," Harry said, smiling as Septimus sat down next to him. "Glad
you found me."
Just like that, Harry felt the mood shift. He shivered as a dark, unsettling
feeling overcame him. It was accompanied by several cruel, violent thoughts —
all of which definitely did not belong to him. 
"Whoa, Harry, are you alright?" Septimus asked. "You're white as a sheet."
Harry glanced over to Tom suspiciously. He was still sitting there calmly with
his book in hand, looking exactly the same as he had the entire train ride so
far. Those thoughts had to have come from him, but Harry couldn't quite figure
out what had caused them. It occurred to him that Tom seemed to become quite
angry every time Septimus seemed to be involved, but that didn't make much
sense — Tom had no reason to hate Septimus that much. He didn't even know him.
"Harry?" Septimus repeated worriedly.
Bringing his attention over to him, Harry forced a smile. "Sorry. I'm alright.
Just nerves, I think."
"Ah. Understandable." Septimus nodded. "Don't worry, I'm sure you'll do just
fine."
Septimus reached out to give Harry's shoulder a squeeze, only to hiss in pain
and immediately snap his hand back. He started rubbing at it like it'd been
injured somehow.
"What's wrong?" Harry asked, furrowing his brows in confusion.
"It felt like something shocked me," Septimus said, shaking his hand out. "That
really hurt."
"I'm sorry," Harry said, feeling guilty since it'd been his shoulder that'd
caused it. "Are you alright?"
"It's not your fault, Harry." Septimus laughed. "Probably just static or
something."
"I s'pose."
"So how's everything else?" Septimus 'subtly' gestured towards Tom with his
head.
"Oh, you know." Harry tried not to snigger. "The same."
Tom finally glanced over the top of his book at them and narrowed his eyes.
Harry acted like he didn't notice him. He really didn't care if he knew they
were talking about him or not.
"If you'd like, we can find another compartment," Septimus leaned in and
whispered into Harry's ear. "I'm sure there's a few empty seats somewhere."
As tempting as that was, Harry didn't want to just leave Tom sitting all alone
on their first day at a new school. And as much as he wanted to believe that
was the only reason he was staying, a small part of him knew there was more to
it than that.
"It's alright," Harry said, shaking his head. "There's no point in that."
The compartment door slid open again, and this time it was a lady pushing a
trolley. It was laden with so many strange looking sweets that Harry was
questioning if half of them were even supposed to be eaten.
"Anything off the trolley, dears?" she asked kindly.
As much as Harry wished he could buy something, he hadn't the money for a
single thing.
"No, thank you," he said.
Septimus, on the other hand, got up and walked over to the trolley. He picked
out a few things, paid for them and then returned to sit next to Harry. He
dropped a small pile of sweets onto the seat between them.
"I had a bit of left over pocket money from the summer," Septimus explained and
picked up something that looked like a packet of bubble gum. "Here, you have to
try this."
Harry took a piece from the packet, unwrapped it and then popped it into his
mouth. Just as he'd thought, it was definitely bubble gum — but it wasn't
anything like the cheap penny store bubble gum he'd tried once. It was much
sweeter and lasted much longer.
"Now, blow a bubble with it," Septimus said.
Harry had never actually blown a bubble before, so Septimus had to show him
how. It took a few practice tries, but Harry eventually managed to blow a big,
perfectly round bubble. He watched in amazement as it bounced and floated
around the compartment without popping or deflating one bit. He and Septimus
had to stifle their laughter as it floated lazy circles around Tom's head. Tom
seemed intent on ignoring its existence (along with Harry's and Septimus's).
When it was Septimus's turn to blow a bubble, it only ended up exploding and
covering his face in bluebell colored goop.
"Um, was that supposed to happen?" Harry blinked.
"That never happens," Septimus said, apparently in shock. "Er...Maybe it was
defective."
"Can magic be defective?" Harry asked curiously.
"Sometimes," Septimus replied, taking out his wand and cleaning up the mess.
"Maybe we should just skip the gum for now."
Harry nodded. "Good idea."
The next thing Septimus showed Harry was something called a Chocolate Frog.
However, he'd failed to warn Harry that it actually hopped like a real frog.
When it unexpectedly leaped out of the package, Harry didn't even spare a
second thought — he just snapped his hand out, grabbed it mid-air and quickly
shoved it into his mouth before it could go anywhere else. With bulging cheeks
and frog legs dangling from his mouth, he looked over to see Septimus staring
at him with wide eyes.
"Wha'?" Harry said, voice muffled as he chewed the frog.
"You have some impressive reflexes," Septimus remarked in awe. "You'd be
excellent at Quidditch."
"Quidditch?" Harry repeated, swallowing the chocolate.
"It's a wizard sport," Septimus said, waving his hand. "I'll explain it to you
some time. Here, try this."
He was handed a beverage called Pumpkin Juice. Harry opened the bottle but
found himself pausing. Looking over to Tom, it'd only just occurred to him that
the other boy hadn't had anything yet. Harry could argue that Tom didn't
deserve anything, but he couldn't even convince himself that he actually
believed that. Mind made up, Harry leaned across the seats and held the bottle
out to Tom.
"Here," he said, keeping his tone as neutral as possible.
Tom only looked at the drink as if it was something vile and poisonous.
Realizing his offer was obviously being rejected, Harry just sighed and sat
back. So much for that.
For the remainder of the train ride, he just stared out the window and sipped
on the pumpkin juice. It was sweet and slightly spiced, but at the moment, it
mostly tasted bitter.
 
                                     xxxxx
They were lead into a large, marvelous hall in which the very air practically
sparkled and burst to life with magic. The ceiling above showed a clear, night
sky that was imprinted with a sea of twinkling stars. Just by staring up at it,
Harry thought he might fall into an endless expanse of universe and get lost
forever. It was dark outside, but inside it was as brilliant and bright as
daylight, lit by hundreds of candles floating mid-air and dozens of lamps lined
along the walls. Everything was so largeand Harry felt so small in the face of
such grandeur. He honestly didn't know how to take it all in.
He stood with the large group of first years as they waited. The butterflies in
his stomach were back full force and they'd multiplied in number. He watched
anxiously as Dumbledore walked over and placed a very worn, very old hat atop a
three-legged stool.
Harry watched in fascination as the hat opened its mouth (could hats have
mouths?) and began singing a song. He noted with interest that the lyrics
seemed to be about Hogwarts, its founders and the four distinct houses. Hearing
an old, beat up hat sing about a magical school was definitely one of the top
strangest moments of Harry's life.
When the song was over, Dumbledore brought out a long piece of parchment and
began calling off names of students. One by one, they went up to the stool so
the hat could be placed on their heads. As each student was sorted, Harry
noticed that the crest of their new house would appear on the front of their
robes. An eagle for Ravenclaw, a badger for Hufflepuff, a snake for Slytherin
and a lion for Gryffindor. Harry was still desperately hoping he'd be sorted
into Gryffindor with Septimus — he didn't think he could survive being in the
same house as Tom.
The group slowly dwindled down and there was a only handful left by the time
Tom was called up.
"Riddle, Tom!"
Folding his arms, Harry watched as Tom calmly walked up the dais and took a
seat on the stool. Dumbledore placed the hat atop his head.
It only took a few seconds before the hat shouted out, "SLYTHERIN!"
'Knew it.'
Harry pointedly avoided looking at Tom as he took his seat at the Slytherin
table. He had no idea why he thought that made any difference at all, but it
made him feel better somehow. Cursing the fact that his surname was at the
bottom of the alphabetical list, Harry fidgeted as a few more children were
sorted before it was finally his turn.
"Whitley, Harry!"
Apparently having forgotten how to walk since arriving, Harry stumbled up the
dais and took a seat on the stool. Dumbledore spared him a knowing smile and a
wink before dropping the hat onto his head. His vision went dark and he was
overwhelmed with the smell of old fabric as the hat fell over his eyes. There
was a few seconds of silence before a very soft, very tiny voice entered his
mind.
"Ah, let's see here..."
"You can put me anywhere, just don't put me in Slytherin," Harry thought to the
hat.
"Oh?" the hat replied, surprised. "You know, I do see a lot of Slytherin
potential in you, boy."
"I don't care. If you put me in the same house as Tom, I swear to God I will
reuse your fabric to make you into a pair of Dumbledore's knickers."
The hat chuckled. "Very well, if you're sure. Better be..."
"GRYFFINDOR."
Harry sighed in relief and took the hat off. Sliding off the stool, he watched
as the Gryffindor crest appeared on the front of his robes. With a feeling of
elation in his chest, he practically jogged over to the table that was clapping
for him. He spotted Septimus sitting towards the back and hurried down to join
him. The older boy scooted over so Harry could squeeze in next to him, giving
him a few solid thumps on the back.
"Congratulations, Harry," he said, grinning, "I knew you were a Gryffindor."
"Thanks," Harry responded, also grinning. "We were spot on about Tom as well."
"That'd been a given, definitely," Septimus chuckled. "He's a Slytherin if I'd
ever seen one."
After the Sorting Ceremony ended and the hat was taken away, Headmaster Dippet
stood up from the teacher's table.
"Good evening, everyone! Welcome to all of our new students," he greeted
warmly. "We will get to all of our important announcements later. For now, let
the feast begin!"
Right before Harry's eyes, a large assortment of food appeared on the table.
He'd never seen so much food in his life! Not to mention in so much variety. He
was used to plain porridge, potatoes and days-old stew for his meals. He was
almost afraid to touch any of it because his first thought was he wasn't even
allowedto.
"Aren't you going to eat anything, Harry?" Septimus nudged him in the side with
his elbow. "Or are you just going to sit there and stare at it?"
"Oh, right." Harry blinked, realizing how stupid he must have looked just then.
"Of course."
He started loading his plate with a bit of everything. It was the first time in
his life he was allowed to try anything he wanted. Fresh vegetables and meat
were a rarity in the orphanage, so Harry went for those first. He discovered
that he really liked lamb, steak and just about every kind of vegetable there
was. He'd also never realized that bread could taste so good until he bit into
a hot, fresh bread roll.
There were things he didn't like as well — such as gravy, ketchup and
definitely black pudding (Septimus had laughed himself silly at the face Harry
had made when he'd taken a bite of that). When dessert came around, Harry
shamelessly helped himself to three servings of treacle tart and strawberry ice
cream. He decided with certainty that those were his favorites.
By the time the feast had ended and Headmaster Dippet had given his welcoming
speech, Harry was feeling very full and very sleepy. They were lead out of the
hall by their assigned prefects, who guided them through the maze of corridors
that made up the castle. Harry could already tell that he was going to have a
difficult time navigating his way around. 
They stopped in front of a portrait of a very fat lady in a pink dress. Harry
did a double-take when she started moving and talking.
"Password?" she asked.
"Puff pastry," the prefect answered.
The portrait swung open to reveal an entryway behind it. They all filed through
the hole and came upon a cozy common room. It was accommodated with comfortable
looking couches and armchairs, all adorned in deep reds and golds. They were
bold colors — but Harry supposed that was quite fitting for what he'd heard
about Gryffindor. 
The prefect showed them to their dormitories, which was where Harry parted ways
with Septimus.
"Night, Harry," Septimus said. "Congratulations again on getting into
Gryffindor."
"Thanks, Septimus." Harry smiled. "Night."
Entering the first year dorms, Harry searched out the bed that had his trunk in
front of it. He hopped up onto the bed and was delighted when his body sank
down into an incredibly soft mattress. It was like being cradled by a giant
marshmallow. He almost couldn't believe he wouldn't have to deal with scratchy
blankets and springs poking into his back for nine whole months. He probably
could have fallen asleep right then and there — and he probably would have if
he hadn't still needed to change into his pyjamas. 
Sitting up, Harry then turned his attention to the four other boys in the room.
They were currently rummaging through their trunks and chatting to each other.
He felt a little excluded, but he supposed he hadn't done much to initiate
conversation either. He probably should, he realized, considering he would be
sharing a dorm with them for the next seven years.
With that in mind, Harry cleared his throat. "Um. Hi."
They all stopped talking and turned to look at him. 
"Oh, you're awake," the boy closest to him said. "We'd thought you were
asleep."
The boy strangely reminded Harry of Tom. He had the same dark hair and absurdly
tall stature. Even some of his facial features were a bit similar. However,
this boy's eyes were blue.
"I almost was," Harry said with a sheepish smile. "I'm more tired than I
realized."
"It's alright," the boy said, smiling back. "It's been quite a long day, hasn't
it?"
"Quite." Harry chuckled. "My name's Harry Whitley," he introduced, sticking out
his hand.
The blue eyed boy grabbed his hand and shook it. "Simon Greene."
"Nice to meet you."
When Simon let go of Harry's hand, it was almost immediately grabbed up again,
this time by a very tall, dark-skinned boy with bright brown eyes. His
handshake was very strong and energetic. Harry could already tell that he was
someone who liked to make himself known.
"I'm Walter Johnson," he introduced unabashedly. "Very nice to meet you."
"You too," Harry said, amused.
There was also Richard Miller, a boy who was about as short as Harry (which
made Harry feel vaguely better about his height). He had the same hair color as
Harry as well, but his eyes were brown and his skin was much paler. The last
one to introduce himself was a brown haired, green eyed boy named Eugene Bell.
He seemed like the shyest one of the group, as he didn't speak very much and
kept physical contact very brief.
Through a brief conversation, Harry discovered that Simon and Eugene were both
half-bloods, while Richard was a muggle-born and Walter was a pure-blood like
Septimus. When they asked Harry about his magical background, he just gave them
the same answer as he'd given Septimus ("I don't know"). He explained a bit
about the orphanage and how he'd never known his parents, which meant he didn't
know if they were magical or not. The others had given him sympathetic looks in
response and then thankfully changed the subject to Quidditch.
Since neither Harry nor Richard knew a thing about Quidditch, they simply went
off to bed. Sliding under the blankets, Harry relished in the silky, cool feel
of the sheets and laid his head down on the soft pillows. He stared out the
window and watched the stars until his eyes became too heavy to keep open.
Chapter End Notes
     I think the thing that bothers me the most about this chapter is the
     fact that Harry doesn't like KETCHUP. That's just heinous. And no,
     it's not canon that Harry hates ketchup. He just seems like a ketchup
     hating person. Don't ask me why. It's five in the morning and I am
     half drunk, half hung over. Maybe kind of stoned. Anyway, thanks so
     much for reading. Comments are appreciated, of course. I got
     something awesome like four for the last chapter, which is the
     equivalent of like, I dunno, a million in my mind.
***** Chapter 10 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Harry's first week of school had been a disaster in every sense of the word.
He'd managed to get lost half a dozen times, had been late to three of his
lessons and was completely clueless in all of his subjects. Every time a
teacher called on him, he got this dumb wide-eyed look on his face as he
fumbled around for an answer. Tom had been right — no amount of studying
beforehand had prepared him for the real deal.
It really didn't help that, while Harry was struggling, Tom seemed to be
flourishing. Only a week had passeed and many of the teachers had already taken
to him. He showed advanced knowledge in almost every subject and was able to
perform spells most of the other first years hadn't even heard of. It was
unbearable watching the professors gush over him. When Tom had earned twenty
points and endless praise for flawlessly performing the levitation charm (a
spell they weren't even meant to start learning for a few weeks), Harry had
fantasized about walking right up to the other boy and knocking him out with
his heavy charms book.
At least he didn't have to deal with him every lesson.
"Cheer up, Harry," Septimus said, joining him at the Gryffindor table for
lunch. "The first week is always the hardest. You'll adjust."
"I'm quite sure I'm the dumbest kid in the whole school," Harry sulked,
flicking a carrot across his plate.
"No, that title goes to Quentin Willis," Septimus stated, jabbing his thumb in
the direction of said Hufflepuff. "So you're only the seconddumbest kid in the
whole school."
Harry chucked a bread roll at the other's head. "Thanks, I feel loads better
now."
"I do try." Septimus winked, picking up the roll and taking a bite out of it.
"Anyway, what do you have after lunch?"
"Flying lessons with the Slytherins," Harry grumbled, violently stabbing a fork
into his chicken. "Joy."
"Sounds brutal," Septimus said, wincing in sympathy — either for Harry or the
chicken, it was unclear. "I'm assuming Tom has been insufferable?"
"You have no idea," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "He takes any chance he gets
to show off right in front of me."
"He'll get bored of it eventually," Septimus said reassuringly. "There are
other people he can focus his attention on now. I'm sure he'll find another
outlet at some point."
"I suppose," Harry said, feeling oddly strange at the thought.
Later that afternoon, Harry made his way out onto the sweeping green lawn with
his fellow Gryffindors. It was a brilliant, sunny day, with a few clouds
streaking across the sapphire sky like strokes of white paint. Harry decidedly
chose to focus only on the pleasantly warm breeze and noton a certain Slytherin
walking a few paces ahead of him.
Their flying instructor was a witch called Madam Hooch. She had yellow, hawk-
like eyes and a very impatient temperament. As soon as they arrived, they were
immediately ordered to find a broom and stand next to it. Harry had yet to wrap
his head around the idea of using a broom for transportation. It was just
so...bizarre. He really wanted to know which witch or wizard looked at a tool
used for cleaning and thought 'I'm going to fly on that.'
He ended up choosing a broom between Walter Johnson and Niamh Waters, one of
the Gryffindor girls in his year. Thankfully, his broom also happened to be one
far away from Tom.
Harry was sure this was going to be another instance of him being
embarrassingly bad at something while Tom was obnoxiously good at it. Much to
his surprise, however, it turned out to be the complete opposite. As soon as he
said the word "up!", Harry's broom jump straight into his hand. In
contrast, nothing at all happened for Tom. Everyone else managed to do it
within three or four tries, but Tom's broom continued to lie completely still
on the grass. It didn't even so much as give a twitch.
There was some snickering at Tom's expense, even from a couple of the
Slytherins. However, Tom ignored it completely.
"Just pick it up," Madam Hooch said exasperatedly, seeing that it was a lost
cause. "Alright, now mount your brooms."
Harry swung his leg over the broom and gripped the handle firmly. It was like a
connection occurred at that exact moment; much like the connection that had
occurred with his wand. He could feel wood of the handle humming under his
palms — as if it was reacting to his magic. It just felt right, somehow.
"Now, on the whistle," she said, "you'll carefully push yourselves off the
ground and hold your position a few inches in the air. You are to not go any
higher without my instruction, got it?"
At the sound of the whistle, Harry's feet lifted off the grass and, without any
effort at all, he found himself hovering leisurely in the air. He was one of
only ones, though. Almost everyone else had needed at least two tries to get
off the ground. Tom had needed about four. It was the first time Harry ever had
ever seen Tom lack skill in anything.
"Excellent," Madam Hooch praised. "If you're feeling confident, you may go a
little higher."
Not needing to be told twice, Harry shot up into the air like a rocket. He
didn't even need to think about what he was doing, he just did it. He spiraled
straight towards the sky, feeling as if he was going to disappear into the
clouds and break right through the atmosphere to the other side. Maybe he would
get swept up in a current of stars.
"MR. WHITLEY. COME BACK DOWN HERE!"
Slowing down, Harry closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. He looped
backwards and, for a split second, he felt like he was floating. His body
raised off the handle like he was lighter than air. Then, suddenly, he was
plummeting straight back to earth. His hair whipped back and his heart soared
off somewhere far, far away.
He'd never felt more exhilarated in his life.
Before he hit the ground, he came to a sharp stop and his heart slammed back
into his chest. He breathed out and opened his eyes. Stepping safely off the
broom, he turned to see everyone staring at him with their mouths slightly
ajar.
Walter was the first to recover. "That was brilliant, Harry!"
"I didn't know you could fly like that!" Simon added in amazement.
Madam Hooch, on the other hand, looked like she was about to have a conniption
fit.
"If you EVER pull a stunt like that again." She pointed a threatening finger in
his face. "I'll make sure you never fly again, got that?"
Harry leaned back before he lost an eye to that finger, hardly able to keep the
grin off his face. "Yes, Madam Hooch. Sorry."
"You'll also remain on the ground for the rest of the lesson," she added,
shaking her head. "Such recklessness — I mean it, I'd better not see you lift
so much as a foot off this grass, Mr. Whitley!"
"I won't," Harry sighed. 
When Madam Hooch went off to help the rest of the class, Harry looked up to the
sky. All he could do was longingly watch the other students on their brooms.
Already, he missed the feel of flying. It was the first thing he could actually
do since arriving at Hogwarts and he'd loved it. It'd felt so natural to him —
like he'd been born to fly.
Still watching the class, Harry narrowed his eyes when he noticed a couple of
Slytherins named Frederic Avery and Franklin Nott hovering around Tom. Having
grown up with a bully like Tom, Harry had plenty of experience detecting when
someone was up to something. By the looks of those two, there was no doubt they
were up to something.
Harry's suspicions were confirmed when Avery sneakily kicked out at the tail
end of Tom's broom. Considering the school brooms were old and quite
temperamental, and Tom lacked confidence on them as it was, it was no surprise
when it reacted vehemently and started veering uncontrollably. Tom looked like
he was barely managing to keep from being thrown off.
Consequences be damned, Harry was on his broom and back into the air in a
heartbeat. He could hear Madam Hooch yelling something at him from below, but
Harry completely ignored her. Tom's broom had climbed rather high by this
point, so when Harry saw him start to slip, his heart leaped in fear. Without
sparing a moment to think, he snagged Tom by the robes and hauled him upright
before he could fall. Harry then took hold of Tom's broom and did his best to
hold it still. It seemed to sense his confidence, because it almost immediately
stopped trying to toss Tom off.
"See? It's alright," Harry said, smiling to Tom. "You just have to show it
who's boss."
Harry took a moment to properly position Tom's hands, but kept his hold on the
broom just in case things went awry. Tom was staring where Harry's hand was
securely situated next Tom's own. Their hands were touching, Harry realized,
cheeks flushing with a mixture of horror and embarrassment. The sooner they got
to the ground, the better.
Carefully, Harry guided Tom's broom alongside his own. They made a slow descent
to the ground, and only when their feet touched the grass did Harry let go of
Tom's broom. He made sure to put a good amount of distance between himself and
Tom as they dismounted their brooms.
There was a round of cheering and clapping from their classmates as Madam Hooch
ran over to them.
"That was very impressive quick thinking, Mr. Whitley," she said, looking quite
relieved. "I'll even overlook the fact you weren't supposed to do anymore
flying today. Twenty points to Gryffindor."
"Wow, thanks," Harry said, eyes widening. "I was sure I was going to get
detention for life."
It was the first time he'd earned any points for his house. Walter, Simon and
Richard all gave him pats on the back in congratulation.
"Don't tempt me," Madam Hooch sighed, taking the brooms Tom and Harry. "Yes,
well, class dismissed."
As everyone dispersed, Harry caught sight of Avery and Nott. They were grinning
and looking very satisfied with themselves for getting away with what they'd
done. Eyes narrowed, Harry stomped across the lawn and followed them back into
the castle. He wound through the stream of students crowding the halls and
caught up with the two boys.
Without hesitation, he roughly shoved Avery in the back. "Bet you thought that
was REAL funny, didn't you?"
Avery stumbled forward and whirled around. When he saw Harry, he looked
momentarily surprised, but he quickly recovered and placed a smirk on his face.
That only made Harry angrier. The blood was practically surging in his veins.
"What's it to a Gryffindor like you?"
Harry grit his teeth, his hands balling into fists. "You could have killed
him!"
"That mud-blood had it coming," Avery snorted, and Nott laughed next to him.
"Maybe next time he'll fall and break his neck."
Harry lunged at Avery and knocked him roughly against the wall. There was a
collective gasp of shock as everyone in the hall scurried to get out of the
way. Before Harry could even get a hit in, he was grabbed by Nott and pulled
off Avery. Harry learned a very important lesson in that moment — Slytherins
liked to play dirty.
While Nott held Harry by the arms, Avery kneed him hard in the stomach. Harry's
abdomen exploded in pain and he was sure his lungs had completely deflated. His
vision went black around the edges and he very nearly passed out right there.
It took a couple seconds of hacking up saliva and mucus before he finally
managed to draw in a breath.
Too stubborn to go down, Harry kicked his legs out and managed to knock Avery
away from him. He then jammed his elbow into Nott's ribs, forcing the larger
boy to release him. As soon as he was freed, Harry immediately jumped onto
Avery's back and locked his arms and legs around him.
"Argh! Get this runt off me!" Avery yelled.
"Mr. Whitley, what in the world are you doing?"
Professor Merrythought ran down the hall to find Nott trying to pry Harry off
Avery's back. But it was to avail — Harry was locked on.
"For goodness sake, child!" Merrythought remarked in bewilderment. "Climb off
Mr. Avery's back now, if you'd please."
Slowly, Harry eased his arms from around Avery's neck and slid off his back. He
winced as he became more aware of the ache in his stomach and ribs. There was
definitely going to be an impressive bruise covering his abdomen by tomorrow
morning.
"Now, would anyone like to explain to me is going on?" Merrythought questioned,
looking to each of them in turn.
"He attacked me, professor!" Avery said, pointing to Harry accusingly. "Right
out of nowhere!"
Harry shot him a heated glare, but didn't say anything. It was kind of the
truth.
"Really, now?" Merrythought arched a brow. "That seems a bit out of character
for you, Mr. Whitley. Care to explain?"
"They messed with Tom Riddle's broom during flying lessons," Harry explained,
crossing his arms. "And I didn't want them to get away with it."
"Is that true?" Merrythought addressed Avery and Nott.
"Of course not," Avery lied effortlessly. "He's making that up."
"Why would we try to hurt one of our own house-mates?" Nott scoffed.
"They called him a mud-blood," Harry stated. "Whatever that means."
"Hmm." Merrythought narrowed her eyes. "I think I'm starting to understand
what's happening here."
"He's lying, Professor!" Avery protested angrily. "We never did anything to
Riddle!"
"Be quiet, Mr. Avery," Merrythought snapped. "Regardless of what happened, the
three of you were still caught fighting in the halls, so all three of you will
serve detention with me for the entire week, starting tomorrow."
Nott and Avery looked like they wanted to argue some more, but had enough sense
to keep their mouths shut. Harry was a little disappointed that he'd landed
himself in detention on his very first week, but it was made slightly better by
the fact he'd taken two Slytherins down with him.
                                     xxxxx
After the incident with Avery and Nott, Harry had fast become a favorite target
for Slytherin bullying. It'd started with Avery and Nott, but it hadn't taken
long for many others to join in. They'd taunt him and make cruel remarks
whenever they passed him in the corridors, and when the professors weren't
looking, they'd try to hit him with embarrassing jinxes or painful hexes.
He was just another 'mud-blood' in their eyes. Septimus had explained to him
what 'mud-blood' meant and Harry couldn't believe such prejudice existed. It
didn't matter that Harry knew nothing about his parents — the fact that he'd
grown up in a muggle orphanage was more than enough to be considered a 'mud-
blood'. Apparently the same thing had been going on with Tom since the start of
school.
"He's probably been getting it a lot worse," Septimus said. The two of them
were sitting in study hall doing homework together. "It's really rare that
muggle-borns get sorted into Slytherin, so I bet they're frothing at the mouths
over it."
"If Tom's a muggle-born," Harry corrected. "They don't even know for sure,
which makes their prejudice even more stupid."
"That's how Slytherins are," Septimus shook his head as he flipped through a
book. "They're very prideful about their 'pure' bloodlines."
"That's just pathetic," Harry scowled, angrily scribbling down notes. "Why does
it even matter?"
"Gives them something to feel superior about," Septimus shrugged. "I'm a pure-
blood and I'll never understand it."
"Which is why you're a thousand times better than they are."
"Only a thousand?" Septimus raised his brows. "Harry, I'm offended."
"Oh, get over yourself." Harry crumpled up a piece of parchment and chucked it
at him. "You're not that great."
"Stop throwing things at me!" Septimus batted the parchment away. "This is
bordering on abuse."
"Sorry," Harry snorted, "I didn't realize you were so delicate."
"Well, now you know." Septimus sniffed. "I must be handled with care."
They looked at each other and then burst out laughing. Harry was in a slightly
better mood as he finished up his notes and packed his things away. He had
detention to get to, so he bid farewell to Septimus and headed off. He made a
couple of wrong turns on the way to Professor Merrythought's classroom and only
just made it on time. Harry took a seat far away from Avery and Nott.
Detention consisted of writing lines, which wouldn't have been too bad, except
for the fact that Harry could feel Avery's and Nott's heavy stares on him the
entire time. It made him so tense that he ended up snapping his quill in half.
It was rather embarrassing having to ask Professor Merrythought to repair it
for him.
The time ticked by at a slow pace and by the second hour, Harry had an
impressive hand cramp.
"Alright, that'll be all for the night," Merrythought announced. "Hand in your
lines and then you may leave."
Harry practically jumped out of his seat and ran over give Merrythought his
parchment. In order to avoid getting caught in the corridor with Nott and
Avery, Harry wanted to try to hurry out of there as fast as possible. He hadn't
liked the way they'd been staring at him all through detention.
When Harry felt he'd made enough distance from the Defence classroom, he slowed
his pace and adjusted the strap of his satchel. The corridors were quiet,
meaning everyone was likely down in the Great Hall. His stomach rumbled
slightly, making him realize he hadn't eaten a thing since breakfast. He hoped
he wouldn't be too late to grab something to eat.
Just as he rounded the corner, he was suddenly grabbed up from behind, a hand
slapping over his mouth to keep him from screaming.
"I got him! Get over here and help me!"
Harry recognized that voice. It belonged to Nott. Damn! He knew those no-good
snakes had been plotting something! Why had he let his guard down? He
immediately started struggling. He somehow managed to get an arm free but
before he could so much as get a hit in, it was grabbed and pinned down by a
second person. Turning his head, Harry was able to see that it was Avery (not
that he'd really expected it to be anyone else). There was a third person there
as well — another first year by the name of Reginald Lestrange. 
The situation was serious. There was three of them and only one of him. Harry
soon found himself being dragged off by the three of them, unable to scream for
help or do anything to stop whatever was about to happen to him. Despite
knowing that it was absolutely useless, Harry continued to fight them the
entire way, too stubborn by nature to make it easy for them. By the time they
made it to their destination, his struggles had weakened slightly and he was
panting heavily. They hauled him over to a door that appeared to belong to a
very small closet.
"Hope you don't mind small spaces, Whitley."
"Or the dark."
With that, he was roughly shoved inside the closet, which barely had enough
room to turn around in. They threw his bag in after him and then slammed the
door shut. Harry immediately tried to open the door, but he was horrified to
find that it wouldn't budge at all.
"Open the door!" he yelled, beating on the door. "This isn't funny!"
"Seriously, let me out!"
"Please!"
When there was no answer from the other side, he realized they had really left
him there. Heart pounding in his ears, he frantically searched his robes until
he found his wand.
'What's a spell for unlocking things?'
He was surehe had read a spell like that somewhere in one of his books. He
wracked his brain for a solid five minutes, but for the life of him he could
not remember the name nor the incantation. Frustrated, Harry just randomly
started hitting the door with his wand, hoping something, anything, would
happen. When all he procured was a few golden sparks, he just threw his wand to
the ground and slammed his hand against the door.
"God damn it!"
He was trying not to panic, but he could already feel himself starting to
hyperventilate. He had an intense fear of being trapped in small spaces. It
stemmed from an incident that'd occurred when he was five years old — he'd
accidentally gotten locked in a cupboard for over six hours, which, to a five
year old, had felt like an eternity. He could still remember what'd it been
like to sit hunched up in that lonely, dark space for hours on end, crying
because he'd thought no one was looking for him. Because no one wanted him.
Chest suddenly constricting, as if there was no air in the closet, Harry slid
down the wall until he was sitting. He tangled his hands in his hair and closed
his eyes. He turned his focus onto the way the air felt as it filled and
expanded his lungs. In. Out. In. Out. Breathe.He could breathe. There was still
air. He was fine.
It worked...until he opened his eyes and saw nothing but darkness. It felt
unending, like he could literally fall into it. The idea scared him so much
that he had to reach out to make sure the walls were still there. He made sure
to keep his hands firmly planted against the walls as he closed his eyes again.
He hated the darkness; it made his thoughts turn to terrifying places. What if
no one ever found him? What if no one even noticed him missing in the first
place? 
He was going to die in the darkness — crying and alone because no one wanted
him.
Letting out a scream, Harry stood up and kicked at the door so hard that it
hurt his foot more than it hurt the door. He started pounding on it with his
fists until they turned bruised and sore. He barely even noticed the pain — he
only stopped when his throat was so raw and torn that he couldn't scream
anymore. Panting, he leaned his cheek against the door and closed his eyes. A
small trickle of saliva dripped from his lips and a fresh wave of tears trailed
down his cheeks.
"I'm not going to die," Harry croaked himself. "I refuse to die in a closet."
'I'm not alone and unwanted.'
Sitting back down, Harry reached around in the darkness and pulled his bag
towards him. He felt around for his books and pencils. Even though he couldn't
see a thing, he decided to try to focus on something other than his current
situation. He ran his fingers over the contours of the book he was holding.
Judging by the ragged edges and the indent near the corner, he was quite sure
he was holding his Transfiguration textbook.
Picking up a pencil, he opened one of his notebooks and started writing down
the last thing he recalled reading from the text. For all he knew, he was
writing all over the margins and possibly on top of old notes, but he really
didn't care. It felt good to do something normal for the moment.
When he'd written down everything he could remember from Transfiguration, he
moved onto Charms, Astronomy, Defence and then Potions. It was only when he ran
out of things to write that he finally stopped. His hand was cramped and he had
a slight headache, but he felt much calmer than before. Stretching out as best
he could in the small space, he set down his note books and rubbed his tired
eyes. He didn't even notice when he drifted off to sleep.
The sunshine poured down from the sky like waves of gold and yellow. The grass
swayed under the slight breeze, which carried the fresh scent of water and dew.
"I wish it could always be this bright and warm."
He turned to the boy sitting next to him. His dark hair was highlighted gold
under the sunlight and his tanned skin practically glowed. He always vaguely
smelled of sunshine and summer, as if he was literally the essence of all
things bright and warm.
But none of those things compared to the way his green eyes sparkled so
brightly. They only ever lit up like that for him.
The boy smiled. "I hate the rain," he explained further.
"If I could invent a spell to banish rain for all eternity, I would."
"Because that wouldn't cause a bunch of consequences," the boy laughed. "Glad
to know you'd basically doom the world for me, though."
He reached across the grass and cupped the boy's chin in his hand. He brushed a
thumb across his cheek and pulled his face closer to his.
"Forget the world," he whispered and leaned in.
Their lips pressed together and the world fell away.
Harry's head jerked up and he looked around. His heart sank when he realized he
was still trapped in the darkness of the closet. He wanted to go back to the
dream where it was warm and sunny — where there'd been fresh air and bright
light. Rubbing some stray tears from his eyes, Harry tried to shift into a more
comfortable position. He didn't know how long he'd been in there, but his limbs
were starting to get very sore and he could no longer feel his left foot.
'I kind of wish I hadn't woken up.'
The dream ended up saving his sanity. It'd been so vivid and real-feeling that
he was able to recall the details with clarity. He closed his eyes and
pretended he was back there, lying in the grass and soaking up the warmth of
the sunshine. It was a safe place where the darkness couldn't get to him.
When the door opened God knows how many hours later, Harry didn't even notice
it at first. He probably would have believed himself imagining things anyway.
"Harry?"
Eyes snapping open, the first thing Harry noticed was that the closet was
filled with amazing, glorious, wonderful light. It hurt his eyes and for a
moment he was blinded — but it didn't matter. It wasn't darkness. He could cry.
He did cry.
When his vision finally adjusted, he saw Tom standing there. Harry didn't even
remember getting to his feet, he just remembered latching onto Tom. He was
shaking uncontrollably and tears were spilling down his face in rapid
succession. He clung to Tom with pathetic, broken desperation, like he was
afraid he'd disappear. Like he was afraid this wasn't real.
"Don't be a dream," he whispered in a used and cracked voice.
Tom didn't return the embrace, but he didn't pull away either. Maybe he was in
shock or maybe he just didn't know what to do, but either way Harry held onto
him for as long as he was allowed.
Finally opening his eyes, it was for the first time he noticed that the
corridors were brightly lit — not by torches, but by the rising sun. It was
morning. He'd been in that closet all night. He vaguely wondered how it was
that Tom had found him, but he didn't care to ask just then.
He just wanted to feel the sunlight.
Chapter End Notes
     Am I the only one that laughed really hard at the image of Harry on
     Avery's back like that? Yes? Okay. Thanks so much for so many
     comments last chapter. You guys deserve this super fast update.
     Enjoy!
***** Chapter 11 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
October 31st 1938
Harry had woken up Halloween day to find everyone in festive spirits. The
Charms professor had charmed a bunch of paper bats to fly around the corridors,
pumpkins as big as boulders were being carried in from the pumpkin patch to be
carved, and everyone was talking excitably about the great feast that would be
held later that evening. Harry found himself taking everything in with
wonderment — Halloween was something that was never celebrated at the
orphanage. The most Harry had ever done was sit on the front steps and watch
the trick-or-treaters walk by with their parents. They'd worn their ghost and
witch costumes as they traveled from house to house, gathering sweets in their
little sacks. It was normal for him to go unnoticed by them, but he did have
one memory of a little girl trying to give him a bar of chocolate once.
"Don't give them food!" her mother had reprimanded, pulling sharply on the
girl's arm. "They'll only beg for more!"
That was the general view on orphans in the muggle world — that they were
nothing more than beggars; filthy leeches on society. Harry had grown used to
being looked down on in contempt every time he stepped outside. It was like he
was a burden for even existing.
In the magical world, though, he felt like he actually belonged somewhere for
once.
"Happy birthday, Harry!"
Harry blinked as a brightly wrapped package was dropped directly on top of the
essay he was working on. He looked up to see Septimus standing across the table
from him with a big grin on his face.
"You didn't have to get me anything," Harry said, not sure how to react to
receiving a gift.
"Just shut up and open it." Septimus settled in the seat across from Harry.
"Before I take it back for myself."
Rolling his eyes, Harry set his quill down and picked up the gift. He pulled
the ribbon off and tore away the paper. Underneath was a box of assorted wizard
sweets: Fizzing Whizzbees, Chocoballs, Exploding BonBons, Pepper Imps and Ice
Mice. Harry hadn't even heard of most of them, but he was certain he would eat
every last one of them.
"They're from Honeydukes," Septimus explained. "I picked it up last Hogsmeade
trip. It seemed like something you'd enjoy."
"Wow, thanks," Harry said, eyes wide. He was unused to receiving such nice
things. "I hope it didn't cost you too much."
"Only all the gold I had," Septimus said with a long, suffering sigh. "But
anything for you, Harry."
"Well, in that case." Harry grinned, waving his essay at Septimus. "You can do
my homework for me."
"Okay, almost anything," Septimus corrected himself with a grimace. "There are
some things I won't do, even for you."
"Worth a shot." Harry dropped the parchment back to the table and picked his
quill up. He was still nowhere near getting his History of Magic essay
completed — which happened to be due in two days.
"Don't look now." Septimus nodded his head towards the door. "But it's you-
know-who."
Glancing up, Harry saw Tom walk into the study hall. He continued to watch as
the other boy strode to the opposite side of the room. Tom always walked in
such a poised and assertive way. It gave him an air of confidence that
practically dominated any room he entered. He'd never once lost that confidence
in all the years Harry had known him; not even during the weeks the Slytherins
had been bullying him.
Tom took a seat near fellow first years Avery, Nott and Lestrange. There was
also a second year named Antonin Dolohov. They looked somewhat uneasy at Tom's
presence, but they didn't do or say anything otherwise. Tom, on the other hand,
appeared perfectly comfortable as he laid his notes and textbooks out on the
table. He even asked Lestrange if he could borrow a quill, which Lestrange
handed over to him without hesitation.
"So, what's that all about, anyway?" Septimus asked, frowning in confusion.
"Two months ago he was the most hated kid in Slytherin, now he's got them
pissing their pants whenever he walks into a room."
"That's just how Tom is," Harry said with a shrug. "It was like that at the
orphanage. He's really good at manipulating people."
"A very Slytherin trait." Septimus nodded. "Should've known he'd fit right in."
"It's not so much fitting in," Harry corrected. "As it is getting his way."
"Same thing to a Slytherin," Septimus remarked. "I don't think they know what
it means to have friends."
"Tom doesn't want friends," Harry said a little too heatedly, sending a glare
the Slytherin's way. "He's made that very clear."
"Whoa." Septimus raised his brows. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you
actually cared."
Harry flushed. "Of course not."
"Uh...huh." Septimus gave him a look, then just shook his head and returned to
his work.
Feeling slightly embarrassed, Harry slunk down in his seat and dared a glance
back over in Tom's direction. When he saw that Tom was staring directly back at
him, Harry's heart skipped a beat and he sat straight up. Turning his eyes onto
his essay, he busied himself with finishing it and tried not to look as
flustered as he felt.
Things had gotten even odder between them ever since Tom had found him in that
closet. Harry was sure it was mostly down to embarrassment on his part. Two
months had passed since that day and he was still trying to convince himself
that he had not hugged Tom and then cried all over him. He wasn't quite sure
which of the two actions was more mortifying. 
Yet, as embarrassing as it'd been, Harry couldn't ignore the fact that it'd
been the only time in his life he'd ever felt completely safe.
                                     xxxxx
Potion's was definitely Harry's least favorite class. It wasn't so much the
subject itself that he hated — it was having to sit in a dark, dank dungeon
while inhaling nauseating fumes and chopping up dead animal parts that tended
to be unpleasant. There was also the simple fact that Harry didn't like the
professor very much. Professor Slughorn was a nice enough man with a jovial
personality and an energetic teaching style, but he was also vain and displayed
blatant favoritism (which he would never admit to). Admittedly, Harry could
just be biased because one of the students Slughorn favored happened to be Tom.
"Wonderful, Tom, truly wonderful," Slughorn declared as he leaned over Tom's
cauldron, which had pink smoke furling up from the top. "A work of art, if I do
say so myself."
"Thank you, Professor." Tom smiled graciously. "I do owe it to having an
excellent instructor."
"Don't be so modest!" Slughorn waved him off. "You obviously have talent. Not
everyone has talent, you know."
Harry felt like Slughorn was talking about him when he said that. Though, he
could have been talking about Eugene, who had the worst marks in potions by
far.
"Ugh, he's obnoxious," Harry grumbled, stirring his cauldron in annoyance.
"Who?" Eugene asked from beside him.
"Tom!" Harry exclaimed as if it were obvious.
"You think so?" Eugene looked in Tom's direction. "But he seems so polite."
Harry made a frustrated sound and flung the horned slugs into his cauldron with
more force than necessary. He then turned off his burner and aggressively
continued stirring the contents of his cauldron.
"Harry?"
He looked over to Simon, who was taking up the seat on the other side of him.
"What is it?" Harry said, feeling some of his anger dissipate.
"Happy birthday."
Harry felt something nudge his leg and he glanced down to see a small gift
being handed over to him. Surprised, he took it from Simon and quietly opened
it. Inside was a brand new Exploding Snaps deck.
"This is great, Simon," Harry whispered back in amazement. "Thanks."
Simon smiled at him and then turned back to his potion. Just as Harry was
slipping his gift into his bag, Simon's potion suddenly exploded. Harry
instinctively dove out of the way as the contents of the cauldron went
splattering in every direction. Several people screamed and went running to
avoid getting hit. When Harry felt it was safe, he slowly rose up and looked
around. The explosion had been quite a spectacular one — their entire table was
covered in a foul smelling fluid, which was oozing off the sides and dripping
onto the floor.
That wasn't the worst of it, though. When he turned to Simon, he couldn't
suppress his shocked reaction. The boy was absolutely drenched in the botched
potion, which was causing ugly boils to rapidly pop up all over his body. 
"Alright, alright, everyone calm down!" Slughorn yelled as he ran in their
direction. "Simon, my boy, did you forget to take the cauldron off the burner
before adding the porcupine quills? No bother, hurry off to the infirmary!
Richard, will you escort him, please?"
Richard guided a shell-shocked Simon out of the room, whose face was nearly
unrecognizable underneath dozens of boils. Slughorn cleaned up the mess with a
simple wave of his wand and the lesson resumed as normal. Even though everyone
had thought it an unfortunate accident, Harry knew that wasn't the case.
Something else had caused that explosion — or rather, someonehad. And he knew
exactly who that someone was. He'd heard Tom's thoughts from all the way across
the room.
Harry spent the remainder of the lesson glaring at Tom's back — something that
had very nearly resulted in his own botched potion. He forced his attention
back onto his cauldron, which had proved a difficult task since his mind was
more focused on plotting different ways of murdering Tom. When they bottled and
turned in their potions at the end of the lesson, Harry caught up with Tom
outside the classroom.
"What was thatall about?" he demanded, grabbing him by the shoulder and forcing
him to turn around.
Tom met his angry gaze evenly. "What was what about?"
"You know what!" Harry growled. "I don't appreciate you hurting my friends,
Tom!"
"I don't know what you're talking about." Tom waved him off. "Obviously your
friend is a complete imbecile for messing up a basic potion."
"Oh, shut up!" Harry yelled, grabbing him by both arms and bringing their faces
level. "Just because you're friendless and miserable doesn't mean you have to
try to make me the same way!"
Those words garnered an unexpected reaction. Tom wrenched his arms free and
shoved Harry so hard that he knocked him to the ground. Harry landed on his
butt, hard. The wind was momentarily knocked out of him, but Harry quickly
recovered and grabbed hold of Tom's ankle, yanking his leg out from under him.
Books and notes went flying as Tom came crashing down to the floor next to him.
There was a loud gasp. "Boys!"
Slughorn had walked out of the classroom in time to witness their scuffle. He
was staring at the scene with wide-eyed shock. Harry and Tom both got to their
feet and gathered up their belongings. Harry shot Tom a glare, but the other
boy was completely ignoring him now.
"I must say, I am highly disappointed in you, Tom!" Slughorn said, shaking his
head as he approached them. "I didn't expect to see this kind of behavior from
one of my best pupils!"
'Sounds like he's kind of expects it from me, though,' Harry thought.
He wasn't that surprised. He was already getting a bit of a troublemaker
reputation. He was definitely not regarded as one of those 'bright and
talented' students that Slughorn liked to collect in his little club.
"I apologize, Professor," Tom said, so sincerely that even Harry almost
believed him. "I don't know what came over me."
"Yes, well, I suppose we all have our moments." Slughorn sighed, setting a hand
on Tom's shoulder. "I'm afraid I will still have to give both of you detention.
We have very strict rules about fighting in the halls and I can't have anyone
thinking I'm playing favorites, now can I?"
"I understand, of course." Tom inclined his head and smiled. "I wouldn't have
expected otherwise from a respectable professor like you."
"You're a good boy, Tom." Slughorn patted Tom on the shoulder fondly. "I know
this was most likely a one-off incident for you."
Harry nearly gagged. He wanted to shout 'ARE YOU SERIOUSLY FALLING FOR THIS?'
and then start beating Slughorn over the head with his cauldron, but he
restrained himself. He'd never admit it out loud, but Tom did have quite a
convincing 'innocent school boy' act going. If Harry hadn't known him long
before coming to Hogwarts, he probably would have fallen for it as well. That
didn't make it any less aggravating, though.
"I'll have you two return here at five o'clock," Slughorn informed them.
"However, don't you worry. I'll get you out before the feast."
"Yes, Professor," they answered in unison.
Harry sighed.
'Happy birthday to me.'
                                     xxxxx
As much as Harry hated being in detention (again), he did love seeing perfect
Tom scrubbing frog brains off the undersides of desks. Oh, how the mighty have
fallen. He was going to ingrain this image to his memory forever. Any time Tom
tried to act superior to him in the future, he'd just think of this moment and
smile. It almost made up for all of the misery Tom had inflicted on him over
the years. Almost.
Slughorn was sitting at his desk, grading papers and devising next week's
curriculum. He didn't seem to be paying all that much attention to them, being
far more focused on working his way through a box of crystallized pineapple.
Harry and Tom didn't say anything to each other as they worked. It was just
long, stretching silence that was broken only by the sounds of scrubbing
against wood. Harry was actually starting to miss their constant bickering; it
was a lot better than this uncomfortable tension.
Once they were done cleaning all of the desks, they were told to start
organizing the supply closet — in meticulous alphabetical order, no less. It
was a dull, arduous task that required a lot of tedious rearranging whenever
they realized they'd missed a letter. Harry was about ready to start breaking
jars.
As Harry was moving the jars of Lionfish spine around, he heard the door click
shut behind them. His heart stopped and he whirled around. The supply closet
was not much bigger than the one he'd been trapped in, and it suddenly seemed
much smaller with the door closed. His chest squeezed tight and he very nearly
started having a panic attack.
But then Tom opened the door.
"Harry, calm down," he said. "It probably just closed on its own."
Harry let out a deep breath.
'Great, another instance where I act like a complete and utter fool in front of
Tom.'
Tom pushed the door wide open, which helped put Harry at ease, and they went
back to what they were doing. The silence lingered a little longer before Harry
decided there was something he really needed to bring up.
"Tom?"
"Yes?"
"How was it that you found me that day?" Harry ventured to ask. "You know, when
I was trapped in the closet?"
Tom said nothing at first. He just kept his focus on the task at hand,
carefully switching jars around until they were neatly lined up in the correct
order. When several minutes passed and he still said nothing, Harry decided to
try again.
"Well?"
"Does it matter?" Tom replied disinterestedly, inspecting a jar of snake fangs.
Harry felt he should have expected that answer. It was so typical Tom.
"To me it does."
Tom slid the jar of snake fangs into its proper place and then turned to look
at Harry. As soon as their eyes met, Harry was pulled into the whirlwind of
Tom's thoughts.
He sat straight up in bed, a small bead of sweat traveling down his temple. He
was breathing fast and his heart was beating an erratic rhythm against his rib
cage. He'd just dreamed of being trapped in a small, dark space. There'd been
nothing but complete blackness and his own terror. He could still feel the
remnants of the panic and fear he'd experienced in the dream.
Tom was not stupid. He knew that it had not actually been a dream. It'd felt
too real and the thoughts too invasive. Going into Harry's mind was something
Tom hated, but he was always distinctly aware of when it did happen.
Throwing the blankets off his body, he grabbed his wand and went over to
Avery's bed. His sleeping dorm mate was woken up by the tip of a wand being
jabbed into the soft junction of his neck.
Avery gasped and his eyes snapped open.
"Where is he?" Tom asked in a deceptively even tone.
"What do you think you're doing, mud-blood?" Avery demanded angrily as he tried
to sit up.
Tom applied a bit more pressure to his neck, forcing him to remain still.
"Where is he?" he repeated, deadly calm.
Avery winced in pain. "Who?"
"Harry."
"I don't know!" The wand was twisted against his neck and Avery paled. "Okay!
Okay! We took him to a closet on the fourth floor! By the abandoned classroom."
"Why?"
"We just wanted to mess with him a little!" Avery said. "We would have let him
out — in a day or two."
Tom contemplated making the boy sweat a little more but decided he didn't have
time for that. Slowly, he withdrew his wand from the boy's neck.
"Thank you, Frederic."
By now, the others in the dorm were also awake and had witnessed the entire
exchange. No one had dared tried to intervene — Tom was more magically skilled
than all of them and he looked entirely dangerous at the moment. He wouldn't be
surprised if they thought he'd been ready to kill Avery.
Pocketing his wand, Tom calmly exited the dormitory without another word.  Once
he was out of the dungeons, however, he broke into a run. His feet echoed off
the corridors loudly, his shadow racing alongside him as the rising sun spilled
through the windows. When he made it to the fourth floor, he searched out the
closet Avery had described. He'd almost missed it. It was a narrow door wedged
in a corner and very nearly hidden behind a statue of a manticore. He
approached it and unlocked it with a wave of his wand.
He opened the door.
"Harry?"
When Harry fell out of the memory, Harry just stared at Tom in numb disbelief.
He half-expected Tom to at least yell at him for invading his mind like that,
but he didn't do that — he didn't do anything. When Slughorn finally announced
that detention was over, they just went their separate ways without another
word. Harry didn't even feel like going down to the Halloween feast; he just
wanted to go to bed and go to sleep.
Gryffindor Tower was empty when Harry walked into the common room. Everyone was
most likely still down at the feast. Heading up to the dorms, he stripped out
of his robes and unceremoniously flopped face first onto his bed. He groaned
into the mattress and closed his eyes.
"It just doesn't make sense," Harry mumbled against the blankets.
Harry couldn't stop thinking about what he'd seen in Tom's memories. It'd
almost seemed as if Tom had cared about what'd happened to him. That was
absurd, though.
Tom hated him.
That was simple reality — the reality Harry had known his entire life. It
wasn't going to just change on a whim. He was certain the only reason Tom had
given a damn at all was because he'd needed to assert his dominance over the
other Slytherins. In fact, the more Harry thought about it, the more he
realized that was exactly the reason. It was the only thing that made sense.
Tom didn't care about him at all.
"Harry?"
Harry lifted his head to see that his dorm mates had returned. Just how long
had he been lying there brooding over Tom? Sitting up, he noticed that they all
had their arms laden down with various cakes and biscuits.
"We saw that you weren't at the feast," Richard said, walking over to his bed.
"So we brought some stuff up to you."
"Yeah, don't sulk in bed all alone on your birthday." Walter dropped his
armload onto Harry's blankets. "You'll just depress me if you do."
"Oh, sorry." Harry rolled his eyes but he was smiling.
Eugene unloaded his haul next and sat down on Harry's bed. "We weren't really
sure what you liked—"
"So we brought a bit of everything," Simon finished with a chuckle.
"Kind of looks like you took the whole feast, actually," Harry teased, eyeing
the pile.
"We gave it a good go," Simon said, grinning. "You should have seen the look on
Professor Beery's face as we left the hall."
Richard snickered. "Dumbledore looked amused, though."
"So why were you up here all alone, anyway?" Walter turned to Harry.
Harry just shrugged and shoved an entire tart into his mouth so he didn't have
to answer. Fortunately, the others didn't seem all that interested in forcing
an answer out of him. If there was one thing Harry was grateful for, it was
that his friends seemed to understand when something wasn't their business.
They just worked their way through Harry's massive pile of Halloween treats and
broke in his brand new Exploding Snaps deck (courtesy of Simon). They played
several games and Harry actually won a couple of rounds. Harry felt very
fortunate to have friends that could help him through some of his most
vulnerable moments.
Even if, the entire time, he couldn't stop thinking about Tom.
Chapter End Notes
     In regards to some people asking me about Harry's dreams. I can tell
     you right now that, no, Harry's not a seer. Anyway, thank you so much
     for all the wonderful comments to the last chapter. I was amazed at
     how many I received. It's very encouraging! Hope you enjoy this
     chapter!
***** Chapter 12 *****
December 24th 1938
December had come with a flurry of dazzling white snow and, in what felt like
no time, winter holidays had fallen upon them. The castle was a frenzy of
excitement as everyone packed up their belongings and headed home to spend time
with their families for Christmas. Everyone except for Tom and Harry, it seemed
like.
They'd had absolutely no desire to return to the orphanage — there was nothing
for them there except a cold room and a rickety old bed. Very few other
students had stayed behind in the castle for the holidays, which meant Harry
would have no one but Tom for company. Septimus had promised to try to write
him as much as possible, but even that wouldn't be enough to make dealing with
Tom for two weeks any better.
His fears had turned out to be unfounded. Harry had barely seen Tom for the
first few days of break. He'd caught glimpses of him at meals and had
occasionally run into him in the corridors, but otherwise it was as if the
other boy wasn't even there. For a while, it seemed like the ideal situation —
the less Tom to deal with, the better. However, it started to get a bit
depressing having no one to talk to after a while. Even Tom seemed like better
company than none at all.
Harry tried to keep himself busy by getting a head start on his assignments or
playing games of Exploding Snaps against himself. It was only after he'd run
out of things to do that he finally gave in and decided to seek Tom out. It
didn't mean that he wanted to be around Tom, he reasoned with himself as he
exited the portrait hole, it just meant that he was bored (and a little bit
lonely). He tried not to make it too obvious that he was searching for Tom; the
last thing he wanted was for people to think that he liked Tom. He'd much
prefer if it looked like he'd accidentally bumped into him. The first place he
decided to check was the study hall — it seemed a likely place for Tom to be.
As casually as possible, Harry opened the door and peeked inside.
"If you're looking for Tom, I do believe he's down in the library."
Harry jumped and whirled around. He looked up into the serene face and
twinkling blue eyes of Professor Dumbledore.
"Oh, um, er," Harry fumbled, slightly embarrassed at being caught. "I
wasn't..."
"There's no shame in seeking out companionship, Harry," Dumbledore said
reassuringly. "Perhaps Mr. Riddle would appreciate the company as well?"
Harry snorted. "About as much as he'd appreciate a slumber party with the
Hufflepuffs."
Dumbledore seemed amused. "Tell me, Harry, what do you think of Tom?"
Harry blinked at the question, not having expected it. It wasa bit of an odd
question, to be honest.
"What do I think of him?" He frowned, wondering if this was a trick. Could he
get in trouble for saying bad things about another student? After all, he would
use some rather colorful words to describe Tom.
"Well, you've grown up with him, so you know him better than anyone here,"
Dumbledore explained, smiling. "If your rather heated reactions to each other
are anything to go by, it seems there's some interesting history between the
two of you."
"I hate him," Harry said, crossing his arms. He knew he sounded like a complete
child but he didn't care. "That's what I think of him."
Dumbledore chuckled. "Hate's a strong word, Harry."
"Good," Harry said petulantly. "Because I strongly hate him."
"Do you think he hates you in return?"
"Of course!" Harry responded immediately, but then his resolve seemed to
waiver. "Well, I think...I don't know."
That answer strangely seemed to please Dumbledore. He gave Harry a knowing
smile and a pat on the shoulder. "Perhaps you should go look for Tom in the
library now?"
Harry blinked — he had a feeling he'd just missed a very important part of the
conversation, but he hadn't a clue what that was. He was about to leave when
Dumbledore stopped him again.
"Oh, one more thing — I do believe it'll be Tom's birthday soon, am I correct?"
Harry nodded. "Next week."
"Now that I think about it, I do recall sneaking down in the Hogwarts kitchens
once or twice in my youth," Dumbledore said, sounding like he was talking more
to himself than Harry now. "I'd eaten the most delightful chocolate cake. Truly
wonderful. Ah, the memories one recalls at the most random of times!"
With that, he walked off.
Harry stared after Dumbledore, completely dumbfounded. He was a strange man — a
very strange, very confusing man.
He decided to make his way to the library, despite being unsure if he actually
wanted to take Dumbledore's advice. By all logical reasoning, Harry shouldn't
want to be around Tom. Every encounter with him usually ended with Harry
feeling miserable or angry — or both. Despite his doubts, Harry's feet
continued to move and he soon found himself standing in the library. The place
was eerily quiet and empty, even for a library. Harry found Tom sitting in a
secluded alcove near the back, surrounding by stacks of books and piles of
paper. He approached Tom's table, curiously taking a look at all of the tomes
and scrolls he had laid out everywhere.
"Why are you reading through school records?"
The tome was snapped shut and Tom looked at him. 
"What do you want?"
Harry suddenly realized he had absolutely no reason to be there.
"It's Christmas tomorrow," he responded with the only excuse he could think of.
Tom stared at him blankly. "And?"
"And..." Harry looked down at his hands and shrugged. "I didn't want to be
alone."
"That isn't my problem," Tom responded, gathering up his books and making to
leave.
"Tom, wait..."
Tom paused and turned back to Harry. Their eyes met and for a single, brief
moment, Harry felt like they were the same person. They had the same past, had
experienced the same kind of loss, had felt the same loneliness. They
understood each other more than anyone else in the world. It was just some
cruel twist of fate that they also hated each other more than anyone else in
the world.
Harry tried to convince himself that was the reason why his heart was beating
so fast.
Without saying anything, Tom sat back down and opened up one of his textbooks.
Harry took that as a 'you may shut up and sit here with me,' which he happily
accepted. It really wasn't all that bad. Listening to the sounds of the pages
being turned and Tom's quill scratching against parchment was surprisingly
soothing. Harry was fascinated by Tom's handwriting — it was elegant and
flowing, but not in a girly way. He even did that little loopy thing with his
Ys. Harry, on the other hand, was sure at least half his poor marks on essays
were due to the fact the professors couldn't actually readthem.
Glancing out the window, Harry perked up when he saw fresh snow falling from
the steely grey sky. Even though Harry was not a fan of cold weather, he had to
admit that snow was quite beautiful to look at. The first day of December had
brought a fresh, thick blanket of snow, which had covered the entirety of the
Hogwarts grounds in glittering whiteness. Harry had never seen so much snow
before and he'd wished the other orphans could have seen it.
Tom didn't seem to notice or care, his attention solely focused on his work.
Harry pressed his lips together and frowned. Deciding he needed to stir things
up a bit, he silently opened the latch to the window and, without warning,
pushed it open.
A flurry of snow and wind blew through the window, sending Tom's notes and
homework flying around the library in a frenzy.
"Harry!" he yelled, trying to catch them. "What are you doing?"
"Letting in a little fresh air," Harry laughed.
"Close that window!" Tom snapped, snatching a parchment out of the air.
"I like it better open," Harry said with a grin.
Tom took out his wand and gave it a curt wave. The window slammed shut and the
latch locked into place. He then proceeded to gather up the rest of his
scattered work and took it back to the table. Harry was trying really hard to
keep the smile off his face, but he was failing miserably and he knew it.
"What, Harry?" Tom sighed, obviously seeing the look Harry was giving him.
"You have snow in your hair," Harry responded, his smile growing. "Looks kind
of nice."
Not sharing in Harry's amusement, Tom just combed out the snow with his
fingers. The boy's hair was wind blown and a bit messier than Harry was used to
seeing it. He also noticed for the first time that it'd grown a fair bit since
they'd come to Hogwarts.
At the orphanage, Mrs. Cole had always kept the boys' hair cropped very short
and neat (Harry being the exception because his had always inexplicably grown
right back). Now that Tom's hair was a bit longer, Harry noticed that he had
dark brown curls growing around his ears and at the nape of his neck. Harry
thought it looked quite nice — even kind of cute.
"Is this really all you want to do for Christmas?" Harry asked after a few more
minutes of silence. "Sit in the library and do homework?"
"Yes," Tom replied, turning a page and writing something down.
"It's Christmas, Tom," Harry emphasized, leaning across the table. "We should
do something."
"Then do something."
"No. You and I should do something," Harry reiterated exasperatedly. "I'm not
leaving you here all alone."
His words had some kind of affect on Tom. The boy's writing paused and he
seemed to grip his quill a little harder. At first, Harry thought he might've
angered Tom — but when he felt no anger coming from the other boy, Harry became
confused. He then wondered if maybe he'd upset Tom in another way.
"Pack it up, gentlemen," the librarian suddenly appeared, causing Harry and Tom
to look up. "The library is closing in five minutes."
"Guess you don't have a choice now," Harry said victoriously.
Tom didn't argue. Harry waited patiently for the other boy to pack away his
things and then the two of them headed out of the library together. The
corridors were completely empty, the silence broken only by the sounds of their
breathing and the clicking of their shoes against the ground as they walked.
Being entirely alone with Tom should have been exceedingly awkward, but Harry
found his silent presence somehow familiar and safe.
Harry glanced out the window and saw that the snow had finally stopped falling.
It was dark out and the clouds had broken up enough to see the stars.
Just like that, an idea occurred to him.
"Come on, I know where we can go," he said, grabbing Tom's wrist and breaking
into a run.
Tom had no choice but to follow. Harry kept a tight grip on Tom's wrist as they
sprinted through the castle, somehow fortunate enough not to meet Pringle or
any teachers along the way. Their destination was the Astronomy Tower — one
place first years certainly were not allowed to be unsupervised. It required
running up a long, spiraling staircase with far too many steps in Harry's
opinion. By the time they reached the top, they were both out of breath and
slightly sweaty.
"Of course, we're not supposed to be up here," Harry said breathlessly, turning
to Tom with a mischievous smile. "But no one has to know."
The Astronomy Tower was the highest tower at Hogwarts, and it had the most
brilliant view of the sky on a clear night. Sometimes Harry liked to sneak out
of bed and come up there just so he could look at the stars — and now he wanted
to share that with Tom.
"It's no wonder you have a reputation as a rule-breaker," Tom remarked,
unsurprised.
"It's not like I break allthe rules," Harry grinned, then took Tom's wrist
again. "Come on, let's get closer."
Harry let go of Tom's wrist and approached the edge of the tower. From where
they stood, it looked like the sky was opening up into the entire universe
right before them. Harry was certain every single star in existence was visible
in that moment. They hung luminously against the deep, black sky, looking
almost close enough to touch.
Sticking his foot onto the railing, Harry pushed himself up to get a little
higher. However, Tom immediately grabbed onto the back of his jumper and pulled
him down off the railing. Startled, Harry looked at Tom in bewilderment; the
other boy still maintained a tight grip on his jumper.
"Don't be stupid, Harry," Tom said, finally letting him go.
Harry thought Tom had sounded a little be panicked just then, but it'd been so
subtle he might've just imagined it.
Something white fluttered down from the sky just then and landed on Tom's
cheek. Realizing that it was a snowflake, Harry looked up to see that the
clouds had rolled in again. There were still a few gaps in them, allowing bits
of the starry sky to remain visible. As the snowflakes fell, it almost looked
like they were stars falling gently down to Earth. Harry held out his hands and
caught a few of them in his palms.
Maybe he could touch the stars after all.
With a gust of wind, the snowflakes were blown away. They were carried high up
into the sky and returned to their rightful place with the stars. Harry just
kept his gaze on the sky, knowing Tom was doing the same next to him.
They stood there for a long time, quietly watching the snow fall together.
                                     xxxxx
Harry hadn't seen much of Tom since Christmas. Sometimes he wandered into the
library just to see if he could find him there, but it was just as empty as the
rest of the castle. He was also never in the Great Hall at the same time as
Harry for meals. It was beginning to become obvious to Harry that Tom was
purposely avoiding him — the thought oddly hurt his feelings a little.
When the day before Tom's birthday rolled around, Harry spent a few hours
petulantly refusing to even acknowledge it. If Tom was going to ignore him,
then he was going to ignore Tom's birthday. It was only fair.
That hadn't lasted very long. He felt like he should do something for Tom, even
if the jerk didn't deserve it. Moodily, Harry got out of bed and left
Gryffindor Tower. Earlier in the week, he'd recalled what Dumbledore had said
about the kitchens and had owled Septimus about it. His friend had owled him
back, telling him where the kitchens were located and how to get into them. So
that was where Harry was currently headed.
He had to travel all the way down to the basements. Once there, he spotted the
painting of the bowl of fruit Septimus had mentioned and tickled the pear just
as he'd been instructed to do. Unexpectedly, the pear wiggled and laughed!
Harry snapped his hand back in surprise. He really ought to get used to odd
things like that happening at Hogwarts.
The pear transformed into a doorknob right before his very eyes. Grabbing it,
Harry opened the door and walked through the entrance. He was greeted by many
wonderful aromas as he stepped into a spacious kitchen with a high ceiling and
four large tables situated in the middle. The stone fireplace crackled with a
warm, welcoming fire as dozens of pots bubbled on the stoves. Harry realized
that was where the delicious smells were coming from. He couldn't stop his
stomach from growling slightly.
"Can Nippy get you something, sir?"
Harry spun around and at first, he didn't see anyone — until he looked down.
His eyes went as round as saucers at what he saw. It was a very strange
creature with bat-like ears and an over-sized head set on a very skinny body.
It took him a moment to realize that there wasn't just one — there were dozens
of them, and they were all rushing around the kitchen, chopping vegetables and
stirring things in the pots. It occurred to him that they were the ones that
had been preparing all of the Hogwarts meals all along.
"Oh, um." Harry blinked. He really wanted to ask 'what are you' but that seemed
incredibly rude.
"Nippy could bring you something to eat, sir," the creature said earnestly.
Harry's stomach growled again and he smiled sheepishly. "I suppose I could eat
something."
Without hesitation, the creature snapped its fingers, procuring a plate of
sandwiches and a mug of steaming hot cocoa. Sitting down at one of the tables,
Harry grabbed one of the sandwiches and practically devoured it in just a few
bites. He didn't hesitate in going for another sandwich once he was finished
with the first. One would think he hadn't eaten in days.
"Than' 'ou," Harry said around a mouthful of food.
"It's Nippy's pleasure, sir," the creature said happily. "Can Nippy do anything
else for you, sir?"
Harry couldn't help but notice how eager Nippy was to assist him. It bewildered
him slightly; he wondered if all of the creatures were like that.
"Well, actually," Harry said. "I kind of need help with something."
"What would that be, sir?" Nippy asked.
"It's my fr-this person's birthday," Harry explained, catching himself. "I
wanted to give him a cake."
"Nippy can do that, sir!" Nippy nodded enthusiastically. "What kind of cake
would you like, sir?"
"Chocolate?" Harry answered, not really sure what Tom liked. Couldn't go wrong
with chocolate, he supposed. "Can it say Happy Birthday on it?"
"Nippy will do that for you, sir!"
Nippy rushed off to get started on the cake. While he waited, Harry drank his
hot cocoa. The mug would magically refill itself whenever it became empty, and
by the time he'd had his fourth mugfull, Harry's stomach was feeling quite
sated and warm. He didn't have to worry about running out of food, either —
every so often one of the other creatures would pass by and offer him a freshly
baked pastry or a biscuit. They seemed to really like giving him food. By the
time Nippy returned, Harry was practically full to bursting with cocoa and
biscuits.
"Is this to your liking, sir?"
The cake was small and single-layered, with elegant green lettering on the top
that read 'Happy Birthday.' Harry found it fitting that Nippy had chosen the
color green, considering Tom was in Slytherin.
"It's perfect," Harry said with a smile. "Thank you."
Nippy beamed and then boxed the cake up for Harry with a snap of its fingers.
"I hope your friend has a happy birthday, sir."
"Thank you, Nippy," Harry said, taking the cake. "I'll be sure to tell him you
said that."
Harry walked out of the kitchens and back up to Gryffindor Tower.
Waking up earlier than usual the next morning, Harry grabbed Tom's cake and
headed towards the owlery just before breakfast time. He took a bit of string
and tied it around the box so he could give it to one of the school owls to
carry.
"Deliver this to Tom, okay?" Harry told the owl, stroking it gently.
The owl nipped his finger in understanding and then took off flying. Harry
leaned out the window of the owlery, watching the owl disappear towards the
Great Hall. He smiled softly to himself.
"Happy birthday, Tom."
***** Chapter 13 *****
Chapter Notes
     I know I said I'd time skip, but a lot of people said they wanted to
     see a reaction to Harry's gift. I figured I could try to do something
     with that. It made for a VERY short chapter, but it's something.
     Enjoy!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Tom didn't approach him until nearly a week after his birthday.
Harry was sitting in an empty, barely used corridor with his back pressed to a
wall and a textbook splayed open on his lap. The waning sun cast golden strips
of light through the windows, highlighting the specks of dust that lazily
drifted through the still, quiet air. The solitude was both Harry's best friend
and worst enemy at the moment. Half of him was so frustrated and emotional he
was sure if anyone tried to talk to him he would scream; the other half of him
was so desperately lonely and sad that he wished someone would just walk by and
say hello.
School had started up again and everything had gone back to normal. Harry still
spent time with his friends and went to classes; still got good marks in
Transfiguration and terrible marks in Charms. The only thing that wasn't normal
was his relationship with Tom. Once built on a solid (and quite comfortable)
foundation of hate, Harry was now confused as to where they stood with each
other — and it was all because of a stupid cake. Part of Harry had already
known it had been a dumb idea — Tom would never in a million years have
appreciated his gift — but another, more stubborn part of Harry had desperately
hoped he would. When Tom hadn't even so much as acknowledge Harry's gesture,
it'd felt like he'd been rejected. The rejection had turned into an awful
stomach ache that wouldn't seem to go away.
Harry had really, really wanted Tom to like that cake.
The sound of footsteps broke him out of his thoughts. Harry didn't acknowledge
them until they were right in front of him. When he looked up, he was a bit
surprised to see Tom standing there. The other boy's face was highlighted by
the sunlight, giving him an oddly soft look.
"Why did you do it?"
Harry stared at uncomprehendingly. It wasn't that he didn't understand the
question; he knew exactly what Tom was asking him. He just didn't
understand why he'd asked that. Tom was supposed to be a genius. Surely he
understood the concept of a gift.
"Because it was your birthday," Harry replied simply.
Tom's jaw tightened. "I didn't ask you to do anything for me."
Harry frowned. "I know you didn't. I wanted to."
"I didn't want you to," Tom said coldly. "You wasted your time."
"It didn't feel like a waste of time," Harry said, trying to keep his cool. "I
thought it'd be nice to do something for your birthday."
Tom snorted, outwardly belittling Harry's sentiment. "I don't care about my
birthday."
"Well I care!" Harry shot back, getting to his feet and looking Tom straight in
the face. "I care, Tom."
Harry's heartbeat quickened and his stomach twisted into a painful knot. He
didn't understand why Tom was doing this. It had only meant to be a simple,
kind gesture for his birthday. Why was it turning out like this again? He felt
so frustrated he wanted to scream. He was so tired of the mood swings and the
fighting and the confusion. He just wanted Tom to be nice to him.
"Why should you care, Harry?" Tom asked almost cruelly. "I didn't even eat your
stupid cake. I just tossed it."
"Fine! Okay! That's fine!" Harry yelled. "You can do whatever you want with it!
I'll just do it again next year! And the year after that! You can throw allof
them away, but I'll just keep doing it!"
Tears brimmed up in Harry's eyes. He stared at the boy who had caused him so
much misery his whole life. His heart swelled with so much pain that he feared
it would burst a hole right through him. He didn't even know how to properly
handle what was happening to him. He just wanted to know what had happened to
make Tom like this — what made him act so hateful and so mean and so
afraid? Afraid of companionship, of friendship...afraid of feeling human. The
slightest hint of those things had Tom running away every single time. In that
moment, Harry realized that he was not crying for himself but for Tom. He felt
so sorry for him.
Harry could tell that his words had startled Tom. He was looking back at him
with wide eyes and uncertainty — as if, for the first time in his life, he
didn't know what to do. The cold, apathetic shell had crumbled away to reveal
the child that Tom still is and had always been. He really was vulnerable and
human just like everyone else.
"I know there's a good person in there somewhere," Harry whispered, keeping his
eyes fixated on Tom despite how blurry with tears they became. "I've seen him."
Tom's face hardened again and he looked almost angry. "You're wrong, Harry."
"No, I'm not," Harry said, smiling softly. "There's a good person in you and he
deserves cake for his birthday."
Harry's words lingered in the quietness of the hall like a third presence. The
torches came to life as the sun burned on the horizon, bathing the corridor in
a fiery orange light that chased the shadows away. Harry couldn't figure out
why he suddenly felt the loneliness leave him. Even in that one broken,
desperate moment.
Leaning down, Harry picked up his books and started to leave. He figured there
was nothing else to say. Just before he turned the corner, he stopped and took
one last look over his shoulder.
Tom was still standing there, staring at the spot where Harry had last been.
                                     xxxxx
Harry lay awake in his bed that night, counting the stars. It was something he
used to do as a child at the orphanage, staring out at the sky from his tiny
window in his tiny bedroom. He didn't think he'd ever gotten past fifty before
losing count. It was almost impossible to keep track of such tiny dots against
such a wide expanse of sky; but he'd always start back at one and try again.
That night, however, he couldn't seem to get past ten. His thoughts were a mess
and he kept replaying the events with Tom over and over again. They'd had
arguments before, but this one had been different.
He knew he'd meant what he'd said to Tom. He didcare. It'd taken him by
surprise when he'd said it, but he knew there'd been nothing but honesty behind
his words. He couldn't pinpoint exactly when he'd started to care. It wasn't
like he'd ever wanted anything bad to happen to Tom; he'd just never
particularly liked him, either. He was starting to wonder if Dumbledore had
been right all along — maybe he'd never really hated Tom all along.
'It felt so much easier when I hated him, though.'
Feeling lonelier than ever, Harry curled around his pillow and closed his eyes.
He drifted between consciousness and sleep until he finally fell into a dream.
                                       x
The door to the Slytherin dungeon closed behind him as he strode inside. Tom
didn't say anything to his house mates as he walked across the common room and
headed towards the dorms. Avery and Lestrange were already in there, but upon
seeing him, they quickly made to leave.
Once he was alone, Tom made his way over to his trunk and opened it. He shifted
aside a few neatly stored items and then pulled out a small white box. Taking
it over to his bed, Tom climbed in and closed the drapes around him.
Setting the box down, he carefully opened it up and looked down at the
chocolate cake resting inside. The box must have had some sort of preservation
charm on it because it looked just as fresh as it had when he'd first received
it. He stared down at the words at the top. Green.
He almost smiled.
Swiping his finger over the frosting, Tom stared at the sticky mess for a
moment and then slowly stuck it into his mouth. It was overly sweet and a bit
sickly, not to mention he abhorred chocolate.
But he tried some more anyway.
                                      xx
Harry shifted in his sleep, relaxing slightly as the dream changed.
                                      xx
"Make a wish."
The boy held the cake out to him. The flames on the candles flickered dimly in
the darkness, casting delicate shadows across the boy's face. His eyes were
glistening in the light, burning brighter than even the flames.
"What's the point of that?" he asked.
"When you blow out the candles," the boy said. "The smoke carries your wish up
to the sky where they turn into stars."
He cupped the boy's face fondly. "Where do you come up with such ridiculous
notions?"
"They're not ridiculous," the boy defended. "They're true. Now, make a wish."
Deciding to indulge the boy, he leaned in and blew out the candles in one big
puff of breath. He noticed that the boy's eyes were watching the tendrils of
smoke as they trailed up into the air and slowly disappeared. He seemed
satisfied because he smiled.
"What'd you wish for?" the boy asked, bright green eyes turning onto him. "No,
wait, don't tell me. It has to stay a secret."
"Let me guess," he said in amusement. "It won't come true if I tell you?"
"Exactly." The boy nodded. "Now, here, have some cake."
With his finger, he swiped a bit of frosting off the cake and stuck it in his
mouth.
Chocolate. His favorite.
Chapter End Notes
     Okay I think this is the official last chapter of their first year. I
     think I shall time skip now. I am thoroughly impressed with my
     ability to fit a whole bunch of angst and a whole bunch of fluff into
     1,600 words.
***** Chapter 14 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
August 1942
"Harry, wake up."
Harry groaned and rolled over.
"Harry, I don't wish to miss the bus because of you."
Grudgingly, Harry opened one eye to see Tom standing over his bed. He was
staring down at him with a pair of very unimpressed brown eyes. Harry just
reached for his pillow and threw it him.
"Get out of my room, Tom."
Tom merely caught the pillow. "It's as if you're six years old."
"I don't understand why we have to go so early," Harry complained, sitting up
and rubbing his bleary eyes. "We can catch a later bus."
"Just get dressed," Tom ordered, tossing his pillow back at him. "I'll be
downstairs."
The pillow hit Harry directly in the face and flopped into his lap.
"Yes, sir." He glared at Tom's retreating back.
Once Tom was out of the room, Harry slid out of bed and yawned. He definitely
wasn't a morning person. He'd never understand how Tom could just get up and do
things. It was unnatural and inhuman. Dragging his feet a bit, Harry walked
over to his wardrobe and took out one of the only pair of clothing he owned: a
simple pair of worn-out grey trousers and simple worn-out white shirt. They
looked decent enough, ignoring the patches and frays. As usual, there was
nothing he could do about his hair — it'd somehow gotten even messier and
wilder.
He'd gone through a couple of growth spurts over the years, which had shot him
up to what he considered a respectable enough height. He still wasn't as tall
as Walter or Simon, but he was no longer a midget, either. His body had just
forgotten to grow outwardin the process, giving him the appearance of being
even skinnier than he really was. His knobbly knees were more prominent than
ever, which made him a bit self conscious about showing his legs.
Tucking in his shirt, he was walking out of his room when he ran into Amy. She
looked a bit startled and flustered, almost as if she hadn't expected to see
him up.
"Oh, good morning, Harry," she greeted, blushing.
"Morning, Amy," Harry responded with a smile.
Harry had known about Amy's crush on him ever since they were thirteen years
old. He felt bad for her because he really didn't have any feelings for her in
return, but he tried to be nice about it. He also tried not to make it obvious
that he knew about it — he figured that would be rather embarrassing for her.
"Are you going somewhere?" she asked, accompanying him downstairs.
"Just into the city with Tom," Harry responded conversationally. "We need to
pick up supplies for school."
"Oh, that's right," Amy said, as if suddenly remembering. "That starts soon for
you."
"Yeah, the first of September." Harry nodded. "Not too long now."
"I'll be sad when you go," Amy responded with a sigh. "It always gets so boring
around here without you."
"At least I'm here for the summers," Harry said optimistically, attempting to
cheer the girl up.
He would have offered the write to her, but he figured having owls show up at a
muggle orphanage would cause some issues. He also didn't think there were any
muggle post offices in Hogsmeade, anyway.
Tom was sitting in his usual spot near the end of the table when Harry and Amy
walked into the dining room. It was impossible to miss the way his dark gaze
bore directly into Amy. The poor girl swallowed nervously and skittered around
Harry, taking a seat at the other end of the table, as far away as possible.
Harry sighed and plopped himself down next to Tom.
"We get it, you're the boss," he said. "You can stop with the death glares."
Tom didn't say anything in reply.
Harry looked down at his small portion of plain, watery porridge. It was always
difficult coming back from lavish banquets to meager scraps during the summer.
He was definitely looking forward to getting back to Hogwarts where he could
eat a decent meal. He'd been having dreams of lamp chops and treacle tart for
the last two weeks.
Picking up his spoon, Harry turned to Hannah and engaged her in a friendly
conversation as he ate. He hadn't been paying much attention to his meal, so
when he looked back at his bowl, he did a double-take. His porridge had somehow
doubled in amount since he'd started. Perplexed, he glanced over to Tom and saw
that, in contrast, the younger boy's bowl was completely empty. He knew it
wasn't possible that Tom had eaten all of his that fast — it wasn't as if he
tended to gobble his food down. He supposed the other boy just hadn't been
hungry. 
Harry, on the other hand, was hungry enough not to question it too much and
accepted the offering graciously. As soon as he finished the last bite, Tom was
ready to leave.
"Come, Harry."
Harry wasn't even given an opportunity to respond as Tom stood up and walked
out of the room. Dropping his spoon, he quickly scrambled out of his seat and
chased after him. Tom was already halfway down the front steps of the orphanage
by time Harry caught up with him. He had to keep up a quick pace to match the
taller boy's long strides.
Puberty had definitely treated Tom better than it had Harry. He was quite tall
for a fifteen year old, boasting at least a couple inches in height over Harry.
Not that he really needed it. Harry was sure Tom could be five feet tall and
still exude so much power and confidence that he'd feel like the biggest person
in the room.
They'd only just made it in time for the bus. Making a mad dash, they jumped
onto the bus just as it was about to leave. Slightly out of breath and feeling
victorious, they took the only remaining seats towards the back. Tom was his
usual silent presence next to Harry, but the silence didn't hold the same
hostility it'd had when they were children. Harry didn't think Tom liked him or
anything, but it didn't feel like he hatedhim anymore.
The morning sunlight streamed through the window, accentuating Tom's handsome
face. Harry had to admit that Tom had really grown into his looks since
entering his teens. He'd lost all of the roundness of childhood, leaving him
with high cheekbones and elegant features. His hair still had those little
curls Harry had grown so fond of  — they brought a softness to an otherwise
strong, immaculate visage.
"Harry, we're here."
Harry blinked as he was pulled out of his thoughts.
"What?"
"Move before we miss our stop," Tom urged, pushing on his shoulder.
With a jolt, Harry hopped out of his seat and rushed to exit the bus, Tom
following behind him. The bus took off a second later in a cloud of exhaust and
left the two of them standing at Charing Cross. They made their way to the
Leaky Cauldron and walked inside.
"Ah, Harry and Tom, good to see you!" Tom the Innkeeper greeted them.
"Hello, Tom." Harry waved.
"Good morning," Tom said with a polite nod.
Harry and Tom made their way into the backyard. Tom used his wand to tap the
brick that transformed into the archway leading into Diagon Alley. Harry didn't
think he'd ever get used to the feeling of coming back to the magical world
after two long months trapped in the tedious monotony of the orphanage. It was
like breathing for the first time all over again — it was so new and alive.
The first thing they did was go to Gringotts to get the money from their fund.
Every year, it was becoming a little more difficult to get their gold to
stretch far enough to cover all of their supplies. Harry had worn his original
robes for three years in a row just to save a bit of money. When he'd hit his
first growth spurt, it'd started to look a bit ridiculous and he'd had no
choice but to finally buy a new set. In the end, they always managed to get
what they needed, even if it meant making sacrifices. 
They were just making their way to the second-hand bookshop when Harry heard
someone call out his name.
"Harry! Over here!"
Harry spun around, face breaking into a grin when he saw a head of red hair
make its way through the crowd of people.
"Septimus!" he called out, waving a hand in the air.
Septimus jogged the last bit of distance and pulled Harry into a brotherly hug.
"How's your summer been?"
"Alright, I s'pose." Harry shrugged. "It's been a bit difficult, with the war
and everything."
"Is that still going on?" Septimus asked with concern. 
Harry nodded and sighed. "I can't wait to get back to Hogwarts."
"I don't blame you," Septimus said, giving Harry a once over. "You look like
you could do with about ten decent meals."
Harry snorted. "Did you come all the way over here just to insult me?" 
"It's not really an insult if it's true, now is it?" Septimus replied
teasingly.
"Harry," Tom interrupted the conversation unapologetically. "We do not have
time for delay. We need to get our books now."
Septimus and Harry turned to Tom. Even though Tom's tone was neutral enough, it
was blatantly obvious that he didn't want Septimus there. Harry had known for a
long time that Tom didn't like Septimus. Every time the two of them were around
each other, the tension and hostility was palatable. It usually came from Tom,
but Septimus wasn't overly fond of Tom, either. They tolerated each other in
public but when it was just the three of them alone, the situation could turn
quite nasty.
"Oh, no problem," Septimus said, ignoring Tom's attempt to get rid of him. "I
need to buy some books too, so I'll join you."
Tom didn't say anything but it was obvious he was not happy. The three of them
walked into the bookshop together and headed towards the Charms section first.
As they were browsing the shelves, Tom practically loomed behind them the
entire time. Harry could almost feel him brushing up against his back.
"Here, Harry," Septimus said, pulling a book from the shelf. "Isn't this the
textbook you needed?"
"Yes, that's perfect," Harry said, taking it. "Thanks, Septimus."
However, Tom snatched the book right out of his hand and shoved it back onto
the shelves. He then pulled a different, slightly newer one out instead.
"Take this one," he said, pressing into Harry's hand. "The other one was hardly
in decent shape. It wouldn't have lasted the year."
Septimus raised his brows. Tom was staring right back at him as if daring him
to challenge him on the matter. All Harry could do was look at the both of them
in bewilderment. He decided it was best to just not even ask.
"Um...right, anyway." Harry blinked. "Let's go over here."
They moved on to the Astronomy section. It was Harry's best and favorite
subject in school. He'd always had an interest in the stars for as long as he
could remember, but he'd unearthed a true passion for them after he'd
discovered Astronomy. They were more than just dots hanging in the sky — there
was a whole, beautiful universe out there filled with vast wonder and endless
secrets. Harry felt like his very existence depended on finding out those
secrets.
"Oh, Harry," Septimus said, moving to stand beside him. "Did I mention I made
Head Boy?"
"Really?" Harry's eyes went wide. "That's amazing! Congratulations!"
"Thanks." Septimus beamed with pride. "Simon made prefect as well, I'd heard."
"So did Tom here," Harry said, nodding in Tom's direction. "This means you're
his boss now, Septimus — lucky you."
Septimus laughed. "I'm sure he appreciates that."
"It does make one wonder at the competency of the seventh years, if you were
the best candidate," Tom remarked in a casual tone, as if he hadn't just
insulted Septimus.
"Er. Right." Septimus frowned, turning to Harry. "Do you have everything you
need?"
Harry glared daggers at Tom. He was clutching his Astronomy book so hard that
his knuckles were turning white. The temptation to hit Tom with it was so great
that Harry felt the muscles in his arm twitch. 
"Yes," he said, still scowling at Tom. "Let's go."
After paying for their books, they stepped out of the shop. They took out their
lists and marked off what they already had before going over what they still
needed.
"I need a new set of glass phials," Septimus said. "Want to come with me,
Harry?"
"Actually, we'll be getting fitted for robes now," Tom cut in, taking Harry by
the arm.
"I'm sure Harry can decide for himself what he wants to do," Septimus said
tersely. "I'm also sure it doesn't involve going anywhere with you."
Tom looked entirely unfazed. "Is that so?"
"I know so," Septimus shot back heatedly. "I know I wouldn't want to spend a
minute around a complete arsehole like you."
"I wouldn't want you to spend a minute around me, either," Tom replied
dismissively. "Which is why we'll be leaving now."
Tom pulled on Harry's arm, but Septimus grabbed his other arm to stop him.
"Let him go," Septimus warned. "He doesn't want to go with you."
Harry's patience was running thin and he'd already had enough of this
ridiculous situation. With as much strength as he could muster, he savagely
yanked his arms free from both their grasps.
"How about you BOTH let me go!" he yelled, shoving them away from him. "I am
not some god damned toy to fight over!"
Septimus was glaring angrily at Tom, but Tom looked somewhat indifferent to the
whole thing — as if it really hadn't bothered him at all. He just spared Harry
a glance before turning and walking away. Harry watched the other boy leave
until he disappeared into the crowd. Shoulders slumping, Harry sighed to
himself and wondered how it was always himwho ended up in the middle of
situations like this.
"Sorry, Harry," Septimus said, having the decency to look ashamed. "I got a bit
carried away."
"Yes, you did," Harry agreed, but then playfully nudged the other in the
shoulder. "It's alright, though."
"Just the way he was acting like he owned you or something," Septimus
continued, frowning. "It really rubbed me the wrong way."
"Tom thinks he owns everyone," Harry snorted, rubbing his arm where Tom had
grabbed him. "Besides, I think he mostly just wanted to be an arse to you."
"At least he's gone now." Septimus relaxed a bit. "Let's just finish our
shopping."
"Good idea," Harry said and smiled, trying to lighten the mood. "Come on, you
needed phials right?"
                                     xxxxx
When Harry and Septimus finished their necessary school shopping, they wandered
around the alley for a bit. They stopped by Quality Quidditch Supplies just so
they could stand at the window and admire the newest broom models. Harry
couldn't deny that he was a bit envious of people who owned such nice brooms.
Harry played Seeker on the Gryffindor Quidditch team, but since he had
absolutely no money for a broomstick of his own, he had to use the school's old
Cleansweep One. It was about as old as Harry was and not as sleek as some of
the brooms the other players used — but Harry made up for it in skill. He'd
only failed to catch the Snitch a couple of times since joining the team.
After they'd browsed every interesting shop there was, Harry decided it was
time to search Tom out. They needed to start heading back to the orphanage soon
and the last thing they needed was to get into trouble for missing curfew.
Septimus had suggested something along the lines of 'just leave the bastard
behind', and while it was a tempting idea in theory, Tom had the bus money
Harry needed to get back.
"He's probably off having one of his temper tantrums," Septimus said as they
took a seat on the Gringotts steps. It was the best place to spot Tom should he
walk past. "We could be sitting here for a while. Do you have your Exploding
Snaps deck on you?"
They played a few games together and chatted for a while. Septimus gave Harry
some pointers on his upcoming O.W.L exams and talked a bit about what he might
do after he graduated from Hogwarts. The day continued to rapidly dwindle down
into evening and there still was no sign of Tom. Eventually, Septimus had head
back home.
"Sorry, Harry," he smiled apologetically. "Mum will kill me if I'm late for
tea."
"It's alright," Harry said, shrugging. "I'm sure Tom will show up soon."
"I'll see you on the train, alright?"
Harry nodded. "See you then."
Septimus gave him a wave and disappeared down the alley. Harry sighed and
propped his chin up in his hands — the only thing left to do was wait. The
lower the sun got, the emptier and quieter the alley became. Harry knew it was
well past time to catch the bus, considering they tended to stop running early
due to petrol rationing for the war. They were definitely walking back now.
Another hour passed and Harry finally became fed up with waiting. He decided
the only thing left to do was simply head back on his own. Gathering up his
things, he walked back to the Leaky Cauldron and muttered a good bye to Tom the
Innkeeper. He then stepped out onto the London streets alone.
Fortunately, Harry had a fairly good idea of the route back to the orphanage.
He'd taken it by bus enough times that he practically had it memorized. It
would just take a lot longer to traverse by foot. He didn't care, though — it
was a lot better than sitting around, waiting for Tom like a lost puppy. He was
damn sure that was what Tom had been expecting him to do, too.
The streets were eerily quiet. There were no cars due to the banning of
personal petrol use and most people kept inside after dark nowadays. Harry
couldn't wait until he was back in the magical world — away from the stifling
presence of war and death.
It wasn't long before Harry heard someone running up from behind him. Glancing
over his shoulder, he saw that it was Tom. Harry took a guess that the
Innkeeper must've informed Tom where he had gone. Harry just kept walking, not
feeling particularly courteous enough to slow down. When Tom caught up with
him, he grabbed Harry by the arm and forced him to stop.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"Going back to the orphanage, what does it look like?" Harry said plainly. "I'm
sorry, was I supposed to wait around all night for you?"
"You can't just go wandering off in the city, alone and in the dark." Tom
narrowed his eyes. "It's not safe."
"Well, I wouldn't have needed to if someone." Harry yanked his arm free from
Tom and continued walking. "Hadn't gone off and disappeared God knows where for
more than half the day."
Tom didn't say anything in response, seemingly conceding to Harry's point. The
two of them walked side by side through the city without saying a word to each
other. Harry couldn't help but notice that Tom had his hand in his pocket the
entire time, most likely holding onto his wand. It was an unusual display of
cautiousness for Tom. For someone his age, Tom was uncommonly relaxed and
confident in most situations — as if he truly never worried about anything.
Harry wondered what made this particular situation different.
By the time they made it back to the orphanage, it was quite late and far past
curfew — which meant the doors were locked.
"Don't even think about it, Tom," Harry warned, seeing the way Tom was looking
at the door. "You'll have the ministry swooping down on both our heads."
"Then what do you suggest?" Tom quirked a brow. "Stay out here all night?"
"Hold on," Harry said, walking down the steps. "Let me check something."
Harry went around the building and started checking the windows. Most of them
were secured. However, when he came to the back of the building, he found one
that had been left slightly ajar. It was just a bit too high for Harry to reach
alone, so he called Tom over and pointed up to it.
"Think you can give me a lift up there?"
"Yes."
Placing his foot in Tom's hands, Harry grabbed onto the window sill as Tom
lifted him up. As quietly as possible, he slid the window open and, with Tom's
help, began pulling himself through. That was when he felt Tom's hands on his
butt. Harry's eyes very nearly popped right out of his head.
"Tom! Get your hands off my arse!"
 "As you wish."
Harry felt Tom grab him by the legs and suddenly shove him the rest of the way
through the window. Unable to stop himself, Harry tumbled through and hit the
ground with a hard thud.
"You...bastard," he groaned.
Pushing himself up, Harry went over to the window and glared at Tom.
"I really should leave you out there for that," Harry threatened.
"You should," Tom responded. "But you won't."
"What makes you so sure?" Harry crossed his arms.
"It's in your Gryffindor nature," Tom said simply. "You'd never leave someone
helpless and stranded."
"I'd hardly ever consider you helpless." Harry snorted, and then sighed. "But
you have a point. Come on."
Tom handed up their school supplies first, then grabbed onto the windowsill and
pulled himself up next. In a rather awkward maneuver, Harry wrapped his arms
around Tom and hauled him the rest of the way through. Tom ended up being a
little heavier than Harry had anticipated, which resulted in both of them
overbalancing and toppling over. They hit the ground hard, with Harry sprawled
underneath Tom, lungs very nearly collapsing from having a teenage boy landing
directly on top of him.
"Oh my god, Tom," Harry complained. "I really, really hate you today."
When he opened his eyes, he was met with Tom's dark gaze staring directly down
at him. He felt like he'd just been hit with an electric jolt. It forced him to
draw in a breath, as if he'd not been breathing the entire time. Maybe he
hadn't, he wasn't sure. He blamed it on Tom basically crushing his lungs.
"You're heavier than you look, you know that?" Harry said, shoving Tom off of
him.
"Perhaps because some of us have actually gained weight as we grew older," Tom
remarked, though not cruelly.
"Maybe it's not that I didn't gain enough weight, maybe it's that you gained
too much weight!" Harry glared at him and stood up. "Let's just get to bed
before Mrs. Cole finds us."
The two of them walked up the stairs as quietly as possible. When they reached
the landing, they parted ways to their separate rooms. However, when Harry made
to open his door, he found that it was locked. He blinked and tried the knob
one more time just to make sure he hadn't somehow done it wrong.
"Well, that's just perfect," Harry muttered, thumping his forehead against the
door.
He then turned his head to look down the hall, seeing that Tom was also
standing outside his room.
"She's locked us out," Harry called down to him.
"Obviously."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Some kind of punishment for breaking curfew?"
"Perhaps," Tom said. "Or she was making sure no one else could get into our
rooms during our absence."
"Oh." Harry hadn't thought of that. "So what now?"
Tom leaned against his door. "I suppose we wait until morning."
Harry sighed. "Great."
Sliding down to the floor, Harry wrapped his arms around his knees. They kept
each other company in relative silence. It was comfortable and familiar. In any
other situation, with any other person, Harry would have felt downright awkward
sitting in complete silence — but with Tom, he never felt like they needed to
say anything to each other. There was never any forced conversation and
pointless chit-chat. They just silently accepted each other's presence. It was
a safe feeling.
"Tom?"
"Yes?"
"Do you ever miss Hogwarts?" Harry asked, the question randomly occurring to
him. "As if it's your real home and the orphanage is just kind of a place you
have to go to in between?"
"Hm."
Harry took that as a yes. He'd honestly always wondered if Tom had ever
regarded any place as his home. Sometimes, it was difficult to see him as
someone who placed sentimental value on anything. Harry wouldn't have been
surprised if Hogwarts had just been a means to an end for Tom — a place to
receive an education and that was it. The fact that they both saw Hogwarts the
same way — as their home — made Harry feel a little more connected to Tom. 
Leaning his head back, Harry closed his eyes.
 
He sat across from the boy, watching him with a quiet fascination. The boy's
natural talent for procrastination usually lead to some interesting moments of
multi-tasking. He was currently attempting to eat breakfast and do some last
minute revision for an exam. There was a piece of toast clamped between his
teeth and a quill in hand as he furiously scribbled something down in his
notebook.
He thought the boy looked quite perfect like that.
"What was Golpalott's Third Law again?" the boy asked, taking a bite out of his
toast.
"The antidote for a blended poison will be equal to more than the sum of the
antidotes for each of the separate components."
"Oh, right."
The boy jotted that down.
He watched him as he flipped through his text books and drank from his tea cup,
accidentally dribbling a bit down his chin. The boy didn't even seem to notice,
his attention too focused on his work. He reached across the table and gently
wiped it away with his thumb for him.
Brilliant green eyes raised to meet his and the boy smiled at him. The world
stopped for one fleeting moment and it was as if he was feeling his heart
beating for the very first time. It ached but he didn't want it to stop.
He leaned in and placed a kiss on the boy's lips. He tasted of tea and
peppermint.
His heart only beat faster and faster.
He sucked in a slight breath as he opened his eyes. His heart was beating
rather fast and it took a few moments to calm it. Lifting his head up, Harry
glanced around the still, quiet hallway. He saw Tom's dark shape leaning
against the door of his bedroom. He'd obviously not moved much from that spot,
if he'd moved at all. It almost looked as if he was watching over something.
Harry then realized that he'd shifted positions at some point, as he was now
lying on the floor. There was a robe laid out over him, acting as a makeshift
blanket; another one was folded up under his head for a pillow.
They both bore the Slytherin crest.
Chapter End Notes
     I start uni in three days. Well I go BACK to uni Saturday but actual
     classes don't start til Wednesday. But that does mean slower updates
     soon. Anywho. I could not stop laughing at the image of Tom 'looming'
     behind Septimus and Harry. Help me. Yes I am stoned again, I'm sorry.
***** Chapter 15 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The first time Harry sat at the Slytherin table was during the third week of
the school year. Immediately upon walking into the Great Hall for breakfast, he
was unexpectedly accosted by Lestrange and Nott. He could only stare up at them
suspiciously as their larger forms blocked his path to the Gryffindor table.
The Slytherins hadn't bothered him since his first year, but their temperaments
were often so mercurial that it never hurt to be cautious of their motives.
"May I help you?" Harry crossed his arms.
"Tom wants you to sit with him this morning," Lestrange informed him.
Harry looked between them, brow arched. "What, so, he sent the both of you to
drag me over in case I said no?"
Nott grinned. "Something like that."
Harry glanced over to the Slytherin table and caught Tom's gaze. His stomach
did a little turn and he didn't like how warm he suddenly felt (even if it
wasn't altogether unpleasant). Tom always brought out a confusing and broad
range of emotions from him. It was usually explosive anger and frustration, but
sometimes there were other reactions as well — like the strange fluttering in
his chest that he tried to blame on indigestion.
Not exactly sure why he was going along with this, Harry allowed Lestrange and
Nott to escort him over to the Slytherin table. Harry could feel practically
every eye in the hall turn in his direction as he took a seat between Tom and
Avery. It wasn't unusual for students to sit at different house tables during
meal times, but it was almost unheard of for Gryffindorsand Slytherinsto sit
together. One would think the world was about to implode going by the reaction
he was getting.
From across the hall, Septimus was sending Harry questioning looks. He appeared
ready to run over and rescue him if need be. Harry gave him a reassuring smile,
letting him know that no rescue was needed, and then turned his attention to
the Slytherins around him. Many of them he knew by name, but most of them he'd
never spoken to outside of a few occasions. The ones he knew most intimately
were Tom's friends: Nott, Lestrange and Avery.
He was still a bit wary of them, considering they were the ones who'd locked
him in the closet in his first year. However, Tom seemed quite good at keeping
them in line and they hadn't so much as looked at Harry funny since that day.
There were also three members of the 'ancient' and 'noble' Black family:
Walburga, Alphard and Orion. Alphard was the only one out of the lot that
seemed decent enough. Walburga, in particular, had a rather nasty personality
and she made no effort whatsoever in hiding it. If looks could kill, Harry was
sure he'd be six feet under from the glare she was currently giving him.
"What is hedoing at our table?" she said rather haughtily.
"Now, Walburga," Tom responded in a smooth tone. "That's no way to talk to our
guest."
Walburga pressed her lips together in disapproval. "You better have a good
reason for this, Tom."
"Do you doubt my judgement?" Tom calmly poured a cup of tea."Would I invite
Harry to sit with us without good reason?"
"I'd just like to know what that reason is," Walburga hissed testily.
"Just let it go, Walburga," Alphard said from next to her. "It's not a big
deal."
Cheeks turning pink from aggravation, Walburga abruptly stood from the table
and shot Harry, in particular, a rather scathing look.
"If you'll excuse me," she announced, turning up her nose. "I've suddenly lost
my appetite."
She made a rather dramatic exit that surely caught most of the hall's
attention. There was a round of snickering from the Slytherin table after she'd
gone. Harry just sat there, feeling a bit dumbstruck from what'd just happened.
"I think that went rather well," Avery commented in amusement. "Normally she
would've tried to hex you."
"I didn't even say anything to her," Harry protested, furrowing his brows. "I
don't understand why she was so angry."
"Barring the fact that you're a Gryffindor," Avery said, smirking. "The company
you keep alone is enough to have you black-listed by Walburga for life."
"The company I keep?" Harry repeated, frowning. He didn't like where this was
going.
"What's that half-giant's name that you're always around?" Nott questioned with
a hint of disdain. "Hagrid or something?"
Harry pursed his lips together. "Yes, and I happen to find him quite good
company, thank you."
"Yes, we're all aware of the types of people you consider good company, Harry,"
Lestrange remarked dryly.
"That isn't important at the moment," Tom stated, effectively ending the
conversation. "Drink your tea, Harry."
Looking down, Harry saw that a cup of tea had been placed in front of him. He
picked it up and took a sip, surprised to find that it was made exactly the way
he liked it — one teaspoon of sugar and extra milk. He wondered when Tom had
learned how he took his tea. Then again, they had lived together for fifteen
years; it wasn't entirely inconceivable that Tom might've picked it up at some
point. After all, Harry knew that Tom liked his tea plain with lemon or
sometimes honey.
Harry quickly drank his tea down and watched as Tom started placing sausages,
eggs and toast on a plate. He then set the plate down in front of Harry
"Eat," Tom ordered. "We have lessons soon."
"Who are you, my mother?" Harry muttered sarcastically.
"I'm only looking after your well being," Tom commented offhandedly. "After
all, someone has to make sure you're a half-way functional human being."
The rest of the Slytherins at the table snickered. Cheeks burning, Harry felt
any previous appreciation he might've had for Tom quickly evaporating. Maybe it
was due to the fact that he was already annoyed by the jabs at his friendship
with Hagrid, but Harry had absolutely no patience for Tom's superior attitude
that morning. He slammed his hands down on the table and stood up, catching the
attention of everyone around him. They stared at him with raised eyebrows, but
he was only looking at Tom.
"You're a real condescending jerk, you know that?" Harry seethed. "I don't
needyou as you seem to think, Tom."
Without waiting for a response, Harry grabbed his bag and stormed out of the
hall in such a fury he might've put Walburga to shame. He made it about two
corridors before his self-righteous, anger fueled march ran out of steam.
Letting out a noise of frustration, he flopped against a wall and buried his
face in his hands.
Harry had no idea why he let Tom get to him so much. The entire school had just
witnessed him throw a hissy fit over the bastard — over basically nothing, too.
It'd hardly been the worst thing Tom had ever said to Harry; Tom just had an
uncanny ability to rile Harry up like no one else. Even now, Harry's heart was
still beating like crazy against his chest.
"Are you alright, Harry?"
Harry looked up to see that Simon had followed him out of the hall. Even though
he really didn't want want to talk about what'd happened, he plastered on a
smile and attempted to look as normal as possible.
"Hi, Simon," Harry greeted. "You know how it is with the Slytherins."
"Were they giving you a hard time?" Simon asked sympathetically.
"Kind of," Harry replied, shrugging his shoulders. "I probably overreacted, to
be honest."
"Well, if it helps," Simon said, trying to sound reassuring. "I don't think
anyone saw what'd happened."
Harry just arched a brow at him as if to say 'really?'
Simon just laughed. "Okay, so everyonedid, but it'll be forgotten by lunch
time, I guarantee it."
"Probably." Harry chuckled and adjusted the strap of his bag. "After all,
what's a Monday morning without a bit of drama?"
"You definitely keep things lively, Harry." Simon nodded, placing a hand on
Harry's shoulder. "Want to walk to class together?"
"Ah, Harry, there you are."
Tom had suddenly shown up in the corridor. He briefly looked at Simon's hand
where it lay on Harry's shoulder, before returning his gaze to Harry and
smiling pleasantly. That smile may have the entire school fooled, but Harry
didn't buy it for a second. He knew the real bastard that lurked beneath it —
even if he had to admit it was quite a nice smile. Sighing impatiently, Harry
turned to Tom.
"What do you want?"
"I've been looking for you," Tom explained, unperturbed by Harry's tone. "I was
hoping I could walk you to Herbology."
"I was actually going to walk with Simon," Harry said shortly. "Sorry."
"I'm sure Simon wouldn't mind," Tom reasoned with that stupidly charming smile
of his. "Would you, Simon?"
Simon glanced over to Harry curiously. "Oh, uh, of course not."
"But-but-"
"It's all settled. Harry will walk with me," Tom stated pleasantly.
Simon smiled, though with a bit of uncertainty. "Right...I suppose I'll see you
in Herbology, then?"
'Traitor!'
"Okay," Harry replied, forcing a smile.
Once Simon had walked off, he dropped the smile and turned to Tom. "I hate you
so much."
"Don't be so dramatic, Harry," Tom said as he lead Harry out of the corridor.
"I'll stop being dramatic, when you stop being a god-damned prick."
Tom looked amused. "You never fail to astound me with your talent for
articulation."
"Oh, I'm sorry." Harry rolled his eyes. "Does my vocabularyoffend you?"
"Adding sarcasm on top of it really doesn't help your case, Harry."
Harry just glared at him. The two of them left the castle and headed to their
Herbology lesson together. They were actually working out in the gardens that
day, which was a nice change of pace from the sometimes stifling atmosphere of
the greenhouses. It usually meant they were working with the more
interestingplants, too. The Slytherins and Gryffindors gathered around neat
rows of what appeared to be normal cabbage patches.
"Chinese Chomping Cabbages!" Professor Beery announced excitedly. "Imported all
the way from, you guessed it, China!"
"Excuse me?" Walter spoke up, eyeing the crops warily. "Did you say
chompingcabbages?"
"Indeed I did, Mr. Johnson," Professor Beery answered. "We're going to be
working with them today."
"Are they safe?" Eugene asked nervously.
"Absolutely not!" Professor Beery replied far too cheerily. "But don't worry,
I'll be teaching you how to properly handle them. Gloves on, everyone!"
Eugene did not seem all that excited about working with something that had the
word 'chomping' in its name. Then again, there weren't many things that Eugene
got excited about. Professor Beery proceeded to split the class into groups of
two for their experiment. Harry had originally been partnered with Walter, but
Tom had grabbed him and pulled him to his side.
"Professor, I do believe Harry would benefit better if paired off with me."
"Do you, now?" Professor Beery looked between the two of them curiously. "Yes,
perhaps that would be a good idea. Alright, go on then. Mr. Johnson, Mr. Avery,
you two will be working together now!"
Harry smiled apologetically at Walter's almost horrified expression. Harry
wasn't exactly feeling too thrilled about his arrangement, either. After the
incident at breakfast, the last thing Harry wanted to do was cooperate on an
assignment with Tom. He couldn't see this ending well at all.
He followed Tom to collect some carrots with the rest of the class. They were
supposed to be learning how to feed the cabbages, which apparently had a strong
preference for carrots. Each pair were given their own patch of cabbages to
work with and they were supposed to have them all fed by the end of the lesson.
The only problem was, Harry couldn't figure out where the mouth was.
"Watch, Harry," Tom said, crouching next to a cabbage. "You just need to coax
them a bit."
Tom demonstrated by pinching a leaf between his fingers and peeling it back.
Harry's eyes widened when the rest of the leaves suddenly unfurled to reveal a
large, gaping maw and a ferocious set of teeth. The class gave a collective
gasp of horror as the plant gnashed and snapped its sharp teeth savagely. Tom
merely grabbed a carrot from Harry and tossed it to the cabbage. Harry watched
in sick fascination as the carrot was brutally chomped to bits.
"Excellent, Tom!" Professor Beery exclaimed, impressed. "Excellent! I hope
everyone saw that. Five points to Slytherin."
The leaves wrapped around the cabbage, returning it to its normal and docile
appearance from earlier. Not wanting to be shown up by Tom, Harry took in a
deep breath and determinedly peeled the leaves back, revealing the horrifying
mouth once more. He fumbled with a carrot and made to toss it to the cabbage,
but accidentally allowed his fingers to stray too close and—
"Ouch!"
He hissed in pain and jerked his hand back when the teeth closed around his
index finger. He shook his hand out and glared hard at the offending vegetable.
"That's why we wear gloves, people!" Professor Beery called out, chuckling.
"Watch those teeth, they won't hesitate to take your fingers off!"
Slipping his glove off, Harry inspected the wound. It was bright red and
bleeding slightly. He stuck it in his mouth and sucked on it. Who knew being
around produce could be so dangerous?
"Let me take a look, Harry."
Harry almost jumped when Tom's warm hand wrapped around his wrist. He watched
as the other boy removed his own glove and took out his wand. His actions were
almost gentle as he cradled the injured finger and used his wand to heal it
with one quick motion. Harry inhaled sharply when Tom rubbed his thumb over the
newly healed flesh, as if to ensure that there was no injury left. He had to
pull his hand away to keep from blushing too hard. That definitely shouldn't
have felt as nice as it'd had.
"Thanks," Harry muttered, pulling his glove back on.
"Be more attentive next time," Tom said, putting his wand away.
Harry resisted the urge to huff childishly. "I will."
It was clear he wasn't the only one having a hard time with the cabbages. A few
groups were still trying to get the mouths to appear and Walter seemed more
focused on trying to get his cabbage to bite Avery without Professor Beery
noticing than actually feeding it. Eugene wouldn't even go near his.
Nonetheless, Harry gave it another determined go and, by the end of the hour,
they'd managed to feed most of the carrots to the cabbages.
"The next step," Professor Beery called out, catching the class's attention.
"Is harvesting the cabbages!"
"Harvesting?" Richard questioned, eyes widening slightly. "We're not going to
eat them are we?"
"No, no!" Professor Beery laughed. "They are used in bone healing potions, such
as Skele-Gro. I'm sure Madam Peppercorn will appreciate a fresh batch."
"Oh, good," Richard said, sighing in relief. "Can you imagine eating something
that would try to eat you back?"
Eugene made a strange noise. "I'd rather not imagine that!"
"Come now, everyone," Professor Beery addressed the class. "Just grab them
firmly by their stalk and give them a good yank — yes, you too, Mr. Bell."
It was definitely easier said than done. The cabbages were deeply rooted and
agitated, snapping their teeth wildly as the students tried to pull them from
the ground. Tom seemed to be the only one who knew what he was doing and Harry
ended up finding himself fascinated by the sight. The other boy's hands worked
with grace and skill as he yanked the cabbages up from the ground, somehow
completely avoiding the treacherous set of teeth as he did. He still looked as
handsome as ever, even with his normally impeccable uniform covered in dirt and
a slight flush of exertion forming on his beautifully sculpted cheekbones.
"Harry! The cabbage!" Tom suddenly warned.
When Harry felt the cabbage in his hands give a violent shudder and snap at
him, he jumped back and dropped it out of surprise. It started scuttling across
the ground, using its tendrily roots as strange makeshift limbs. Eugene gave a
high pitched squeal and ran as far away as possible when the cabbage made a mad
dash for the grounds.
"Don't let it get away, boys!" Professor Beery shouted. "Go on, round it up!"
Harry and Tom chased after the cabbage, which turned out to be surprisingly
agile for a vegetable. Considering they were also trying to avoid getting bit
made it even more difficult to catch. Harry could hear their classmates
laughing at them as they ran around the garden. He couldn't blame them — he
could only imagine how silly he and Tom must look at the moment. Resorting to
his considerable Seeker reflexes, Harry made an impressive dive for the cabbage
and snagged it by its roots before it could take cover in a cluster of bushes.
"Ah-ha!" Harry yelled triumphantly. "Got you, you little — OOF!"
Harry hadn't realized that Tom had been directly behind him when he'd made that
little maneuver, which had resulted in the younger boy slipping on the muddy
ground and tripping over him. He landed directly on top of Harry, the force of
the impact making him let go of the cabbage. It scuttled away and escaped into
the bushes.
"Tom!" Harry cried in frustration. "Look what you did!"
"Me?" Tom scoffed. "You're the one who let it go."
"Ugh! Just get off me!" Harry tried to squirm out from underneath the heavier
boy.
Tom pushed himself up off Harry and took out his wand. "Accio Chinese Chomping
Cabbage."
The cabbage came zooming back out of the bushes and directly into Tom's hands.
Gripping it tightly by its roots, Tom walked it over to the crate where the
rest of the cabbages were being held and deposited it inside. Harry stood up
and tried to clean off the front of his robes, which were completely covered in
mud and muck. Tom's uniform wasn't faring any better. It was almost funny
seeing Tom in such a state, considering Harry had never even so much as seen
Tom with his shirt untucked.
"Bravo! Well done!" Professor Beery gave a polite golf clap. "That was quite
the show, gentlemen."
"Yeah, that was amazing, Harry," Walter cheered and laughed. "I'd pay to see
that again!"
Harry flashed his friends a grin. Tom didn't seem as amused, but that was
hardly surprising. Harry often wondered if Tom even had a sense of humor.
"Alright, class, that about wraps up this lesson," Professor Beery announced.
"I want twelve inches on the proper care of the Chinese Chomping Cabbage, plus
a detailed diagram, due on Thursday!"
Everyone grumbled to themselves and started disperse. The day had fast turned
cold and grey, and by the time they'd nearly reached the castle, it'd started
to drizzle. Harry searched for his scarf, only to realize that he'd dropped it
back in the gardens. Telling the others he'd catch up with them later, he
turned around to head towards the greenhouses — only to bump right into Tom.
Harry's heart caught in his throat at their proximity. From where he stood, he
could practically feel the rise and fall of Tom's chest as he breathed. He even
picked up the faint scent of his soap and the soft heat permeating off his
body. Someone so cruel and mean shouldn't smell and feel so nice, Harry
thought. He knew he should probably take a step back but for some reason his
feet were stuck to the ground. 
Eyes falling to Tom's hands, he saw that he was holding a gold and red striped
scarf clearly belonging to a Gryffindor.
"That's, um, mine," Harry stated a bit lamely.
"I gathered as much," Tom said. "Sometimes, I wonder how it is you manage to
get through the day with how often you forget things."
Tom lifted the scarf and proceeded to wrap it around Harry's neck for him.
Harry didn't know why such a simple, meaningless action had such a profound
effect on him. His heart started racing and he completely stopped breathing
until Tom had finished and his lungs had started burning in protest. He was
being ridiculous — it was just Tom. Exhaling slowly, Harry looked up.
"Thanks."
Raindrops were falling at a steady pace now, slowly but surely dampening their
robes. Harry blinked as water landed on his glasses, distorting his vision.
Scowling, he furiously attempted to wipe the water away with his robes but it'd
only ended up making it worse. He was taken by surprise when Tom reached out
and simply took his glasses from him. Before Harry could utter a word of
protest, Tom had cast a water-repelling charm on them and returned them to
Harry's face. He could see perfectly out of them now.
"You should probably get inside now," Tom said. "I know how much you hate the
rain."
Harry wondered then why it was that he'd stood there in the rain long after Tom
had walked away.
Chapter End Notes
     I'm so sorry this took so long to get up. I just moved back into uni
     on Saturday, so I've been adjusting to that (i.e I've been in a
     perpetual cycle of drunkeness/being hung over). Thanks so much for
     your patience and comments!
***** Chapter 16 *****
Chapter Notes
     Italics indicate flashback
See the end of the chapter for more notes
It was during the Summer after first year that Billy Stubbs came down with a
cold. It'd spread like wildfire throughout the rest of the orphanage and Mrs.
Cole and Martha were running themselves ragged trying to care for over a dozen
sick children. Harry and Tom were among the few that hadn't gotten ill at
first, so they were put on kitchen and laundry duty, preparing soup and keeping
bed linens clean for the others.
Until Tom had gotten sick.
It'd started out as a few sniffles and aches, but had fast turned into feverish
chills and a horrid cough. Harry had never seen Tom look so weak before, and he
didn't want to admit that it worried him. If they'd been back at school, Madam
Peppercorn could've cured Tom in a heartbeat; but as it was, all they could do
was wait it out.
It was late one night when Harry was woken up by the sound of loud coughing. It
carried down the hallway from Tom's room, pain clearly heard in each ragged
breath. For several minutes, Harry just lay there listening to Tom's coughing,
a deep frown on his face. Knowing there was no way he would get back to sleep,
Harry sat up and got out of bed, dragging his blanket along with him. He walked
out of his room and headed down to Tom's.
Tom was curled up on his bed, blankets pulled tightly around his body as he
shivered uncontrollably. Harry wasn't sure why the sight made his stomach hurt
so much. Walking over to Tom, Harry carefully laid his blanket out on top of
him for extra warmth. This caused the younger boy to open his eyes and lift his
head towards him.
"What are you doing?" Tom asked, his voice rough.
"Your coughing is keeping me awake," Harry responded.
Tom laid his head back down on the pillow. "Sorry."
Harry thought Tom must be really feverish for that word to pass his lips. The
faint moonlight cast through the window allowed Harry to just barely make out
Tom's face. Even in the darkness, he could tell the other was sweating and
flushed. Biting his lip, Harry turned and walked out of the room. He was only
gone for a couple of minutes, having retrieved a small, damp cloth and a glass
of water from the kitchen. When he returned to Tom's room, he sat down on his
bed next to him.
"Here, Tom," Harry whispered. "Sit up for a second."
He helped the other boy up and pressed the glass to his lips so he could drink
the water. When he was finished, Harry set the glass down on the desk and
gently started to dab the damp cloth along Tom's face and neck. He took care to
wipe away the sweat beading his skin and ran the cloth over his heated cheeks.
The entire time, Tom watched Harry, his eyes calculating and observant even in
their fevered state. Harry could only wonder what was going on in Tom's head in
that moment. Eventually, Tom's breathing evened out and the fever started to
break.
"Feel better?"
Tom just gave a single nod.
Harry continued dabbing the sweat away from his face, striking up a light
conversation to help distract him from how poorly he was feeling. He stayed
with him for the remainder of the night, never moving from his side except to
refill the glass of water. He eventually fell asleep at Tom's side, with the
other boy's head resting on his shoulder. It was cramped with the two of them
sharing Tom's tiny bed, but their bodies fitted together almost perfectly.
Tom's hand unconsciously gripped at Harry's wrist in their sleep, as if to make
sure he didn't move away.
Harry hadn't moved an inch.
                                     xxxxx
October 31st 1942
The rain beat down relentlessly as they made a mad dash for The Three
Broomsticks. By the time they made it inside, the six of them were completely
soaked through with freezing cold water. The pub was overcrowded and loud, but
there was a roaring fire crackling in the fireplace and it was dry, so it was a
welcome sight.
"Blimey, that rain came out of nowhere!" Walter exclaimed, shaking his cloak
out.
"Tell me about it," Septimus agreed as he pulled his coat off. "It'll take me a
whole week to get dry."
"Let's try to find a table," Eugene suggested.
"I'll get the butterbeers!" Simon offered. "Save me a seat!"
Harry ran his hands through his wet hair and followed behind the others as they
squeezed through the pub. The Three Broomsticks was generally busy on a normal
weekend, but that day it seemed like everyone in Hogsmeade was inside in order
to escape from the rain. It felt a bit like being crammed in a sardine can.
They eventually found a table near the back of the pub, situated in a small,
cramped corner — which also happened to be the perfect spot for people to
frequently bump into them as they walked past.
"I hate when it gets this busy," Walter sighed, slouching in his seat. "I
wonder if Simon will have any luck getting service."
"We could always go to the Hog's Head," Richard joked. "No one ever goes
there."
Eugene shook his head. "Only if you want people to think we're up to something
shady."
"Well, we dohave Harry with us," Septimus said teasingly.
Harry's eyes widened. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"If anyone here was going to get up to no good, it'd definitely be you."
"What makes you say that?" Harry asked, crossing his arms.
"Well, let's see," Walter started, holding up his hand to start ticking fingers
off. "There were those times second year when you sneaked out to Hogsmeade."
"And in third when you and Hagrid went into the Forbidden Forest because he
thought he'd find a three headed dog," Richard chimed in.
"Plus all the times you've broken curfew," Eugene added.
"Okay, okay, I get the point," Harry cut in. "You can stop now."
"Let's not forget that you're always around Tom Riddle, and his Slytherin
friends," Walter continued on, ignoring Harry. "That automatically makes you
shady as hell."
Harry rolled his eyes. "I'm not alwaysaround him."
Every boy at the table raised their eyebrows at him. Harry flushed. Admittedly,
they had a bitof a point. Harry had recently taken to keeping Tom company in
the library or study hall during free hours. They had meals together on
occasion and were frequently spotted sitting next to each other in lessons. It
was an odd sort of relationship, as Harry would never refer to Tom as his
'friend' but he certainly spent a lot of time with him — possibly more than he
did with his actual friends.
"What's with you two anyway?" Walter asked more seriously. "You go back and
forth so much it's difficult to tell how you feel about him."
"You either hate him or he's your best friend," Richard agreed. "It's as if you
can't decide if you actually like him or not."
"If you knew Tom the way I did, you'd be exactly the same way," Harry said with
a shrug. "He's not an easy person to have any kind of relationship with."
"That's because he's a complete arse," Septimus said tersely. "I honestly don't
understand why you give him the time of day, Harry."
"Oh-ho! It sounds like Septimus is jealous to me." Walter grinned, throwing an
arm around Septimus. "Afraid Tom Riddle is going to replace you as Harry's best
friend?"
"No," Septimus scoffed, tossing Walter's arm off him. "Just stating the truth."
"I definitely sense some jealousy," Richard joined in, snickering. "You might
need to duel Tom to the death for the title of Harry's best mate."
Walter snorted. "Now that I'd pay to see."
Septimus ran his hand down his face. "I'm surrounded by idiots."
"Leave him alone, you two," Harry said in Septimus's defense. "Septimus has a
perfectly good reason not to like Tom. He's never been very nice to him."
"We know," Walter said, waving his hand. "We were just teasing."
"Why doesn't Tom like you, anyway?" Eugene asked Septimus curiously. "He seems
to get along so well with everyone."
"Probably because he'sjealous of me," Septimus replied with a hint of
bitterness. "I'd say that's rather obvious."
"Really? Why?" Richard raised his brows. "I would've never thought Tom Riddle
would be jealous of anyone."
Septimus glanced at Harry and then shook his head. "Never mind. It doesn't
matter."
Harry frowned. Septimus always got a bit sour when the subject of Tom came up,
but now Harry was getting the feeling there was more to it than that. He made a
mental note to bring it up at a later time when it was just the two of them.
"I'll go see where Simon is," Richard said. "He might need help fighting the
mob."
As Richard got up from his seat, he collided with someone walking past their
table, resulting in their drinking spilling all over the both of them. To make
matters worse, the person ending up being a Slytherin from the year below them
— Presley Parkinson.
"Watch where you're going, mud-blood!" Parkinson snarled, wiping the front of
his shirt off.
Harry and Walter were on their feet in an instant, nearly knocking their chairs
over in the process. "What did you say?"
Parkinson turned to them, an insult clearly on the tip of his tongue. However,
whatever he was going to say died on his lips when he saw Harry. He took a step
back, eyes darting nervously to the opposite side of the pub.
"Nothing, never mind," Parkinson mumbled before hurrying off.
Walter blinked after the retreating Slytherin. "Well, that was odd."
Confused, Harry looked across the pub, wondering what had made Parkinson so
skittish. He found Tom sitting at a table with a group of his Slytherin
friends. Their eyes locked from across the room and Harry's heart jumped in his
chest. Despite being surrounded by dozens of other people, Tom's attention was
entirely focused on him. His gaze was so firm and commanding that Harry got the
impression he was being told to go over to him.
"Sorry it took so long," Simon said, his return obstructing Harry's view of
Tom. "It was murder up there."
He set six steaming mugs of butterbeer down on the table.
"We're just glad you made it back alive — oi! watch it!" Walter yelled when
someone bumped into their table, causing their butterbeers to slosh over.
"Figures we'd get the worst table in the place," Septimus sighed, shaking his
head. "Anyway, happy birthday, Harry!"
They all lifted their drinks in unison.
"Happy birthday, Harry!"
Harry smiled and took a drink from his butterbeer. As soon as the liquid hit
his stomach, he felt warmed straight down to his toes. However, the rest of it
was very nearly spilled down the front of his shirt when someone practically
tackled him from behind.
"Hi, Harry!"
Coughing and wiping his mouth, Harry looked over his shoulder to see Niamh
Waters, a Gryffindor girl from his year. He set his drink down and smiled at
her.
"Hello, Niamh," he greeted. "Doing alright?"
She gave him a swift kiss on the cheek. "Just wanted to wish you a happy
birthday."
The rest of the boys whistled and hooted obnoxiously, making Harry to roll his
eyes. He was the only one out of the group who'd never had a girlfriend or
kissed a girl. Walter often liked to tease him over the fact that even shy,
nervous Eugene had been kissed before him. They just didn't seem to understand
that Harry honestly didn't have any desire to kiss a girl.
"Anyway," Niamh continued, bringing Harry's attention back to her. "I was
thinking about throwing a kind of Halloween themed birthday party in the
Gryffindor Tower tonight. What do you all think?"
"Yes!" Walter said excitedly. "Perfect idea!"
"Let's just try not to set anything on fire this time," Septimus said semi-
seriously. "I'm Head Boy now, so I'm responsible for all of you."
"Yes, alright." Walter waved his hand at him dismissively. "No fire. Got it."
"So, what do you say, Harry?" Niamh turned to him. "Sound like a plan?"
Everyone looked at him expectantly.
Harry just smiled. "Alright, let's do it."
                                     xxxxx
Septimus hadn't allowed anyone under fifteen years of age to attend the party,
so the Gryffindor common room was packed with students ranging from fifth year
and up. Harry had been the center of attention for most of the night, with many
people approaching him and wishing him a happy birthday. He'd even received a
fair few gifts, some of which had included a box of sweets, his very own chess
set and a book on Quidditch.
At some point, a couple of sixth years had sneaked in a large quantity of mead
and Firewhiskey (how they'd gotten a hold of it was a mystery). There were
already a fair amount of tipsy students stumbling around, which meant Septimus
had his work cut out for him trying to keep them from doing anything stupid.
Harry, for the most part, kept to his butterbeer, amusing himself by watching a
drunk Simon rather awkwardly try to flirt with a very pretty seventh year girl.
"Hi, Harry."
Niamh plopped down next to him on the couch and held out a bottle of mead to
him. He just shook his head at the offer.
"No, thanks," he said, showing her his butterbeer.
"Oh, come on, you're sixteen now," Niamh encouraged, wiggling the mead at him.
"Live a little."
"I've never really drank before," Harry explained, feeling unsure.
"It'll be a fun, new experience, then," Niamh said, handing him the bottle.
"Cheers!"
Harry took the bottle, still feeling somewhat uncomfortable with the idea.
Hesitantly, he brought the bottle to his lips and took a small sip. It
definitely wasn't anywhere as nice tasting as butterbeer, but it wasn't
horribleeither. It did get a bit better after a couple of bigger gulps. By the
time he'd finished the entire bottle, he was feeling really warm and relaxed —
like nothing could bother him. He wondered if this was why people liked
drinking so much.
"Your cheeks have gone pink," Niamh said with a giggle. "It's kind of cute."
"I'm not cute." Harry smiled. "Girls are cute."
"Do you think I'm cute?" Niamh asked curiously.
Harry tilted his head at her. She was pretty, he supposed — she had blue eyes,
strawberry blonde hair and a slim physique. She was everything most boys would
probably fall over themselves for. As with all girls, though, Harry didn't
really feelanything looking at her. He never found himself staring at girls as
they walked past or talking about them among his friends like most boys his age
did. Everyone else had a type, but Harry didn't. He was starting to wonder if
there was something wrong with him.
"Yes, you're cute," he said anyway.
The answer seemed to please Niamh because she beamed and picked up a bottle of
Firewhiskey.
"Let's try something different," she said, grabbing two glasses. "Something
special for your birthday."
"I don't know..." Harry said, already feeling a bit tipsy. "I think I've
already had a bit much."
"Just one," Niamh said, pouring the whiskey into the glasses. "That's all, I
swear."
"Alright, I suppose..." Harry agreed, albeit a bit reluctantly.
She handed him one glass and held up her own. "Cheers!"
They clinked their glasses together and then quickly tipped the liquid into
their mouths. Harry nearly choked to death on the taste of it alone. It was
absolutely foul going down and he had to chug half of his butterbeer just to
chase the taste away. It even burned as it settled in his stomach. He was quite
sure thatwas why he never drank.
"That," Harry wiped his mouth, "was awful."
"You get used to it," Niamh said with a laugh, sounding rather drunk herself.
"Here."
Harry looked down to see that she had refilled his glass and was handing it
back to him. He hadn't even noticed her pour it. Maybe it was the alcohol
already in his system, but Harry felt a lot less apprehensive about taking it
this time. He downed it without hesitation. It went a lot smoother than the
first round, and by the third and fourth round, he barely even tasted it
anymore. In fact, his face was starting to feel a bit numb and his lips were
getting tingly. He vaguely wondered if that was normal.
"Can I ask you something, Harry?"
It took Harry a minute to realize that Niamh was talking to him. He'd started
to space out a bit and she sounded like she was talking to him from far away.
When he turned to her, his body swayed slightly from where he sat.
"Hm?"
"Did you mean it when you said I was cute?"
Harry wondered when Niamh had gotten so close to him. He couldn't remember her
being pressed up against him like that a second ago.
"Yes," he said, words slightly slurred. "You're quite cute."
Her hand was on his cheek. "Have you ever kissed anyone before?"
He shook his head. "No."
"Can I kiss you?"
She was leaning towards him, her face so close to his that he could smell the
alcohol on her breath. Her pink and moist lips were nearly touching his—he
could practically feel the heat of them against his own. His heart started
pounding against his chest in panic and his eyes widened almost comically. He
scrambled away from her until his back met the armrest, causing him to fall
backwards and tumble off the couch. There was momentary silence as everyone
stopped what they were doing to stare at the scene. Harry instantly felt his
cheeks start to burn.
"Harry! Are you alright?"
Septimus had hurried over to his side and was trying to help him stand up. Even
with Septimus keeping a hold on him, Harry was having a hard time staying on
his feet. It took a couple of tries to get him up off the floor.
"M'fine," Harry said, shrugging Septimus off of him. "Just need some fresh
air."
He stumbled towards the door, trying to ignore the way the room was spinning.
His stomach felt a bit sick, though he wasn't sure if that was from the alcohol
or the embarrassment of what had just happened. He just knew he needed to get
away from there.
He heard Septimus call after him, but Harry was already exiting the common
room, very nearly tripping through the portrait hole on his way out. He really
didn't know where he was going, he just felt better being away from the
stifling atmosphere of the party. He was having a difficult time getting his
limbs to cooperate with him, though. He kept swaying and veering off into the
walls, and had even walked straight into a statue (to which he had apologized).
He also wasn't quite sure how he'd made it down the stairs, but it was a feat
he'd later think back on in amazement.
When he turned a corner, he almost immediately slammed right into a very solid
human being. Considering he was already quite unstable on his feet, he only
ended up stumbling backwards and falling onto his butt. He groaned as he
surroundings started spinning nauseatingly.
"Watch it!"
"Wait, Reginald, is that Harry?"
Blinking, Harry finally looked up at who he'd run into. It was Tom's friends,
Avery and Lestrange.
"Tom's boy? What's he doing down here?"
"How should I know?" Avery responded, turning back to Harry. "Harry? Why aren't
you back in Gryffindor Tower?"
"Girl tried to kiss me..." Harry groaned, struggling to remain upright.
Lestrange gave him a look. "Um...what?"
"I think I better get Tom," Avery said, turning to Lestrange. "You stay here
with him."
'Tom.'
Harry didn't know why, but just knowing that Tom would be there soon made him
feel better. Tom always knew what to do. When Avery ran off, Lestrange
attempted to lift Harry up onto his feet, but it was to no avail — Harry was
far too drunk and his legs didn't want to hold any of his weight. He very
nearly ended up taking Lestrange down with him.
"Merlin, Harry," Lestrange said, carefully lowering Harry back down. "You're
completely pissed, aren't you?"
"Mmm, I'm okay," Harry mumbled, deciding to lie down so his head would stop
spinning. "Where's Tom?"
"He's coming," Lestrange answered, crouching next to him. "Just stay there
until then."
Harry wondered if he'd passed out for a few minutes, because it seemed like it
was only seconds later that he heard the sound of footsteps rushing down the
corridor, followed by a pair of hands grabbing him and pulling him up into a
sitting position.
"Harry, what did you do?"
There was disappointment evident in Tom's voice. Harry finally opened his eyes
when Tom grabbed his chin and forced him to look at him. He did not look happy.
"How much did you have to drink?"
Harry just shrugged.
"Harry," Tom said in a warning tone. "How much?"
"One mead," Harry replied, concentrating on remembering. "And...I dunno...a lot
of Firewhiskey."
"That's a stupid amount for someone who's never drank before." Tom frowned.
"Where did you get so much alcohol?"
"A party," Harry said and then leaned against Tom. "Tom...don't feel so good."
"What did you expect after drinking that much?" Tom chastised, though his tone
sounded softer. "Come with me."
Tom wrapped an arm around Harry's waist and hauled him to his feet. When
Harry's legs tried to give out from under him, Tom just tightened his hold and
held Harry against him to bear most of his weight. Harry swayed slightly as he
laid his head on Tom's shoulder, arms wrapped around his neck to keep himself
upright. He'd never realized just how warm and solid Tom's body was until just
then. He thought he might spontaneously combust from how hot he was feeling all
of a sudden.
"Frederic, Reginald," Tom addressed the other two in the corridor, still
holding onto Harry. "Go back to the common room. I'll handle it from here."
Harry had been so focused on Tom that he had forgotten the other two were still
there. He listened to the sound of their retreating foot steps, keeping his
face pressed against Tom's shoulder. The taller boy shifted their positions so
they could start walking, one arm still firmly placed around Harry's waist so
he didn't fall. That still didn't stop Harry from occasionally tripping over
his own (or Tom's) feet several times along the way.
It was slow going but they eventually made it to their destination, which
turned out to be the prefect's bathroom. Tom said the password ("Peppermint
oil") and guided Harry inside. Walking over to the sinks, Tom took Harry's
glasses off and helped him lean his head under the faucet. The water was cold
and Harry shivered as it was ran over his face and down the back of his neck.
The shock of it alone was enough to sober him up a bit. Tom's cool fingers
massaged Harry's neck and tenderly combed through the back of his hair. It was
so soothing that, for a moment, Harry forgot that he was sickeningly drunk.
When Tom pulled him up, the action caused the room to spin and Harry lost his
balance. Fortunately, Tom was there to catch him before he hit the floor. He
hoisted Harry up with one arm and reached out to grab a towel with the other.
"You're more trouble than you're worth," Tom stated as he started to dry
Harry's face. "You know that?"
"You don't mean that," Harry whispered hoarsely, holding onto Tom tightly.
Tom didn't say anything in reply as he carefully dabbed the towel against
Harry's forehead and cheeks. He worked his way down to his neck, wiping away
the water with a gentleness that Harry hadn't thought Tom capable of. It made
his breathing quicken, a funny feeling settling right in the center of his
chest. The air caught in his lungs when Tom undid the top few buttons of his
shirt and slowly slid the cloth over his collarbones. He didn't know if it was
because he was drunk or if it was because it was Tom doing it — but it felt
really nice.
He couldn't take his eyes off Tom's face. It was bathed in the soft glow of the
bathroom light, allowing Harry to take in his heart-breaking features. For some
reason, his gaze trailed right down to his lips. They weren't as full and plump
as Niamh's had been, but Harry thought they were a lot nicer anyway. The shape
was much more appealing.
"Have you ever kissed anyone, Tom?" Harry dared to ask.
Tom's hand paused. "No."
'Can I kiss you?'
Harry's heart stuttered. Tom raised his eyes to meet Harry's and it was only
then that he realized just how close their faces were. Had they been that close
the entire time? He could feel Tom's warm breath puffing against his lips in a
gentle rhythm. It carried the faint scent of cinnamon, which was decidedly more
pleasant than the alcohol on Niamh's breath. Harry also didn't want to run the
other way with Tom — if anything, he thought they were too far apart still. It
had to be the alcohol causing him to feel so lightheaded all of a sudden.
Tom must have seen Harry's thoughts — both about kissing him and what'd
happened with Niamh —  because his eyes darkened and his breath became quick as
it filled the nearly non-existent space between their mouths. Harry didn't know
if Tom was angry, or if he was just jealous, but whatever it was, it was so
damn intense that it was scary. 
"Tom..."
Tom's hold tightened around him and Harry's heart pounded. His stomach also
clenched and rolled violently. Suddenly, he was pushing Tom away and running
towards the toilet as fast as he could. He just barely made it in time to give
one spectacular heave as he started barfing his brains out. It seemed to go on
forever until there was literally nothing left in his stomach to bring up. Tom
just leaned up against the stall the entire time, waiting for him to finish. He
probably thought this was Harry's much deserved punishment for drinking.
"I don't want to be drunk anymore," Harry moaned while leaning over the toilet.
"Too bad," Tom stated unsympathetically.
"You're such an arse," Harry groaned.
"Maybe this will teach you to use some common sense," Tom said. "Though, I know
how difficult that can be for you."
"Ugh," Harry flushed the toilet. "I'm too drunk to come up with a witty come
back to that."
He crawled out of the stall and lay face down on the floor. He heard Tom walk
up beside him and then kneel down.
"Harry," Tom said firmly. "Sit up."
"Do I have to?" Harry mumbled against the floor.
"Yes."
Even though he really didn't want to, Harry shakily pushed himself up. Tom had
conjured a glass of water and helped Harry drink some of it down. He used one
hand to gently cradle the back of Harry's head while the other held the glass
to his lips. It felt like heaven sliding down Harry's dry, cottony throat and
he ended up gulping the entire thing down. When the glass was empty, Tom set it
down and wiped a bit of water off Harry's chin with his thumb. The action was
strangely familiar and it made an ache of longing grow in the pit of Harry's
stomach.
Harry scooted a bit closer to Tom and rested his head on his shoulder. Feeling
his hand brush against Tom's, he didn't even think about it as he grabbed hold
of it. The action seemed to take Tom by surprise because Harry felt him tense
up. He relaxed a few seconds later, though. Harry figured that holding Tom's
hand should have been awkward and strange, but for some reason it felt like the
most natural thing in the world to do.
Tom's hand felt quite different in comparison to his own. While Harry's hands
were thin and bony, Tom's were long and elegant, with strong, slender fingers.
They matched perfectly with the rest of him. Yet, as Harry felt along his palms
and over the pads of his fingertips, there were distinct rough spots where
callouses had formed from many years of chores at the orphanage. Identical to
Harry's own.
Their fingers slotted together perfectly as Harry interlocked his hand with
Tom's.
"Remember when we were about six?" Harry whispered, his voice still a bit
hoarse. "When Amy tried to hold my hand and you pushed her into the mud?"
Tom's hand tightened around his. "Vaguely."
"You don't like Amy very much."
"Why would I?" Tom responded plainly.
Harry paused for a moment. "Do you like me?"
Tom didn't say anything, but his silence was more telling than any words would
have been. Normally, he would have responded with some cruel, condescending
remark, or he would have scoffed at such a ridiculous question. He did none of
those things, and the warm weight of his hand clasped around Harry's was the
only answer that was needed.
Adjusting his head on Tom's shoulder, Harry closed his eyes and listened to the
sound of the other boy's breathing. It was soothing and reassuring. Eventually,
his own breathing started to match its rhythm and it wasn't long before he
started drifting off, wrapped in the safe cocoon of Tom's presence.
When he woke up hours later, Harry was greeted with bright sunlight streaming
through the bathroom window. His head was pounding and his body was stiff from
sitting in one position for too long. Next to him, Tom was leaning against the
wall with his eyes closed. It looked like he hadn't moved an inch the entire
night. Noticing a weight in his hand, Harry looked down to see that Tom's hand
was still firmly locked with his.
Memories of the previous night came flooding back and Harry was suddenly
panicking. He'd felt things for Tom he definitely shouldn't have. It was Tom.
 He very clearly remembered wanting to kiss him. Face burning hot, Harry
quickly moved away from Tom and scrambled to his feet. He had to get out of
there before the other boy woke up.
'No, no, no! That did not happen!'
He practically burst out of the bathroom. He didn't stop running until he made
it all the way back to Gryffindor Tower. He didn't even check to see if there
was anyone in the common room when he ran through. He just went straight up to
the dormitories and threw himself into his bed. Pulling his blankets over his
head, Harry squeezed his eyes shut and tried to calm down.
He wondered if he repeated 'I didn't want to kiss Tom' enough times, it'd
actually be true.
Chapter End Notes
     Oh, Harry, I've been where you are a jillion times. In fact, I was
     there last night. Except a bouncer had to help my drunk ass out of
     the men's bathroom at a club. I was so drunk I couldn't even stand up
     hahahaha I'm so classy. Anywho, I absolutely despise this chapter.
     Not the content, per se, just the way it's written. I rewrote it like
     six times, I'm not even lying - I just can't get it to flow. I'm
     sorry. Writing is hard.
***** Chapter 17 *****
Chapter Notes
     I know McGonagall started Hogwarts a couple years after Tom
     graduated, but a reader asked if I could put her in the story, and I
     was like...eh, we could use some more canon, so why the hell not,
     we's already screwing canon up the ass. It's only a couple years
     difference plus it'd make things more interesting when Harry goes
     back to 'his' time.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Harry stepped into Defence Against the Dark Arts on Monday and took a seat on
the opposite side of the room, far away from Tom. He could feel the boy's dark
gaze following him, but Harry refused to make eye contact. Just being in the
same room as Tom was enough to get him feeling flushed. The lesson went by at a
snail's pace and Harry was fidgeting in his seat the entire time. His heart was
pounding against his ribs and his palms were sweating so badly that he could
barely keep a grip on his quill. By the time the class was over, he realized he
hadn't written down a single thing that Professor Merrythought had said. He
shoved his things into his bag at lightning speed and bolted out of the room
like a bat out of hell.
Harry had been avoiding Tom like the plague. The last thing he wanted to do was
face what'd happened between them. He wasn't just embarrassed — he was
downright terrified. What'd happened had not only been wrong, but dangerous as
well. Boys caught doing things like that with other boys weren't exactly
treated kindly. Harry knew what happened to homosexuals when they were found
out and it made him feel slightly sick to his stomach. He tried to reassure
himself that he didn't have anything to worry about — he wasn't a homosexual
and it'd been one, stupid, drunken mistake. It wasn't as if he would ever
actually kiss Tom.
Walking into study hall, Harry sat down and banged his head onto the table with
a groan. "I hate my life."
"Could you kindly hate your life more quietly?"
Harry lifted his head and looked at the girl sitting across from him. It was
Minerva McGonagall, a Gryffindor first year — though she had the maturity and
intelligence of someone much older. Harry actually found her to be quite good
company; even if he sometimes felt like he was talking to a teacher.
"Sorry, Minerva," Harry said, giving her a sheepish smile.
He pulled out his own books and notes. He'd been falling behind on his studies
recently, mostly likely due to the fact he'd been more preoccupied with his
current life crisis than his academics. He figured he'd at least try to get his
Transfiguration essay finished before he had complete mental breakdown.
"Oh, by the way, this is for you," Minerva said, setting a book down in front
of Harry. "I hadn't the chance to give it to you on your birthday."
Harry picked it up curiously and saw that it was an Astronomy book. It was
filled with pages upon pages of detailed star charts and maps of the
constellations. There were even several stunning, moving illustrations of the
solar system and galaxies. Considering his love for the stars and everything to
do with space, Harry found this to be the most perfectly wonderful gift he'd
ever received.
"Wow, Minerva," Harry breathed, flipping through it. "Thank you so much."
"You're quite welcome." Minerva dipped her quill into her inkwell. "Are you
coming to the Astronomy Club meeting tonight?"
"Oh, is that tonight?" Harry asked, eyes widening. "I'd completely forgotten!"
"Why am I not surprised?" Minerva shook her head. "You seem very distracted
today. Is everything alright?"
Harry groaned at the unintentional reminder of his predicament. "It's nothing.
Just stressed."
"You're not that great of a liar, Harry," Minerva said, quirking a brow. "Is
this about Niamh?"
"What?" Harry nearly choked. "No! Of course not!"
"Oh, I just thought it might've been," Minerva explained. "Since Niamh has been
quite miffed with you."
Harry found his gaze drawn across the hall to where, sure enough, Niamh was
practically glaring in his direction. He tried to smile at her, but she just
huffed and looked away She hadn't so much as spoken a word to him since he'd
blown her off at the party. He supposed he couldn't blame her—he had sort of
made a fool of her in front of all of their house mates. He'd tried to
apologize at breakfast the morning after but she'd just dumped an entire
pitcher of pumpkin juice on him.
"I do feel sorry about that," Harry said, blushing slightly at the memory. "But
that isn't really what's been bothering me."
"Do you want to talk about it?" Minerva asked.
"Not really."
Minerva just nodded, picking up her quill to resume her work.
Harry was grateful she hadn't tried to push it. While Minerva was a very
intelligent witch, she was still only twelve years old — Harry seriously
doubted she'd be able to give him much insight on his current dilemma. He
doubted anyone would be able to.
Deciding to change the subject, Harry curiously leaned over to take a look at
what Minerva was working on.
"Are those the moon phase charts for tonight's meeting?"
"Yes," Minerva replied. "Have you finished yours?"
"I did mine a few days ago." Harry nodded and peered at Minerva's charts.
"Though, you have some of your phases ordered wrong on these two."
"Oh?" Minerva frowned, looking down at her charts. "How so?"
"Well, look." Harry shifted closer and pointed. "On this one, the sunlight is
coming from the top, see? So, the phase at the top of the Earth should be the
new moon, and then going counter-clockwise, it should be waxing crescent,
followed by first quarter, then waxing gibbous, full at the bottom, then waning
gibbous, third quarter, waning crescent, and then back to new."
Minerva furrowed her brows as she followed along. "You're right. I don't know
how I mixed those up."
Harry turned to the second chart. "So, on this one, since the sunlight is
coming from the left—"
"It'll be third quarter at the top." Minerva nodded as she began making
corrections. "Then waning crescent, new, waxing crescent, first quarter at the
bottom, waxing gibbous, full, waning gibbous and back to third quarter."
"You got it."
"Ever considered becoming an Astronomer?" Minerva questioned as she changed a
first quarter moon into a full moon. "I think you'd do really well and you
obviously enjoy it."
"It's something I've thought about," Harry responded, returning to his seat. "I
like Astronomy but I still don't know what I'm doing yet."
"Well, it's something to think about," Minerva said. "You still have a couple
of years before you graduate, after all."
They fell into silence and Harry went back to his essay. He was in the process
of dipping his quill in ink when he more felt than saw Tom come in. Their eyes
met and for one, brief moment Harry sat frozen, quill still poised in the air.
But then Tom started walking towards him and Harry panicked. He hurriedly began
packing up his things, accidentally knocking over Minerva's inkwell in the
process.
"Be careful!" Minerva snapped in annoyance.
"Sorry," Harry said quickly, standing up. "I really have to—"
Harry was cut off when a hand grabbed his arm. He whirled around, very nearly
tripping over his own feet as he did, and came face-to-face with Tom. The other
boy was so dangerously close to him that all rational thought fled his mind.
Just smelling Tom's cinnamon scent and looking into his intense, dark eyes
brought back a rush of memories he'd been so desperately trying to forget. His
body gave an involuntary shiver.
It was made even worse when Tom started to speak in his deep, silky voice. "You
will come sit with me, Harry."
"I—er..." It took Harry's mind a moment to catch up with what was going on.
"Huh — what? No! You can't just tell me what to do!"
"This ridiculous behavior stops right now," Tom stated, obviously in no mood to
argue. "Get your things and come with me."
"You're the one being ridiculous!" Harry retorted, attempting to tug his arm
free from Tom's grasp. "Now let me go!"
"Is everything alright over here?"
They both turned to see Septimus had walked over and he was staring at Tom with
a look of disdain on his normally good-natured face. 'Please, not this
again.'Harry would have buried his face in his hands if it weren't for the fact
that Tom was holding onto his arm.
"I was just having a conversation with Harry, if you don't mind, Septimus," Tom
replied smoothly—though Harry could detect annoyance behind that calm demeanor.
"Actually, I do mind, Tom," Septimus responded, voice straining. "I think you
should release Harry. Or do I need to report a case of harassment to your Head
of House?"
They'd garnered a fair bit of attention by this point — several people from the
surrounding tables were watching the exchange with interest. Poor Minerva
looked quite confused and worried. Tom, seemingly realizing their audience,
released Harry and took a step back.
"Of course not." Tom plastered on that fake smile of his. "I was just asking
Harry if he'd like to sit with me."
"Well, it doesn't look like he does," Septimus said, moving to stand beside
Harry. "So I suggest you leave."
"What was it that you'd said, Septimus?" Tom responded, keeping his tone
pleasant, though his smile was a hint patronizing now. "Harry can make his own
decisions?"
"From where I was standing, it'd sounded like Harry wanted nothing to do with
you, Tom," Septimus shot back heatedly.
Harry was suddenly rather grateful they were in a room full of people — he was
quite sure the only thing that'd saved Septimus from being the victim of some
horrible curse just then was all of the witnesses. Tom was a cruel, malicious
person, but he was neither stupid nor rash. He would never do anything that
would also cause trouble for himself.
"Indeed," Tom acquiesced. "If you'll excuse me, then."
Harry's gaze followed Tom until he took a seat across the hall with his
friends. Tom didn't look back over at him at all — in fact, he was now entirely
preoccupied by two Slytherin girls practically vying for the handsome boy's
attention. Suddenly rather sick to his stomach, it took all of Harry's
willpower not to walk over there and pry the two harlots right off him. What a
disgusting display!
"Harry?" Septimus tried to get Harry's attention. "Are you alright?"
Harry forced himself to turn back to Septimus. "You didn't need to step in like
that, Septimus."
"You're joking, right?" Septimus raised his eyebrows. "The bastard was trying
to manhandle you. Again."
"He barely touched me," Harry said, rolling his eyes.
"Are you honestly defending his behavior?" Septimus sounded offended.
"Of course not!" Harry said hurriedly. "It just wasn't that serious."
Septimus let out a long sigh. "Listen, Harry, can I talk to you?" he asked
rather seriously. "In private, I mean."
Harry furrowed his brows and nodded, slightly confused and worried. He picked
up his bag and headed out of the hall with Septimus. They walked until they
found a secluded place to talk, far away from any possible eavesdroppers.
"What's going on?" Harry turned to Septimus.
Septimus took in a deep breath. "Well, first I need to ask you something..." he
paused. "Harry...are you..."
"Am I what?" Harry asked a bit apprehensively.
"A homosexual," Septimus finished bluntly.
Harry felt the world tilt off axis. His heart lodged itself painfully in his
throat and all of the air in the corridor had suddenly been zapped away.
Septimus was staring directly at him, obviously waiting for an answer, but
Harry was stuck reeling. The very thing he'd been trying to avoid thinking
about had just been dragged to the surface and thrown right in his face — by
his best friend, no less
"Harry?" Septimus said with concern.
Harry finally snapped out of his state of shock. "Of course I'm not a
homosexual!" he responded, voice high pitched as he took a few frantic steps
backwards.
Septimus looked alarmed at Harry's reaction. "Whoa, Harry, it's okay!" he said
urgently. "I'd never judge you, alright?"
"Why would you even ask that?" Harry asked, sounding quite defensive and angry.
"I just need to know because..." Septimus started, looking a bit uncomfortable.
"Because...well...I didn't want to say anything at first as I didn't think it
was any of my business, but honestly, I'm starting to get a bit concerned."
Harry crossed his arms. "What are you on about?"
"Er...yours and Tom's affections for each other," Septimus explained simply.
"You're joking right?" Harry tried to laugh but he came off sounding more
panicked than anything.
"No, Harry, I'm not," Septimus said, expression very serious. "I didn't think
it was possible at first either, but the more I've observed you two, the more
it's become obvious to me."
Harry felt sick. This was his absolute worst nightmare come to reality. He
wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and disappear. He also wanted
Septimus to stop looking at him that — like he knew all of Harry's deepest,
darkest secrets. Harry started pacing up and down the corridor, his stomach
coiling nauseatingly and his breath quickening.
This wasn'thappening.
"This is ridiculous!" Harry shouted, nearly hyperventilating. "You of all
people should know just how absurd that sounds!"
He couldn't be a homosexual. He couldn't have feelings for Tom. He couldn't.
Septimus grabbed Harry by the shoulders. "You need tocalm down, Harry. We'll
figure this out together, alright?"
"Even if I was...you know..." Harry said a bit shakily. "What would be the
point in admitting it? It's not like I can do anything about it."
Septimus blinked at him. "What are you talking about? Of course you can."
"What?" Harry looked at Septimus, confused. "Being homosexual is illegal,
Septimus. I've heard of the things that happen to—"
"I don't know how things work in the muggle world, Harry, but it's not that way
here," Septimus cut him off, shaking his head. "It's perfectly legal to be
homosexual in the wizarding world."
Harry stared uncomprehendingly. "It is?"
"It is," Septimus affirmed with a nod. "I suppose it's seen as a little strange
as there aren't that many homosexual wizards, but most people aren't bothered
about it."
Harry was stunned to say the least. He'd been under the impression that being
homosexual was seen as abnormal everywhere. He'd never even put much thought
into the issue of homosexuality in the wizarding world before, considering he'd
never encountered a homosexual wizard. He'd just assumed they'd be treated the
same as they would be in the muggle world. It was like a great weight was being
lifted off his shoulders as he realized he had nothing to fear any longer. He
felt like he could breathe again.
He exhaled loudly. "That's so relieving, Septimus."
"Why?" Septimus asked.
Harry looked perplexed. "Huh?"
"Why is that relieving to you, Harry?" Septimus clarified.
The question had hit Harry hard. Whyhad he been so relieved? Why had he been so
afraid in the first place? He'd been walking around as if terrified someone
would discover his terrible, shameful secret and reveal it to the world. He'd
certainly not behaved like someone who had nothing to hide. If he'd truly not
been a homosexual, he would have laughed off the situation with Tom as a
drunken mishap and carried on with his life. He also probably would've
expressed more disgust at the idea of kissing Tom. In reality, none of those
things had happen. He hadn't laughed it off; he hadn't just carried on with his
life; and he certainly hadn't been disgusted by the idea of kissing Tom. The
entire situation had effected Harry quite significantly in a number of ways.
When Harry began to think of himself in terms of being a homosexual, everything
started to make a scary amount of sense. It explained why he'd never been
attracted to girls and why being near Tom often excited him in ways that were
definitely more than friendly.
"Oh my God, Septimus," Harry said, covering his face with his hands. "I am a
homosexual."
"About time you realized it." Septimus rubbed his shoulder. "I was wondering if
you ever would."
"Could've helped me realize it a little sooner, you know?" Harry gave a shaky
laugh. "Why did you decide to do it now?"
"Right, that's the other thing I wanted to talk to about," Septimus said,
turning serious again. "It's about Tom."
"What about him?" Harry frowned.
"I have no issues with you being being attracted to men, Harry," Septimus
continued. "But I really don't think you should get involved with someone like
Tom."
Harry's brow arched. "Why's that?"
"Something about it doesn't sit right with me," Septimus explained. "His
increasingly possessive behavior, his jealousy over our friendship, the way he
treats you...it concerns me."
Harry couldn't help but find himself annoyed at Septimus. It seemed like,
recently, Septimus was always trying to keep Harry and Tom apart. Perhaps a few
years back, Harry would have happily agreed to never set foot near Tom again,
but the idea seemed almost absurd now. Tom had become a strangely important
part of Harry's life and he wasn't about to just abandon that. However, that
did not mean Harry had romantic feelings for him. Now that he knew about his
'preferences', Harry was certain his reactions towards Tom were because he was
a boy, not because he was Tom. He would have had the same reactions towards
Walter or Simon, both of whom were also quite attractive boys.
"You really don't need to worry about that," Harry said, biting back his
annoyance. "Tom is the last person I plan on getting involved with like that."
"Really?" Septimus said, sounding immensely relieved. "Thank goodness."
"Right. Well, I better get back to my homework. Loads to do, you know?" Harry
said, forcing a smile. "So, talk to you later, okay?"
"Alright," Septimus said. "See you later."
Harry turned and walked away, his heart beating a million miles a minute.
xxxxx
The sky was cloudless and moonless, making it the perfect night for stargazing.
The Astronomy club had met at the top of the Astronomy Tower at exactly nine
p.m with Professor Nira. It was in his second year that Harry, after much
encouragement from Professor Nira, had decided to join the Astronomy club. His
love for Astronomy and the stars had only grown ever since. There was something
indescribably wonderful about looking through a telescope and discovering the
unyielding beauty of the universe that lay beyond their tiny little world.
Everything else just seemed to disappear as he was swept away into the vast,
deep sea of stars.
"Beautiful, Mr. Whitley." Professor Nira stepped beside him to look over his
charts. "Absolutely flawless work as always."
He was currently mapping the constellations Andromeda and Pisces — two star
groups that were best seen during the month of November. Beside him, Minerva
was working on Cassiopeia.
"Thank you, Professor," Harry said. "Though, they were quite simple
constellations."
"Don't be so modest," Professor Nira tutted. "I see a bright future in
Astronomy for you, young man."
Harry smiled, albeit a bit bashfully. Praise was something he'd never been
accustomed to in his life. That wasn't to say his primary school teachers, or
Mrs. Cole for that matter, were unkind, they'd just been very strict. Even at
Hogwarts, considering he only had slightly above average scores in most of his
courses, he didn't really receive that much attention from the rest of his
professors. The only other subject he frequently received Os in was
Transfiguration and that was partly due to its shared scientific nature with
Astronomy.
"Alright, everyone, it's getting close to 10:30!" Professor Nira suddenly
announced. "Start packing it up!"
Harry turned to Professor Nira as everyone began putting their things away.
"Professor, is it alright if I stay behind and finish my chart of Pisces? I
just have a bit more to do."
For a minute, Harry was quite sure Professor Nira would say no, but then—
"Oh, alright. But only an extra half-hour. Understood?"
"I understand," Harry said, nodding. "Thank you."
When everyone left, Harry resumed his place by at the edge of the tower. He
picked up his telescope and ran his fingers over the brass surface
thoughtfully. It'd taken him a long time to even realize it himself, but he had
the tendency to do a lot of his stargazing in the exact spot he and Tom had
watched the stars together all those years ago. Harry had always liked the
stars, but he'd fallen in love with them after that night.
He set to work on his chart. By the time he was nearly finished, it was likely
well past the half-hour he was supposed to have left by. He checked the time
and saw that it was a quarter past eleven. Not quite ready the leave, and
seeing no real harm in staying a bit longer, Harry took a seat on the ground
and made a few last marks on his chart.
When he was finished, he rubbed his eyes and yawned. Tilting his head back, he
gazed up at the specks in the sky, glowing like millions of lanterns meant to
light an overly dark world. He started to do what he always did when he was
alone at night — he counted the stars.
"One...two...three..."
How many stars were in the universe, anyway? He wondered if he'd be able to
count them all one day.
"Five...six...seven..."
He thought he might've counted the same star twice, but it was difficult to
tell. He was trying to count tiny little dots in a big, dark sky, after all.
"Ten...eleven...twelve..."
He really was getting quite sleepy. He decided to count just a few more before
he'd head back into the castle.
"Fifteen...sixteen...seventeen..."
The last thing he remembered seeing was a falling star streaking across the
night sky.
"When did you think you first fell in love with me?"
He set the book down and looked up at his boy.
"That's a curious question," he responded, lips quirking. "Why do you ask?"
"I was just thinking. I mean, you used to hate me, didn't you?" the boy said.
"So, it's actually a fair question."
He couldn't deny it. There had been a time when he'd hated the boy — in fact,
he'd absolutely despised him. There'd always been a strange connection between
the two of them, and he'd never wanted to feel connected to anyone. Desperate
as he was to sever that connection, he'd taken his anger and resentment out on
the boy. He'd wanted to prove to the world, the boy, and himself that he'd
needed no one.
It'd turned into a battle of contradicting emotions. He'd hated the boy, but
he'd worried over his safety. He'd wanted him out of his life, but he'd become
consumed with jealousy whenever anyone was near him. For all of his genius, for
all of his cunning, he'd never been able to figure out his own feelings.
If he had to pinpoint when his infatuation had truly started, it might have
been on his tenth birthday. It'd been a curious moment — the boy had just been
punished for something he hadn't done, and yet, the boy had still turned to him
and whispered those words to him: 'happy birthday'. He'd been the first and
only person to ever do so. It was something he had never quite forgotten.
And then there was that night on the Astronomy Tower. Seeing the reflection of
the universe in the boy's vivid green eyes, as his wild black hair became
flecked with pure white snow, had made him aware of just how fast his heart
could beat.
If he had to pick a moment when he had fallen in love with him, however, it
would have been that day in the corridor.
When he'd first received the birthday cake, he'd been angry. He hadn't wanted
such meaningless gestures. He hadn't wanted someone pretending to care about
him. He'd tried to tear the boy down and prove to him how pointless kindness
was — how pointless friendship was.
He'd wanted none of it.
To his surprise, however, the boy had stood strong the face of his vicious
attack, hadn't backed down even an inch. He'd stared right back at him with
conviction and tears in his beautiful green eyes. He'd seen so much honesty,
sadness, anger, hope and trust there. The boy hadtrustedthe goodness he'd
perceived in him. That was the first time in his life he'd experienced true
fear. No matter what he'd said or what he'd done, the boy had not given up on
him — and that'd terrified him. He'd witnessed true, honest compassion.
That was when everything had changed.
Leaning over, he cupped the boy's chin in his hand and drew his face close
enough to feel the warmth of his breath against his lips. He smelled vaguely of
peppermint.
"I think I always have," was his answer.
He admired the boy's face. He was lovely in a boyish sort of way, with his wild
black hair and soft, thin features. His eyes, though — they were beautiful.
Bright green and sparkling with a light that dark minds such as his could never
comprehend — only cherish.
"Tom..." the boy whispered.
Their lips were almost touching. The boy's chest rose and fell rapidly against
his own. He felt his heart swell and start to beat at a rate that should have
been painful, but it was only wonderful.
"Harry."
Harry was startled awake to a sudden, cold gust of wind. He heard something
rustling and he looked up to see his charts being blown across the tower. He
scrambled to his feet and ran after them, making wild grabs as they swirled
through the air. He chased them to the edge of the tower, where he stopped and
watched as they were carried away into vast, dark sky. His mind was no longer
on the charts, though.
His heart was beating fast against his chest. Realization hit him like a ton of
bricks — the dreams had been about them. The mysterious, hopelessly-in-love
boys sharing secret kisses in secret corridors had been him and Tom the whole
time. His head was spinning in an attempt to comprehend that information. It
was actually almost funny — had he been suppressing his feelings for Tom so
much that they'd been subconsciously coming out through his dreams?
His feelings for Tom.
Harry's stomach jolted. The reality of those words slowly sank in. He had
feelings for Tom.He couldn't believe how long it'd taken for him to realize
that. It actually seemed ridiculously, embarrassingly obvious now. Even Tom's
strange behavior over the last few years was starting to make a lot more sense
— he was always demanding Harry's attention and looking after him in the
smallest of ways. It was abundantly clear that Tom was harboring feelings for
Harry (and had been for quite some time). Harry almost felt stupid for not
catching onto it sooner.
The important question was: what was Harry supposed to do now?
It only took Harry a couple of seconds to figure out the answer to that. He
would do what he always did whenever he didn't know what to do: find Tom. Maybe
it was his impulsive nature but he soon found himself running out of the tower
without even thinking up some sort of plan first. He bolted down the stairs at
breakneck speed and leaped down the last few steps in his haste. Coming to a
stop at the bottom, Harry realized that he had no idea where Tom was and that
he could literally be anywhere in the castle. If he was lucky, he would be out
doing his prefect's rounds and not back in the Slytherin common room.
The idea came to him suddenly. He closed his eyes and attempted to use the
connection he had with Tom. He'd never done it purposefully before and it
turned out to be a lot more complicated than doing it by accident. It involved
a lot of frustration and cursing on his part, but eventually, an image began to
form in his head — it was the first floor corridor near the girl's bathroom.
Harry took off running again, his erratic breath echoing off the empty walls.
He didn't slow down despite how badly his lungs were burning, or how much his
underused rational side was telling him this was a bad idea.
Coming to the first floor, Harry desperately searched for Tom. He needed to
find him before he lost his nerve. When he actually spotted him, all of the air
in Harry's lungs froze and he momentarily forgot how to function. He stood
rooted to the spot and watched as Tom walked away. It seemed as if Harry was
about to let Tom disappear without saying a word.
'No, no! Don't be a coward! Say something!'
And just like that, he remembered how to talk. "Tom!"
Tom spun around, a rare look of surprise crossing his features. Forcing his
legs to move, Harry ran forward, not entirely sure what he was doing, just
going on pure, reckless stupidity and adrenaline at this point.
"Harry?" Tom said, walking towards him. "What's wr —"
Harry threw himself onto Tom and grabbed him so tightly that the breath was
most likely squeezed right out of him. They both stood frozen for what felt
like eternity, Harry just listening to the sound of his rapid breathing and the
increasing rate of Tom's heartbeat. Before embarrassment could catch up with
him, Harry clumsily sought out Tom's mouth and pressed their lips together in a
timid kiss.
The moment their lips touched, the world felt like it'd been swept out from
underneath Harry's feet and Tom was now the only thing keeping him upright.
When Tom didn't respond right away, Harry was terrified — terrified that Tom
would shove him away, and he'd end up falling into the bottomless black hole.
But then Tom kissed back and instead of falling, Harry was soaring through a
starry night sky.
Their mouths moved together in a slow, relaxed rhythm while Tom softly combed
his fingers through Harry's hair. Tom's lips were surprisingly soft and
slightly wet, Harry noticed — a strange but not unpleasant feeling. Harry felt
Tom's tongue gently prodding at his lips, attempting to coax his mouth open a
little wider. As soon as Harry parted his lips to allow the intrusion, Tom's
tongue slipped inside and he took complete control of the kiss. He was
confident and assertive even now as he guided Harry's tongue at the pace and
rhythm he wanted.
Harry had always thought having someone's tongue in his mouth would have
disgusted him, but to his surprise, feeling Tom's tongue brushing against his
own was actually a really nice feeling. The same went for Tom's fingers combing
through his hair and his hand caressing his cheek. Harry's hands in touched Tom
everywhere he could: his arms, his shoulders, his neck, face, hair. He wanted
to map his body to memory like he did the constellations.
Tom's mouth moved from Harry's lips to his cheeks and forehead; down his jaw,
neck and shoulders and everywhere else he could reach. There was even
desperation in the way held onto Harry — as if he wanted to make sure he
wouldn't just suddenly leave.
Harry knew that he would never leave.
Chapter End Notes
     I thought making Harry super boss at Astronomy seemed fitting due to
     the nature of this story. Also, I happen to be an Astronomy major, so
     I can make him a genius at it.
***** Chapter 18 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
It was late when Harry slipped out of bed. He could hear his dorm-mates soft
snoring as he quietly got dressed and then tip-toed down the stairs. Just as
he'd hoped, the common room was empty; he made a quick dash across the room to
the portrait hole and exited the tower. His heart was pounding with excitement
as he started walking through the dark corridors of the castle. 
The situation felt surreal, almost dream-like. Harry still couldn't quite wrap
his head around the idea of being with Tom. After all, he was the mean, vicious
little boy who'd he'd spent his entire life hating. It was almost laughable —
but in a way, it made more sense than anything. Tom had always been the one
constant thing in Harry's life. It'd always been just the two of them. For many
years, Harry had been hiding behind a pretense of hate, when in reality their
hatred for each other had faded a long time ago. He'd just been too afraid to
admit it.
He waited for Tom in an empty corridor, knowing it to be one of the corridors
he'd be coming through on his rounds. It'd felt like he'd been standing there
for hours, when in reality it'd probably only been a few minutes. Harry wasn't
known for his patience, especially when he'd already been anxious to see Tom
the entire evening. When Tom finally did arrive, it was enough to send Harry's
heart into palpitations — he somehow always forgot just how beautiful the other
boy was until he saw him again. Tom walked over to him and cupped his face
gently. Harry managed to draw in a breath despite his lungs feeling like they
were closing in on him.
"Were you waiting for me?" Tom asked softly.
"Maybe," Harry whispered. "I might've just fancied a stroll."
"I could give you detention for being out past curfew," Tom said, stroking
Harry's cheeks with his thumbs.
"It'd be worth it."
Tom smiled, making Harry's heart beat even faster. "Always the rule breaker."
The other boy's lips found Harry's and his arms wrapped tightly around him.
They stumbled into a nearby classroom, all limbs and desperate kisses. Harry
accidentally backed into a desk and probably would've went crashing to the
floor if it hadn't been for Tom. He made a strange noise against Tom's mouth as
the other boy grabbed him by the hips and, without even breaking the kiss,
helped him up onto the desk. Harry had never thought there could be anything
more exciting than flying, but kissing Tom had his heart beating faster than
being on a broom ever had before. It was simultaneously exhilarating and
terrifying; and he was left breathless and trembling every time.
Harry leaned forward in an attempt to deepen the kiss, but nearly slipped right
off the desk as a result. Fortunately, Tom kept him steady. He'd never been as
graceful and confident as Tom — his movements were clumsy and frantic, teeth
clacking awkwardly against the other boy's and hands never knowing quite what
to do. Tom didn't seem to mind (or, if he did, he didn't say anything). He just
took control of the kiss, tongue prodding at Harry's mouth in a subtly
demanding way. Harry obediently parted his lips, following Tom's lead until
their tongues were rolling together in a smooth, languid rhythm.
They parted only when they needed air. Tom turned his focus instead onto
Harry's flushed face, pressing tender kisses along his cheeks and jaw. Harry
decided that he liked when Tom kissed his face — there was a gentleness to it
that was not always present at other times. When Tom's mouth trailed to his
neck, Harry's face flushed even hotter and his heart pounded in his chest. He
could feel Tom's breath, soft and warm, beating against his neck in a slow and
sensual rhythm.
Tom contented himself with letting his hands wander Harry's body, fingers
brushing along his back and sides. As Tom's hands drifted towards his legs,
Harry's first instinct was to shy away from the touch — he didn't want Tom to
feel the unattractive way his knobbly knees jutted out. The other boy was so
beautiful while Harry was so awkward. If Tom had noticed, though, he didn't let
it be known. He just caressed Harry's knees affectionately.
Placing one last kiss on Harry's neck, Tom gently nudged his thighs. "Scoot
over," he murmured against his skin.
"There's plenty of other desks, you know," Harry snorted, but shifted over
anyway.
Tom slid up onto the desk next to Harry. "But there's only one with my Harry on
it."
"It's a lot harder to be annoyed with you when you go and say stuff like that,"
Harry huffed, trying not to smile. "It doesn't change the fact that the desk is
still a bit too small for the both of us, though."
"Here, move over, like this—"
Tom grabbed one of Harry's leg and draped it over his thigh so he was
practically half sitting on him. He kept an arm tightly wound around Harry to
hold him firmly against his side. Harry had to hand it to Tom — there was
certainly enough room on the desk now, but nary an inch left between the two of
them. From this proximity, Harry could feel the warmth of Tom's presence quite
clearly, undulating down on him like waves from an ocean — powerful yet
calming. He was sure he would drown in it some day.
"Better?" Tom asked.
"Much," Harry whispered, taking Tom's hand and locking their fingers together.
Tom's hand squeezed his and Harry thought he saw a smile from the corners of
his eyes.
They sat shoulder-to-shoulder and gazed out the window together. Harry started
pointing out a few of the visible constellations and explained the mythology
behind their names to Tom. There was the mighty hunter Orion and his two dogs,
Canis Major and Canis Minor trailing close behind — the star Sirius shining the
brightest among them. He also told the story of the Cassiopeia, the Ethiopian
queen who'd been too boastful of her daughter Andromeda's beauty, and thus had
been placed in the sky as punishment for her foolish pride. Andromeda had been
offered up as a sacrifice to a fearsome sea monster that'd been sent to ravage
the coasts of Ethiopia, only to be rescued from her horrible fate by the hero
Perseus. Harry realized it was very likely that Tom knew all of these things
already — but Tom seemed content just to listen.
"I think I'd like to travel the universe some day, to see what's out there,"
Harry confessed to Tom. "Wouldn't you want to?"
"There's nothing of importance out there," Tom responded simply. "Just rocks
and balls of gas and endless expanse of emptiness."
"I think there's more to it than that," Harry said, looking back out to the
sky. "There are so many secrets to the universe just waiting to be discovered.
We just need to get there first."
"You have such wild ideas, Harry," Tom said, running his fingers through
Harry's hair.
"It's not just an idea, though," Harry said, glancing at Tom. "Did you know
just last month the muggles successfully launched the first rocket into space?"
Tom didn't look impressed. "They'll never get themselves into space."
"Oh, I don't know about that," Harry disagreed. "Most of what we know about the
universe has been discovered by muggle Astronomers. While wizards rely on
magic, muggles have made amazing advancements in science."
"Muggles believed in geocentrism for centuries," Tom stated derisively.
"In their defense, it was a logical conclusion to be made," Harry reasoned.
"Without a telescope, we see things only from Earth's perspective and it does
appear as if the Earth is stationary and it's the sun that's moving. But then
Galileo built his telescope and found proof to support a heliocentric model."
"And it took them over a thousand years to do it because no one wanted to
accept a universe that they weren't the center of," Tom replied dismissively.
"Muggle advancement is limited by their capacity for ignorance and narrow-
minded beliefs."
"At least they're trying. The things they've accomplished despite their
limitations, despite not having magic, are actually quite amazing. They do
things that many wizards don't even think to do," Harry said pointedly, not
backing down. "It wasn't wizards who built telescopes and discovered the moons
of Jupiter, it wasn't wizards who first recorded the speed of light or observed
the stellar parallax. It's not wizards who are trying to send rockets into
space. What we know of the universe today is due to muggle Astronomers."
When Tom didn't have a response to that, Harry continued, "I think what I love
most about Astronomy is just how much there is to learn; a lot of it is
seemingly strange and inexplicable, but we still strive to discover more and
understand it, no matter how impossible it may seem. I just know one day we
willfind a way to soar among the stars — and I want to be there when we do."
Tom affectionately cupped Harry's chin and kissed his forehead. "You are an
enigma, Harry. We come to a school of magic, and you choose to be interested in
the one subject that doesn't require any magic at all."
Harry looked back at Tom. "I suppose I just took an interest in the stars."
Tom must've understand the meaning behind those words. He leaned in and cradled
Harry's head between his hands, bringing their lips together so they were just
barely touching. Despite being close enough to feel the gentle puffs of Tom's
breath, Harry still felt like they weren't close enough. He wondered if he
could ever be close enough to Tom.
"If you want to go to the stars, I'll make sure you get there," Tom murmured,
caressing Harry's cheeks.
Heart beating fast, Harry met Tom's eyes. They were darker than the night sky
and more mysterious than the whole of the universe, housing secrets that
couldn't be discovered through a telescope — but every time Harry looked into
Tom's eyes, he saw the stars.
'I think I might already be there, Tom.'
                                     xxxxx
"Here, let's try the Color Change charm again, alright?"
"I've tried it a dozen times, yet the stupid cup keeps turning an ugly brown
color instead of orange like it's meant to!"
"At least it's not fuzzy and green anymore," Eugene tried to say encouragingly.
Simon and Walter, both of whom had already laughed themselves to tears over
Harry's cup sprouting bright green hair ("How did you even managethat?"), fell
into a renewed fit of sniggers.
Glaring at his friends, Harry plopped down into his chair and threw his wand
onto the table with frustration. They'd already spent hours revising for the
OWL exams, yet Harry was still no closer to mastering the color change charm
than he'd been when they'd started. Admittedly, Charms had always been one of
Harry's weaker areas of magic — which was why Septimus, who was quite skilled
in the subject, had offered to help him practice.
"This spell will most definitely be on your OWL exams," Septimus informed him.
"So just keep trying. You'll get it eventually."
"Can't we take a break and do something else for a little while?" Harry
pleaded, starting to feel a little more than stupid saying the same incantation
over and over. "Richard, didn't you need help with your Sun Path diagram?"
"Er, yes, actually," Richard said with a nod. "Mine came out looking all wonky
and I don't think I labeled it right."
"You can do that later, Harry," Septimus interjected. "You really need to work
on these charms right now."
Harry groaned and dropped his head onto the table dejectedly.
"Harry," Septimus repeated sternly.
"Alright, alright," Harry sighed, grabbing his wand and standing up. "Let's try
again."
Septimus moved to stand beside him. "I think it's the way your waving your
wand," he said. "You need a bit firmer of a flick. Like this."
He gave Harry a very clear demonstration by turning the color of Simon's book a
deep red hue with intricate golden edges. He then changed it back to normal and
looked to Harry. "See? Now you try. Remember, form a clear image in your head
of the object with its new color."
"Right." Harry nodded, squaring his shoulders with renewed determination.
Just as Harry had his wand raised and the incantation at the tip of his tongue,
Tom entered the library. Butterflies suddenly exploded in his stomach and all
coherent thought flew right out of his head. No longer paying attention to what
he was doing, Harry ended up fumbling over the incantation and missing the cup
entirely. There was a loud screech when the rogue spell hit something across
the room.
"Harry!"
Harry tore his eyes away from Tom and looked back to the others. Simon, Walter
and Richard were all practically doubled over with laughter — even Septimus and
Eugene looked liked they were having trouble keeping a straight face. Curiously
following their line of sight, Harry's jaw dropped open.
Walburga Black was practically in hysterics and the reason was immediately
obvious. Her hair was no longer its normal deep black, but rather a bright,
shocking orange. The very same color Harry had been trying to change his cup
into. Orion and Alphard were trying in vain to calm her down, but she was
inconsolable. When her eyes landed on Harry, he immediately hid his wand behind
his back and tried to look innocent. It was too late, though — Walburga was
heading right towards him.
"You!" she seethed. "You did this! How dare you, you filthy little —"
"Run, Harry!" Eugene squeaked. "She's going to kill you!"
Harry backed up against the table as Walburga bore down on him. "I'm really
sorry, Walburga, it was an accident," he tried to explain. "At least...it's a
nice color on you? Really brings out your um...eyes."
Far from coming to his aid, his friends only laughed harder at that. Walburga
growled and whipped out her wand, pointing it directly at Harry's face.
"Insolent scum!"
"Whoa! Walburga, stop!" Alphard rushed over and jumped between them. "He said
it was just an accident."
"Get out of the way, Alphard!" Walburga grit her teeth. "I'm going to teach the
little mud-blood a lesson."
But before Walburga could do a thing, her wand was plucked right out of her
hand.
"Calm down, Walburga, before you give yourself wrinkles."
At Tom's arrival, all laughter stopped and the surrounding area became
instantly quiet. Everyone was now watching the scene with interest, as if
waiting to see what would happen next. There was a certain amount of reverence
towards Tom, even from students outside of Slytherin house. There was just
something about him that demanded attention and respect.
"But, Tom!" Walburga said indignantly. "Look what that cretin did to my hair!"
Tom quirked a brow, a nearly indiscernible smile pulling at his lips. "I think
I have to agree with Harry — it's quite a nice color on you."
Alphard choked on a laugh, hand slapping over his mouth when Walburga turned
her glare onto him. She was clearly still quite angry, if the flush on her
cheeks was anything to go by, but Tom's presence seemed to be keeping her full
wrath at bay. Harry could only assume that Tom's influence over the Slytherins
stretched quite far if he could reign in Walburga Black's temper.
"You're just going to let him do this to me?" Walburga accused Tom.
"Yes," Tom replied.
Walburga looked flabbergasted at Tom's blunt, and clearly unexpected, response.
Face flushing, she snatched her wand back from Tom and turned to leave.
However, Tom stopped her and leaned in close to say something to her. Harry
only barely caught his words.
"I thought I'd made it clear that Harry is not a mud-blood — do try to remember
that next time," Tom said in a soft, but distinctly warning tone before
releasing her.
Harry furrowed his brows, finding the way Tom had worded that a bit strange. It
hadn't sounded like he was chastising Walburga for calling him a mud-blood; it
had sounded like he was trying to convince her that Harry wasn't a muggle-born.
For as much as they knew about his parents, it was quite possible that Harry
could be a muggle-born, so he couldn't understand why it was so important for
Tom to convince his friends that he wasn't. He decided that it was possible he
was simply reading too much into what Tom had said and let it drop for the time
being.
Walburga spared Harry another glance before storming off in her classic
dramatic fashion, somehow managing to appear even more ridiculous than usual
due to her new carrot-orange hairdo.
"Er, well, sorry about that," Alphard said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I'll
just go see if she needs help fixing her hair. See you around, Harry."
Once Alphard had run off, Harry turned back to the others. Richard, Septimus,
Simon and Walter were all flushed in the face from laughing. Eugene, on the
other hand, looked like he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. The poor
boy never handled any kind of conflict well, even if it didn't directly involve
him.
"Never a dull moment with you around, Harry," Walter said, wiping a tear from
his eye. "Next time see if you can make her bald."
"I think I would literally die of laughter," Richard responded, clutching his
middle. "My stomach hurts so much right now."
"Are you trying to get Harry murdered?" Eugene said anxiously.
"He'll be fine." Walter waved him off. "He has Tom to swoop in and rescue him."
"First of all, Tom did not swoopin," Harry retorted, crossing his arms.
"Second, I was handling the situation just fine."
"Sure looked like it." Simon laughed. "I thought for certain she was about to
turn you into a bug and squash you."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Good to know you were just going to stand by and laugh
while she did that."
"Come on, it was funny," Simon argued, grinning. "I would've stepped in and
helped...eventually."
"On the bright side, at least you actually got the color you wanted this time,"
Septimus teased, placing an arm around Harry's shoulders. "We just need to work
on your aim."
Tom, who had been mostly silent up to that point, suddenly stepped in and
pulled Harry away from Septimus's grasp. There was ringing silence as Septimus
stood there in shock, seemingly unable to comprehend what had just happened.
Even Harry was a bit taken aback by the somewhat uncharacteristically rash
display by Tom. It only took a few seconds for Septimus's shock to turn into
anger, a prominent flush appearing on his pale face.
"What is your problem, Tom?" Septimus demanded.
Tom just met Septimus's glare evenly. "It seems to me you're the one with the
problem."
Everyone was now watching the scene with bated breath, eyes darting between
Septimus and Tom with apprehension and slight confusion. It seemed as if Tom
had finally pushed Septimus a little too far.
"You know what, you're right." Septimus strode directly up to Tom so they were
practically face to face. "You're my problem, Tom."
"Whoa, enough," Harry interjected hurriedly, grabbing Septimus by the arm. "You
need to calm down."
"Me?" Septimus whirled on Harry. "What about him? He's been antagonizing me
since the day we met and I'm sick of it, Harry!"
"You're more than welcome to leave if my presence bothers you that much," Tom
responded, unperturbed by Septimus's accusations. However, Tom's relaxed,
almost disinterested attitude seemed to only anger Septimus even further.
"You'd like that wouldn't you? To get me to leave? Until I'm out of Harry's
life completely?" Septimus shot back. "Well, you can just fuck off."
There were several gasps of surprise as Septimus shoved Tom roughly against the
chest. Tom had apparently been caught off guard, because the younger boy
stumbled back a few steps before managing to regain his composure. Harry was
between them in an instant, forcefully pushing Septimus away from Tom.
"Back off, Septimus," Harry said in warning.
Septimus fell against the table, eyes wide with shock. There was a moment where
everyone just froze. Walter, Simon, Richard and Eugene all just sat there with
their mouths hanging slightly open. Harry's own heart was beating rapidly as
adrenaline pumped through his veins, his need to protect Tom overriding
everything else. His demeanor was tense as he kept himself firmly planted
between Tom and Septimus, ready to intervene again if necessary. A strange
sickness knotted in the pit of his stomach as the reality of the situation
began settling in. This was the first time he'd ever gotten into a fight with
Septimus — it was so rare to even see Septimus angry, let alone get physically
aggressive. Harry hated that this was happening, but he couldn't just stand
back and let his boyfriend get attacked.
Just like that, Harry felt like he'd been struck. He realized it was the first
time he'd actually thought of Tom in those terms — as his boyfriend. Tom was
his boyfriend. He was his. If the circumstances had been different, Harry might
have felt more giddy at the revelation.
Walter and Simon were on their feet now, moving over to Septimus.
"Come on, Septimus," Walter said calmly. "Let's go."
"Walter's right, we're done here for now," Simon added, grabbing onto
Septimus's arm. "Just let it be."
Harry tried to ignore the look of hurt on Septimus's face as he was lead out of
the library. Richard and Eugene hurriedly packed up their things and followed
the others out. It wasn't until they had all left that Harry allowed his stance
to relax. He felt Tom's hand slip into his and gently squeeze. 
"That must have been difficult, standing up to your best friend like that," Tom
said softly.
"Not really," Harry replied, shaking his head. "It was easy — I would do it
again, if I had to."
It was the truth. He hadn't even thought twice about stepping between Septimus
and Tom — he knew, given the same situation again, he would make the exact same
choice without hesitation — but it'd still hurt. As his first true friend,
Septimus meant a lot to him; it was just that Tom happened to mean a lot more.
His words seemed to have affected Tom. The other boy cupped his face and drew
him close. He placed slow, purposeful kisses on Harry's forehead, his cheeks,
his jaw; he even kissed his ears and eyes and nose, before finally coming to
his lips. Harry had never known what it felt like to belong so completely and
intimately to someone until that moment — and perhaps that had been Tom's
intentions. Tom wasted no time in taking complete control of the kiss, placing
his hand on the back of Harry's head and brushing the tip of his tongue across
his lips in a silent command. Harry's mouth parted automatically, as if
responding to Tom instinctively by now. Kissing Tom always felt new and
exciting, like every time was the first time all over again — but at the same
time, the feeling was safe and familiar. As if he and Tom had always known each
other this way.
At the sound of movement behind them, they broke apart. Harry looked around Tom
to see Septimus standing there, all color drained from his face and eyes wide.
Harry was as equally horrified, stomach sinking horribly and mind screaming 'no
no no no!'
This was not how Harry wanted Septimus to find out.
"I was just coming back to apologize..." Septimus trailed off, his face turning
stony. "Actually, never mind — forget it."
Before Harry could say anything, Septimus turned and walked out of the library.
Tom reluctantly released Harry so he could chase after him. Harry's thoughts
were frantic as he ran out of the library, catching up with his friend in the
corridor. He grabbed Septimus by the shoulder and forced him to turn around.
"Wait a minute!" Harry demanded. "Just talk to me!"
"Talk about what, Harry?" Septimus said, crossing his arms. "Talk about the
fact that you lied to me? Or about your really, really stupid choice?"
"I didn't lie!" Harry defended angrily. "I hadn't realized I had feelings for
Tom until after I'd told you that! And it's really none of your business what
choices I make, anyway."
Septimus sighed and dropped his arms. "Harry. Can't you see that you're putting
yourself in a dangerous situation by getting involved with that...psychopath?"
"Don'tcall him that," Harry said, jaw clenching. "You don't know him."
"Don't I?" Septimus gave a humorless smile. "I was the one you came to every
time Tom did or said something horrible to you. For years I witnessed you
tangle yourself up in, quite frankly, a very scary pattern of abusive behavior.
I think I know exactly what kind of person he is — you're the one who can't see
the truth, Harry."
Harry fumbled for something to say. He was torn between feeling really, really
angry and feeling really, really ill. He didn't want to be in this situation.
He didn't want to have to choose between his best friend and his boyfriend —
because he knew who would win.
"Things are different now, Septimus," Harry said, almost pleading. "You have to
understand that."
"He just acts differently," Septimus replied. "But he's not different. People
like him don't change, Harry."
"So, what? I'm supposed to just abandon him?" Harry snapped in frustration.
"Tell him 'Sorry, Tom, but there's no hope for you' and leave?"
"If you were smart...yes," Septimus said simply.
Harry's stomach twisted painfully. "I can'tdo that."
He would never leave him.
Septimus just gave him a really sad look and shook his head. "Okay, Harry. Do
what you want, but I need some time away from all of this."
All Harry could do was stand and watch as Septimus turned and walked away.
Chapter End Notes
     I'm so sorry this took me so long to get out. School has gotten
     really hectic. Just know that I work on this story as much as I can
     every day, so don't give up on me!
     Credits due:
     rotburn, Harry and Tom (from FF.net) and Notrus: for the idea of Tom
     and Septimus getting into a fight, and Harry taking Tom's side.
     Stregian - (from FF.Net) for giving me the idea of having Harry
     contemplate the whole being Tom's boyfriend thing. I might also use
     some more of your ideas in the next chapter.
     TheBlueMenance (from FF.net) - for the idea of doing OWL prep and
     making out in the library.
     ShadowsWithoutHope - for the idea of Septimus finding out.
***** Chapter 19 *****
Potions had always been one of Harry's least favorite subjects. Even by his
third year, he'd not grown to appreciate the subject all that much. It was no
secret that he'd much rather be flying on a broom or looking through a
telescope than inhaling nauseating fumes. The only thing that could quite
possibly bemore nauseating than the fumes was listening to Professor Slughorn
gush over what a perfect student Tom was. It was enough to make Harry want to
choke.
Despite his general dislike of the subject, Harry could still usually manage an
adequate concoction — it was very rare he botched a potion so badly that he
received a mark below 'acceptable'. That day, however, something must have gone
terribly wrong; instead of bright acid green, his potion had turned a rather
murky color and smelled very strongly of vinegar. He may not have been an
expert at potions, but he knew that definitely wasn't right.
"I don't know where I went wrong, Professor," Harry said, rereading the recipe.
"I followed the instructions exactly."
He'd added the shrivelfigs blood, he'd juiced the correct amount of leeches,
and he was quite sure he'd added in all five hairy caterpillars. The potion
should have been perfect!
"Did you shake the rat spleen before adding it?" Professor Slughorn asked him,
inspecting his cauldron.
"I'm quite sure I —" Scanning his memory, Harry groaned when he realized he had
indeed forgotten to shake the spleen first.
Slughorn made a knowing hum in the back of his throat and patted Harry on the
shoulder. "Try adding a splash more of cowbane and wormwood, then stir it
twenty more times. That should salvage it; it won't be perfect, of course, but
it'll be passable. Now, Tom let's see how yours is coming along — Ah! Wonderful
as usual!"
As Slughorn energetically moved over to Tom's table, Harry set about trying to
fix his botched product (while also trying to ignore the amount of praise Tom
was getting). Even by the end of the lesson, Harry hadn't been able to turn his
potion the acid green it was supposed to be, but the color had gone a few
shades brighter. He could at very least say that it didn't look downright
poisonous like Eugene's did, which was emitting great plumes of black smoke
into the air. Harry hadn't even known potions coulddothat.
After bottling up his potion and turning it in, Harry left the classroom in an
eager hurry to breathe fresh air. He really wasn't all that surprised when Tom
swiftly caught up with him in the halls. After their first year, the
Slytherin's behavior had done a spontaneous and quite unbelievable one-eighty.
He no longer brushed Harry off like an annoying nuisance — if anything, he
seemed to have opted for monopolizing Harry's time instead. It was definitely
confusing and strange, but it was a far cry better than Tom constantly
terrorizing him.
What hadbeen unexpected, however, was Tom offering to help him with his
potions.
"It's obvious you could use some help," he said. "And I can give you a few
tips."
Harry stared at him like he'd grown two heads. "You're serious?"
Since when did Tom care about Harry's academics?
Tom gave a light smirk in return. "Meet me on the sixth floor by the old
Transfiguration classroom at 6 p.m," he said, walking off before Harry could
argue or refuse.
It'd taken a lot of mental debating on Harry's part to convince himself that
Tom wasn't up to something. Who could blame him? Tom was always up to
something. There definitely had to be some ulterior agenda behind his offer,
even if Harry couldn't figure out what it was. The resultant internal crisis
involved Harry changing his mind about fifteen times before finally deciding on
just going (after all, hedidneed help with his potions).
Harry met Tom on the sixth floor as planned, albeit ten minutes late due to his
indecision. The old Transfiguration classroom was the perfect place to work, as
hardly anyone ever traversed through that part of the castle. They'd set up
their cauldron on a portable burner, occupying the least dusty bit of floor
they could find. Their only source of light came from the late afternoon sun as
it poured through the grimy windows, the entire room awash with a brilliant
golden glow. It was quiet save for the sounds of the potion bubbling and the
rhythmic thump of a knife against a cutting board.
"Chop up your daisy root more finely than that," Tom instructed, causing Harry
to pause. "You want to make sure the pieces are as proportional as possible.
Here, like this —"
Harry's heart did a funny little maneuver when Tom suddenly scooted — very
closely — to him. The organ then nearly burst right out of his chest when Tom
took his hand and carefully guided it in the correct cutting motion. Distracted
by the warmth of the boy's hand, Harry could only respond with a weak nod to
convey that he understood. When Tom released his hand, Harry had to swallow
down his pounding heart before continuing with chopping up the daisy root.
While he did that, Tom started juicing two shrivelfigs into a phial. He hadn't
moved back to his previous spot, which meant Harry could feel the other boy's
knee rubbing against his thigh and he was hyper away of the sound of his
breathing in his ear. He attempted to put some space between them (if for no
other reason than so he could concentrate), but then Tom leaned over to add the
shrivelfig blood to the cauldron, causing him to shift right next to Harry
again. Harry couldn't decide if that'd been an accident or not —logically it
must have been, as he couldn't fathom why Tom would consciously choose to sit
so close to him.
Harry found himself staring at Tom as he worked — something Harry discovered he
did quite often. At just thirteen, Tom's features were already taking on the
defined sharpness of maturity, beautifully defined by the soft halo of light
glowing around him. Harry's face, on the other hand, had stubbornly maintained
noticeable traces of roundness, stuck in that awkward stage between childhood
and adulthood.
As he observed Tom, Harry noted with interest the subtle furrowing of his
eyebrows as he concentrated, and the way he silently mouthed snippets of the
instructions to himself. It was just a little bit adorable. Harry wasn't just
watching his face, either. Tom's hands moved expertly and delicately —
seemingly aware that every action, no matter how slight, made the difference
between a mediocre potion and a perfect potion.
"Are you paying attention, Harry?" Tom said, pulling Harry out of his thoughts.
"Er-yeah," Harry responded, flushing slightly.
"Watch closely the way I juice these leeches," Tom instructed. "It's very
important you get the correct amount. Too much or too little could turn the
potion too dark a green."
"Right," Harry nodded.
He scooted closer to Tom, their thighs and shoulders practically pressed
together now as he leaned in to observe the boy's demonstration. Harry thought
he felt more than heard Tom's breath catch—something he assumed had been caused
by the fumes from the potion. Despite the funny feelings it caused in him,
Harry couldn't will it in himself to move away again. He was surprised at just
how much he was enjoying Tom's company; the Slytherin was an unexpectedly
excellent instructor and he hadn't said a single horrid thing to Harry the
entire time (something Harry had honestly been anticipating). He was patient
and understanding, not even taking the opportunity to belittle Harry when he'd
accidentally squashed one of the caterpillars. They just spent the rest of the
afternoon in quiet enjoyment of each other, until the potion was completed and
the sun had made its full descent on the horizon.
The next Potion's class found Professor Slughorn staring down into Harry's
cauldron with astonishment. Thanks to all of Tom's helpful tips, Harry had
succeeded in making the perfect, acid green Shrinking Potion — something
Slughorn had clearly not been expecting from one of his most average students.
"This is quite excellent work!" Slughorn said jovially, clapping his hand on
Harry's shoulder. "An astounding improvement from Monday's potion, Harry. I
daresay it might even be on par with Tom's!"
Harry turned to look at Tom, beaming brightly.
Tom smiled back.
                                     xxxxx
The common room was almost completely empty, the rain making a soft pitter-
patter against the windows as Harry gazed out. It was a dull, grey November day
and, at the risk of sounding melodramatic, Harry thought it perfectly reflected
his mood. He'd become a lot more reclusive and quiet since the fight with
Septimus; something his friends hand't failed to notice. They'd questioned him
about it, but Harry had refused to go into the full details behind the
argument. How could he possibly explain everything without also admitting that
he was a homosexual? Harry didn't know if he was ready for that just yet —
admitting it to Septimus had been difficult enough, and he'd already known. It
was obvious Septimus hadn't said anything either, which Harry was grateful for.
To keep himself from thinking too much about it, Harry did the only thing he
could think to do — he turned his focus onto the stars. He spent most of the
afternoon drawing up a chart of the constellations that were visible from their
latitude on a March evening/November pre-dawn. He'd only just finished labeling
Draco when several people came bumbling through the portrait hole — quite
loudly at that. Their chatter and laughter drew Harry's focus over to them. His
heart stopped cold for a fleeting moment when he saw that it was not only
Richard, Simon, Eugene and Walter, but Septimus as well.
It was the first time in days they'd been in the same room together.
They fell silent upon spotting him, Septimus regarding Harry for several
seconds before looking away. That stung at lot more than Harry would have liked
to admit. The awkwardness of the moment was suffocating, so Harry quickly
packed away his things and headed up to the dormitories without a word. He
threw his books down onto the bed and flopped face first onto the mattress,
trying to drown out the muffled talking carrying up from the common room. He
could only assume that they were talking about him now.
His assumption was proven correct only a few minutes later when the entire gang
(minus Septimus) came tromping up to the dorm room. Harry just grabbed a pillow
and yanked it down over his head, figuring that a good enough excuse not to
talk to anyone.
"Stop moping around, Harry," Walter chided. Harry jumped slightly when he felt
another pillow whack him on the legs.
He lifted his face just enough to give Walter a glare. "I'm not moping," he
retorted, throwing Walter's pillow back at him."
"Could've fooled us," Simon said, sitting down at the edge of Harry's bed.
"We've known you for five years — we can tell when you're in one of your
infamous 'moods'."
"You really should try to work things out with Septimus," Richard said. "He's
rather miserable himself."
"Yeah, as fun as it is to witness your dramatics, this tension is starting to
drive me mad," Walter agreed, plopping down on other side of Harry's bed.
"Whatever's going on between you two, just pluck up and make amends already."
"It's not that easy," Harry argued, rolling over and sitting up.
"And why not?" Richard arched a brow. "You two have been best mates for years,
what could possibly be so bad that you can't just sort things out?"
"You wouldn't understand," Harry said, running his fingers through his hair
anxiously.
Eugene cleared is throat "Does this...have anything to do with Tom?" he asked
carefully.
Harry's shoulders tensed and his eyes averted to his lap, becoming suddenly
very nervous. Even though Septimus had assured him that most people in the
wizarding world wouldn't care about his sexuality, he still hadn't worked up
the courage to tell anyone else. It wasn't that he was ashamed of his
relationship with Tom, he was just worried how other people would perceive it.
Harry had never overly cared what people thought of him, but he'd grown up in
the muggle world where violence against homosexuals was commonplace. He'd heard
of homosexual men getting locked up, shunned, harassed and even beaten to death
in the streets. That was enough to scare a grown man, let alone a teenage boy.
"Harry?" Simon said in concern, putting a hand on Harry's shoulder. "You know
you can tell us anything, right?"
"Simon's right, Harry, whatever it is, we just want to help." Richard nodded.
"We're your friends."
The corner of Harry's mouth twitched in a feeble smile. He really did have some
wonderful friends and they'd stood by him through a lot worse things than this.
If they were people he wanted to continue calling his friends, this was
something they needed to know.
"Alright." Harry took a deep breath. "You have to promise not to tell anyone
else, though."
"We promise," Walter said and the others nodded in agreement.
Harry's Gryffindor bravery had apparently chosen the worst possible time to
bugger off — he was shaking so badly that he had to fold them in his lap keep
the others from noticing. He still took another minute or two to steel himself
up before finally just blurting the terrifying truth out.
"I...I'm a homosexual," he said, refusing to look up from a particularly
interesting spot on the floor. "And I'm...in a relationship with Tom."
There was silence for all of ten seconds before Walter burst out laughing. The
sound was so startling that it caused Harry to jerk his head up. That wasn't
the reaction he'd been expecting.
"I bloody knew it!"
"Walter!" Eugene scolded. "Don't laugh. It's not funny."
"I know, I know," Walter said, clearing his throat into his hand. "I'd always
wondered about Harry and Tom, though."
"Am I that obvious?" Harry blinked. "Even Septimus had figured it out...beforeI
did."
"Harry, you're about as subtle as a brick to the face." Walter snorted. "You've
never shown any interest in girls, mostly because you're always too busy
staring longingly at Tom."
"I don't do that!" Harry said, eyes going wide in horror. "...do I?"
Simon nodded. "It seems like every time you and Tom are in the same room
together, you start mentally undressing each other."
"It is rather bad, Harry," Eugene said, smiling apologetically.
Groaning to himself, Harry buried his face into his hands.
"Speaking of which." Walter scooted closer, looking very interested in Harry
all of a sudden. "Have you and Tom...?"
Harry looked at him, bewildered. "Huh?"
"You know...undressed each other." When Walter proceeded to make a verycrude
demonstration with his hands, Harry's face went hotter than he'd ever felt in
his life.
"What! No!" he exclaimed, his voice getting higher than he would have liked.
He'd never really even considered the idea, mostly because he wasn't even
entirely sure how two men...did that. He figured Tom probably knew, but their
relationship wasn't at a stage where Harry was even comfortable asking.
"You're with the most attractive boy in the whole school and you haven't
shagged him senseless yet?" Walter's eyes widened as if this was the most
incredible thing he'd ever heard.
"Walter!" Eugene was blushing even harder than Harry. "Honestly."
"What? Just saying, if I were into boys —"
"I'd like to just stop you right there," Harry glared, not wanting to hear
about what Walter would do to hisboyfriend.
"Besides, Harry is more attractive than Tom," Simon suddenly blurted out.
Walter's eyebrows shot up and Harry gave Simon a curious look. Simon's cheeks
started to turn a very delicate shade of pink as if he'd just realized what
he'd said.
"Er...speaking from a platonic point of view, I mean," he clarified weakly, but
Walter was already grinning like a maniac.
"Oh-ho. I think Simon's a bit smitten with you, Harry." Walter jabbed his elbow
into Harry's side. "Looks like Tommy-boy has some competition."
"Ugh, shut up, Walter!" Simon groaned, pressing his face into his hands.
"That's not what I meant and you know it!"
"You know what I just realized?" Eugene spoke up suddenly. "Simon sort of looks
like Tom, doesn't he?"
Walter turned to look at Simon and rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "By Merlin's
beard, Eugene! I think you're right!" he exclaimed. "That certainly gives you
an advantage if you ever want to woo Harry, Simon."
"I do not want to 'woo' Harry!" Simon shot back, his face extremely red now.
"It was just a comment! You were the one talking about how much you wanted to
shag Tom!"
"What can I say? I can appreciate an attractive person, no matter what gender
they are," Walter commented with a shrug.
"Well, so can I!" Simon retorted, turning his head away to hide his flush.
Harry decided he should probably divert the conversation. Poor Simon looked
like he was about ready to crawl into a hole and die. "Can we get back to the
matter at hand, please?" he cut in. Whether or not Simon was actually attracted
to him, Harry felt like it wasn't any of their business anyway.
"Oh, right. Septimus," Walter said as if suddenly remembering what they were
supposed to be talking about. "It certainly makes sense that your relationship
with Tom would cause some friction, considering Septimus hatesTom."
"I wouldn't worry too much though, Harry," Eugene said. "Septimus really cares
about you, so I can't see him just breaking off your friendship completely."
"Really? Because I was getting the opposite impression," Harry said dejectedly.
"He can't even stand to be around me."
"You're really thick sometimes, you know that?" Walter sighed, lightly whacking
Harry in the back of the head. "He's worriedabout you, you dolt."
"Yeah, he's always asking about you," Simon confirmed, still slightly red in
the face. "Wanting to know if you're alright and all of that."
"He could just ask me himself," Harry muttered, rubbing his head.
"Look, I don't know exactly what's going on with you two," Walter smiled,
nudging Harry on the shoulder, "but I do know Septimus and he never does
anything without a damn good reason."
"That's right," Eugene nodded eagerly. "Septimus probably decided giving
himself space from the situation was the best thing to do. It's not because he
hatesyou."
Harry allowed a smile, feeling slightly better. "I suppose that makes sense
when you look at it like that."
"Richard? What do you think about all of this?" Walter asked, turning to said
boy.
It was only then that Harry realized Richard hadn't said anything in a while.
Looking over to him, he noticed that the other boy was standing rather stiffly
and staring at the opposite wall with a strange expression. He looked almost
angry or upset about something. Furrowing his brows in concern, Harry stood up
and approached him.
"Richard?" Harry asked, reaching a hand out to his shoulder. "Are you alright?"
Richard abruptly took a step back. "Yes."
An unpleasant, sinking feeling settled in the pit of Harry's stomach right then
and there. Richard had started acting weird after Harry had confessed to being
homosexual. Harry didn't want to jump to conclusions, though — this was one of
his best friends, so it couldn't possibly be what he was thinking.
"You don't seem it..." he responded with uncertainty.
When Richard refused to meet his eyes, a horrible feeling gripped at Harry's
heart.
"What's going on, Richard?" Walter was on his feet now, suddenly serious.
Richard hesitated, glancing over at Walter. "It's...it's just sort of...wrong,
isn't it?"
Walter's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about?"
"Homosexuality..." Richard replied, frowning. "Men aren't supposed to be with
other men. It's disgusting."
Harry felt like someone had just stomped on his chest, a cold dread settling
over him. Of all of the people he'd expected to react this way, Richard had
been at the very bottom of that list. The sharp edge of panic began to
overwhelm Harry's mind, his ability to breathe suddenly feeling restricted.
Thiswas exactly what he'd feared would happen, and it was coming from one of
the people he'd trusted most.
"You've got to be bloody kidding me, Richard!" Walter exclaimed, apparently
just as shocked as Harry was. "Why would you even think that about Harry? He's
one of your best friends!"
Richard finally turned his eyes onto Harry, a brief flash of guilt crossing his
face before he looked away again. "I don't know...I just...I don't know if I
can handle this. I'm sorry."
Harry stood rooted to the floor as Richard turned and walked out of the
dormitory. He felt so sick to his stomach that he thought he might actually
vomit. First Septimus, now he'd lost Richard too? He wanted to yell out or
punch something in frustration.
"Unbelievable," Walter growled after Richard had gone. "I never expected that
from him."
"Well, he is muggle-born," Simon pointed out grimly. "It's not exactly unusual
for them to think like that."
"I didn't even think of that," Harry said with sudden comprehension. "It makes
sense, though — he grew up exposed to muggle ideals and opinions."
"Exactly," Walter said, tone softening as he turned to Harry. "You'd understand
better than anyone how muggles view things."
"Despite most wizards having a rather tolerant stance on homosexuality, muggle-
borns usually have their own preconceived prejudices," Simon continued to
explain.
"Some of them change after they acclimatize to wizard culture, though," Eugene
added optimistically. "Especially since the wizarding world has its own extreme
brand of prejudice, a lot of which is aimed towards muggle-borns."
Harry gave a hollow laugh. "Doesn't seem to have changed Richard's mind."
"He might just need time to adjust," Walter said sympathetically. "He's
probably never had to acknowledge a real homosexual before."
"Maybe," Harry responded, trying not to sound as upset as he actually was.
"It'll work out, Harry," Simon said reassuringly. "Really."
Harry tried to believe him, he really did, but he couldn't ignore the feeling
of doubt that had planted itself in his mind. When everything seemed to be
falling apart right before his eyes, it was difficult to convince himself that
anything was going to be okay. He knew his friends meant well, but their words
were anything but comforting at the moment.
"Listen, I'm late meeting Tom. I told him I'd see him before dinner," Harry
told them.
It was a flat out lie but Harry was unable to stomach the conversation any
further. He was just desperate to get away from the heavy air of the dorm room.
He also really didn't want to be there when Richard returned later — just
thinking about how awkward that'd be made Harry's stomach churn with nausea.
Besides, he figured he might actually go search for Tom. He hadn't seen him all
day and he already kind of missed him.
Walter looked like he didn't quite believe Harry's story, but didn't question
it either. "Alright, talk to you later, yeah?"
Harry didn't answer him, he just walked out of the room. He knew he should've
offered some reassuring words to his obviously concerned friends, but he found
he couldn't will himself to feign being fine. He was in kind of a numb haze as
he headed through the portrait hole and started wandering the castle halls. The
more the reality of the situation sank in, the tighter the searing hot pain in
Harry's chest became. He already had one friend avoiding him, now another was
completely disgusted by him. How was he supposed to fixthis?
'I've never been very good at fixing things. That's always been Septimus's
expertise...'
"Harry! There you are!"
Startled out of his thoughts, Harry looked up and was surprised to see Tom
rushing towards him. Too stunned and confused to do anything else, Harry just
stood there as Tom grabbed him by the shoulders and started checking him over
with clear concern on his face.
When Tom's fingers started combing through his hair as if he expected to find
injuries there, Harry laughed. "Tom? What are you doing?"
"Are you alright?" Tom asked, or rather, demanded.
"Of course," Harry arched a brow. "Why would you think otherwise?"
"I felt your emotions," Tom replied, fingers still brushing through Harry's
hair. "You were upset and panicked."
"Oh, that," Harry said, smile faltering. "It was nothing."
"Harry," Tom commanded, tilting Harry's chin so he was looking at him.
It turned out that Harry hadn't needed to explain a thing—he knew the moment
their eyes met that Tom had seen everything. It was evident by the strange
tingling sensation in his scar that sometimes came when their minds linked.
What had confused him, though, was Tom's reaction — at first, the Slytherin
seemed pleasedwith what'd happened. Harry was almost certain he saw traces of a
smirk forming at the corner of Tom's lips, a subtle shimmer of gruesome
satisfaction twisting his elegant features. But it was gone in an instant, not
even a hint remaining in the concerned brown eyes now gazing down at him,
leaving Harry to wonder if he'd imagined the whole thing.
"He's just an ignorant muggle-born, Harry," Tom said, pressing a kiss to
Harry's forehead. "It's not important what he thinks."
"He's not just a muggle-born, Tom," Harry argued, frowning. "He's my friend."
"Would a friend treat you in such a way?" Tom questioned, tucking a wayward
strand of hair behind Harry's ear.
"I..." Harry fell silent. He wanted to defend Richard, but he found he had no
response to that. "I don't know..."
"He's not worth your friendship, Harry," Tom said, his tone soft and
comforting, making Harry confident he hadimagined that look on Tom's face
earlier. "You shouldn't have to associate with people like him."
Harry could tell that Tom's idea of friendship was still very skewed and
pessimistic. He talked about it as if it were something so easily discarded and
forgotten. It was true that Richard's actions had hurt, but Harry didn't want
things to end without at least giving him a chance.He held onto the hope that
Walter was right — that Richard just needed time to adjust to the idea of
homosexuality. Just like Septimus needed time to adjust to Harry's and Tom's
relationship.
Everyone just needed time.
"This is all such a mess," Harry sighed. "But I suppose I'd expected something
like this to happen."
"Do you regret it?" Tom asked, searching Harry's eyes.
Harry shook his head and smiled. "The only thing I regret is not realizing my
feelings sooner."
Tom seemed pleased with that answer, drawing Harry in close and planting
another tender kiss on the shorter boy's forehead. Harry breathed out in
contentment, his worries floating off somewhere far away. He didn't know how
someone like Tom could make him feel so safe — by all means, Tom should be the
last person Harry derived any sort of comfort from.
"Mmm, you smell like Summer," Tom said, nuzzling his nose behind Harry's ear
and breathing in softly. "Like morning dew and a warm breeze. How is that
possible? It's the middle of November."
Harry couldn't resist the temptation to mimic the sentiment and surround
himself with Tom's comforting scent. There was the familiar spicy tinge of
cinnamon, but also something else that was uniquely, inherently Tom. Harry
decided that if a starry night sky had a scent, then that was exactly what Tom
smelled like. Cool, dark, mysterious. Beautiful.
'He really is so beautiful.'
Hooking his chin over Tom's shoulder, Harry stared out the window into the
darkness while the taller boy peppered him with affection. The halls were empty
and quiet, indicating that everyone was most likely in the Great Hall for
dinner by now, but Harry found he had no appetite — the thought of seeing
Septimus or Richard had completely diminished it. He just wanted to stay with
Tom where it was safe.
Upon noticing that the rain had stopped at some point, a spontaneous thought
suddenly occurred to Harry. "I have an idea," he whispered into Tom's ear.
"Follow me."
Linking hands with Tom, Harry started pulling him along through the corridors.
The Slytherin didn't question where they were going, just followed behind Harry
silently. Harry could feel Tom's curiosity grow as they walked outside into the
crisp night air and headed across the grounds towards the Quidditch pitch.
Harry knew that his plan would most likely land the both of them in some
serious detention, but that was something he was used to by now. Tom, on the
other hand, kept himself out of trouble for the sake of his reputation, but
Harry highly doubted he truly cared about the rules.
"Wait here," Harry told Tom once they reached the pitch, releasing his hand.
He quickly walked over to the shed where the school brooms were stored and
whispered a spell to unlock the door. He grabbed his usual broom and carefully
examined the rest of them until he found one he deemed suitable for Tom. He
made sure it was in good shape and easy to use, not wanting a repeat incident
like the one in first year.
When he returned, Tom was giving both him and the brooms a somewhat incredulous
look. Harry was certain that Tom hadn't ridden a broom in years; quite possibly
since flying lessons had ceased to be a requirement.
"Don't give me that look," Harry said with a grin, handing Tom his broom. "It's
time you learned how to fly."
"I know how to fly a broom," Tom retorted, though it lacked its usual
conviction.
Harry arched a brow. "When was the last time you actually got on a broom?"
"First year," Tom supplied reluctantly. He obviously had issues admitting to
his shortcomings (which, to be fair, were few).
"Thought so," Harry said, smirking. "Don't worry, I'm an excellentflying
instructor."
Harry thought for sure Tom was going to object to the idea; proclaim in his
superior tone that he didn't need anyone to instructhim. The last thing he'd
expected was for Tom to actually agree to the proposition, the taller boy
giving a curt nod of his head as he waited for instruction. Harry should have
known not to underestimate Tom Riddle's drive to be the best at everything —
even if it meant admitting that there was something he wasn't the best at.
Harry couldn't deny that he was inwardly very pleased. "Go ahead and get on the
broom."
He watched as Tom swung his leg over the broom, moving with the same fluid
grace Harry often admired in his stride. Even when completely out of his
element, Tom had an uncanny ability to appear confident and in control. It was
a trait that Harry admittedly found extremely attractive. He was also pleased
to see that Tom didn't need any help actually getting into the air, as he was
already hovering a couple of feet off the ground.
Approaching him, Harry walked a circle around Tom.
"Your posture is too rigid," Harry informed him, laying a hand against Tom's
back. "Relax a little."
It was no surprise to Harry that Tom was used to keeping his form so poised.
Their primary school teachers had a habit of painfully jabing their students in
the backs with a ruler if they were caught slouching. Even Harry still found
himself reflexively fixing his posture whenever a teacher walked past, despite
the fact the Hogwarts professors never partook in such a practice. In an
attempt to help Tom, Harry slid his hand down the length of his spine and
pressed against the small of his back. Tom actually shiveredas a result and
easily loosened up to his touch. Harry bit his lip and resisted the urge to
repeat the action; if just to feel Tom shiver like that again.
"That's better," Harry said, forcing his hand to withdraw from Tom. "Now adjust
your grip. Like this-"
Settling his hands atop Tom's larger ones, Harry gently guided them in the
correct position on the broom handle. Tom was watching everything Harry did
with almost unnerving intensity, much like he had that day in first year. Just
knowing those dark, dangerous eyes were focused solely on him, as if he were
the only thing in the entire world, had Harry's heart beating frantically.
Teaching someone to fly a broom shouldn't be able to incite such feelings of
exhilaration.
When Harry finished correcting Tom's grip, the Slytherin suddenly grabbed hold
of his hands and pulledHarry over to him. Before Harry could even utter a
surprised gasp, the younger boy had their lips pressed together in an
explosive, mind numbing kiss. Harry was quite sure that the sky had opened up
just then and swallowed him whole. He felt like he was soaring, yet his feet
hadn't even left the ground.
Releasing Harry, Tom smirked in self-satisfaction at his flushed, almost dazed
expression. The smug bastard certainly liked to show off that particular skill
of his.
"Right," Harry stuttered, trying to catch his breath. "Um...just remember to be
confident." 'As if he needs to be told that.'"Sometimes brooms can sense when
someone is nervous or hesitant, if that makes any sense?"
"You speak of them as if they're sentient," Tom commented, raising a brow.
"Well, I wouldn't put them on par with a human being, or even an animal," Harry
responded with a laugh. "Think of it this way — when you're flying a broom,
you're imbuing it with your own magic. If you're not correctly controlling the
way your magic is being used, the broom may react violently."
"Ah, of course," Tom said, a look of comprehension dawning on his features. "It
behaves like a wand."
"Exactly," Harry said with a smile. "Why don't you give flying a little higher
a go?"
Without any trouble at all, Tom was able to maneuver his broom up into the air
in a swift motion. Harry was not at all surprised at how quickly Tom had caught
onto the concept — once Tom Riddle understood something, it didn't take him
very long to completely master it. He supposed it was one of the many perks of
being a genius.
Harry stayed on the ground and watched Tom soar around the Quidditch pitch for
a little while longer. His movements were nowhere near as skilled or natural as
Harry's, but it was hard to guess that Tom had ever had any problems flying a
broom — he glided easily through the air with refined elegance. When Tom
stopped and looked down at him, Harry's stomach wriggled with butterflies. Tom
wanted him to join him.
Without hesitation, Harry hopped onto his broom and shot up after Tom. The
feeling of euphoria was near instantaneous, the wind whipping away his troubles
one by one until he was left completely weightless and free — a feeling he only
ever got from two things: flying and kissing Tom. When he was level with Tom,
Harry flew around him a couple of times and flashed a brilliant grin before
zipping off into the sky. The most noticeable feature of Harry's flying style
was his obvious love for speed. He was never satisfied just floating along; he
wanted the dramatic pump of adrenaline in his veins, the slight edge of fear as
his climbed higher and higher into the sky. He found he craved the risk of
falling from a great height because it made the experience that much more
liberating.
Upon deciding he didn't want to risk giving Tom a conniption, Harry reluctantly
slowed down, head tipped back as he drifted against the sky, eyes focused on
the vast universe above him. From this vantage point, the ground had completely
disappeared from view and Harry could see only the endless sea of stars that
stretched over him. His imagination allowed him, for a brief moment, to believe
that he was actually floating through the space, wandering among the stars. He
thought if he reached out just far enough, he could actually grab a star and
pull it out of the sky.
But it was still just a little too far away.
When he felt a strong, warm hand grab his own and squeeze tightly, Harry turned
his head to find Tom hovering next to him. His breath caught in his throat at
seeing how stunning he looked bathed in silvery moonlight, sitting against a
backdrop of glittering stars that suddenly seemed so dim in comparison. It was
heart breaking.
"You're so beautiful," Harry said without hesitation.
Harry blushed a bit at his own bluntness. He'd agonized over Tom's beauty many
times, but he'd never actually said it out loud before. Harry knew that Tom was
aware of how attractive he was; he saw it as a convenient tool in getting what
he wanted and used it to his advantage whenever possible. However, unlike their
peers who gazed at Tom with lust in their eyes, Harry's words had been spoken
with purity and honesty.
Judging by the look Tom was giving him, Harry had to wonder if it was the first
time anyone had ever complimented him.Not just his perfect face, but all of
him. There'd been an absence of lust in Harry's words, no desire to have Tom
just because he was beautiful. Harry hadn't even been looking at his handsome
face when he'd spoken those words, only at the galaxy of brightly shining stars
inside of him. Tom's soul may have been black, but it wasn't completely dark;
there was light in there too and it was beautiful.
Tom delicately caught Harry's chin in his hand, and brought their faces close.
"I don't think you see just how beautiful youare."
Harry wanted to protest, argue that he was far from beautiful. He was plain,
awkward, skinny Harry. Just Harry,who paled in comparison to the sculpted
creature next to him. None of these complaints were allowed to pass his lips.
Tom's mouth pressed against his own, stealing his treacherous words away with a
burning kiss. Harry was quite sure that if he hadn't already been in the air,
he would have certainly started floating.
When they broke away, Harry's lips hovered close to Tom's ear. "Race you to the
other side," he whispered.
At Tom's light smirk, Harry wasted no time in looping around him and flying
off. A glance over his shoulder told him that Tom was trailing closely behind.
He just laughed and sped up, heart racing from something other than how fast he
was flying. Neither were sure who'd actually made it to the other end first,
and neither really cared. They were too caught up in the moment, streaking
across the deep, black sky like a couple of shooting stars.
Suddenly, the sky didn't seem quite so far away after all.
***** Chapter 20 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
The silence and darkness was pressing, only the ghostly echoing laughter of
long-gone trick-or-treaters still hung in the air. It was still now, with not
even the trees creaking in the wind. The stars in the sky were obscured by a
blanket of thick, grey clouds.
He approached the cottage, his dark cloak rustling ominously as he pulled his
wand out and whispered a spell to unlock the gate. He pushed it open quietly
and calmly approached the front door. With another wave of his wand, the door
creaked ajar.
The silence was soon shattered by a loud scream, and the darkness was chased
away by a bright flash of green light.
"Harry! Wake up!"
Harry was awoken rather abruptly by a vigorous shaking on his shoulder.
Snapping his eyes open, he made a strangled noise of surprise and quickly
rolled over to face the person standing over him. He fumbled for his glasses
and pressed them to his face. When his vision cleared, he saw that it was
Simon, who was staring down at him with a concerned frown.
"Simon?" Harry question, confused and a bit startled. "What are you doing?"
"You were making noises in your sleep," Simon explained, taking a step back.
"I'm surprised you didn't wake the whole bloody dorm, to be honest."
"I was?" Harry blinked. "I didn't realize."
"Are you alright?" Simon asked, regarding him carefully. "Were you having
another nightmare?"
Harry just nodded, running the back of his arm over his forehead. His skin was
slick with a fine sheen of sweat and his heart had yet to slow its frantic
beating. It wasn't the first time that week he'd woken up from a nightmare in
complete terror, nor was it the first time he'd woken Simon up with his
distressed cries. Harry wouldn't be surprised if the poor boy was getting even
less sleep than he was at this rate.
"Blimey, Harry, that's the sixth one this week," Simon shook his head.
"I'm sorry, Simon," Harry said, breathing out heavily. "You can go back to
sleep. I'm alright now."
"I don't think I could get back to sleep now even if I tried," Simon said with
a half-smile. "Besides, you don't look all that great, mate."
"You're starting to worry worse than Septimus," Harry snorted, throwing off his
heavy blankets.
Simon grinned. "Well, someone has to look after your stubborn little arse while
he's gone."
Harry just rolled his eyes and slid out of bed. He grimaced at the
uncomfortable way his clothes stuck to his sticky body as he made his way to
the bathrooms. As soon as he was inside, he peeled off his top and walked over
to one of the sinks, turning on the faucet so he could splash his face with
cold water and run a damp cloth over his neck and shoulders. He was vaguely
aware that Simon had followed him into the bathroom, now leaning against the
door frame as he watched Harry.
"Do you want to talk about what the nightmares have been about?" Simon asked.
Grabbing a towel, Harry dried off his face and then spared a glance at his
reflection. He looked terrible. His normally golden-tan skin had taken on a
pallid hue, which was further accentuated by the extremely pronounced shadows
around his eyes. His cheeks were also more sunken in due to the loss of
appetite he'd been suffering; part of which was due to lack of energy to eat,
but also partly due to the fact that the dreams had been bothering him
immensely. They haunted him even while he was awake.
"Harry?" Simon prompted again.
"They're just nightmares," Harry said stiffly, turning to Simon. "As in,
dreamsthat don't mean anything."
What else was he supposed to say? 'I've been dreaming about someone getting
murdered every night. Also, I'm the murderer.' He was quite sure that'd cause a
fair bit of questioning he wasn't prepared to deal with.
"Okay, okay," Simon relented, holding his hands up in surrender. "I was just
asking."
Harry sighed, suddenly feeling guilty. "Sorry, Simon. I didn't mean to snap at
you."
"It's alright, Harry, I know being moody is just part of your personality,"
Simon responded with a playful grin. "You can't help it."
"What, like how being an idiot is part of yours?" Harry retorted, bundling up
the towel and playfully tossing it at Simon.
"Oh, that was low," Simon snickered, catching the towel. "Someone isgrumpy
today."
"You would be too if you've been getting three hours of sleep a night," Harry
said as he searched for his toothbrush.
"It's been that severe?" Simon asked, his expression sobering. "That's not
good, Harry."
Harry winced at the look on Simon's face. "I was just exaggerating," was his
hasty excuse. "It's really not that bad, honest."
It was a minor white lie. He'd just left out the bit about it actually being
worse than that. Harry was certain that there were nights where he got less
than an hour of sleep, but he didn't see any point in worrying his friend
unnecessarily over something like that. Simon looked like he didn't quite
believe Harry's lie, but before he had the opportunity to drill Harry on it,
Richard chose that exact moment to walk into the bathroom.
A rather awkward silence ensued for the next several seconds as everyone seemed
at a loss for what to do. Simon's eyes were darting between Richard and Harry
nervously, while Richard was absently fiddling with something in one of the
cabinets. Harry just stupidly stood there with his toothbrush in his mouth.
"Oh, this is ridiculous!" Simon exclaimed suddenly. "You're not going to turn
homosexual if you jut talk to Harry, Richard!"
Harry nearly choked on a glob of toothpaste, not having expected Simon to say
something like that. After rinsing his mouth out, Harry turned to Richard and
saw that the other boy had gone slightly pink in the cheeks. He looked a
strange cross between embarrassed and uncomfortable, a rather typical
expression he wore around Harry these days.
"Just stay out of it, Simon," Richard mumbled and walked over to the showers.
Simon made to go after Richard, but Harry stopped him and shook his head.
"Leave it," he said, frowning. "There's no point in you and Richard being at
odds too."
"What I wouldn't give to just be able to-" Simon punched his fist into his
hand, glaring in the direction Richard had disappeared.
Harry laughed humorlessly. "I know the feeling."
The truth was, Harry wasn't entirely sure how much longer he could tolerate the
way Richard was treating him. In his view, Richard's stance on homosexuality
was no different than pure-blood prejudice against muggle-borns — it was hating
an intrinsic part of a person. He didn't think he could be friends with someone
who thought and acted that way. As much as he hated the idea of cutting ties
with someone who'd been one of his best friends for years, Richard was leaving
him with very little choice in the matter.
"Come on, let's just get ready," Simon said, sighing. "I'm sure Walter and
Eugene are awake by now."
Upon walking back into the dorm, they found that Walter and Eugene were indeed
awake. The two boys were busy chatting to one another and making their beds;
however they paused once they spotted Simon and Harry. Walter's eyebrows shot
up immediately.
"Merlin's balls, Harry," he blurted out, "you look half dead!"
"Oh, gee, thanks, Walter," Harry responded, throwing said boy a sarcastic
smile. "That was just the confidence booster I needed to start the day with."
"He's right, though," Eugene said. "You do look quite terrible. Is everything
alright?"
"Just had a rough night," Harry said while digging for his uniform. "I didn't
sleep too well. I think it might be from studying too hard."
Simon shot him a look, but Harry silenced him with glare. The last thing he
wanted was a bunch of stupid questions about his dreams. Thankfully, Simon
caught the hint and kept quiet - despite not looking too happy about it.
"Hm, well, take it easy for a couple of days," Walter said, eyeing him. "You
look like you're going to collapse any second."
"Yes, mum," Harry replied while fumbling with his tie.
"At least you're still our sarcastic, feisty Harry," Walter winked,
disappearing into the bathrooms to shower.
Eugene snickered and followed after him, leaving Simon and Harry alone in the
dorms. It only took them a couple more minutes to finished getting dressed.
"Shall we go down to breakfast, then?" Simon said to Harry, grabbing up his
satchel.
"Yes, alright," Harry responded, quickly fastening his robes.
The two of them headed out of the dorms and through the portrait hole together.
To top off a rather poor start to the day, Harry noted that it was also
raining. Water was being pounded against the windows in a rather torrential
downpour and there was the faint rumble of thunder in the distance, signifying
an incoming storm. Harry had an intense hatred for rain on a normal day, but he
especially hoped it cleared up before that afternoon's Quidditch practice.
When they reached the entrance to the Great Hall, Harry saw that Tom was
already standing there waiting for him. He instantly perked up, his fatigued
body experiencing a slight rejuvenation just from seeing him. However, the look
that Tom was giving him in return suggested that he was not at all pleased with
what he was seeing. He studied Harry for several long seconds before turning
his gaze onto Simon.
"Thank you for walking Harry down here, Simon," Tom said courteously. "however,
If you don't mind, I wish to spend a moment with him, alone."
Simon may not have picked up on it, but Harry definitely heard the subtle
forcefulness in Tom's words. That was certainly confusing, as Harry had always
known Tom to hate Septimus (for absolutely no reason might he add) but he'd
never expressed particular hostility towards any of his other friends before —
except maybe Richard, but that was understandable at the moment.
"Oh, alright," Simon said with a smile, turning to Harry. "Walk with you to
Charms after breakfast?"
Before Harry could answer, Tom stepped forward and grabbed his hand. He was a
bit startled by the tighter-than-usual grip Tom was using and he had to wriggle
his hand until the taller boy loosened his hold just a bit.
"Harry, I thought we were going to walk to lessons together?" Tom questioned
casually.
Harry blinked at him in confusion. He couldn't remember agreeing to anything
like that, but Tom made it sound like he definitelyhad. He supposed it was
possible; he'd been so out of it lately that he could very well be making
agreements and not remembering them.
Still, there was one small issue with the plan: "Tom, the Charms classroom is
on the other side of the castle from your Arithmancy lesson."
"It's not an issue," Tom responded, smiling down at him. "I'll have plenty of
time to make it to my lesson."
How could Harry deny Tom anything when he smiled at him like that? His smile
practically lit up the whole room and it made his heart do funny things. There
was also the added bonus that walking to class together meant Harry got to
spend more time with Tom. It would be nearly half a day before they had any
lessons together, and to Harry that might as well equate to forever.
Harry turned to Simon. "We'll just meet up at Charms, okay?"
Simon appeared momentarily disappointed and bewildered, but didn't make a fuss
about it. He just nodded and headed into the Great Hall. Harry moved to follow
suit, but the hand holding his own stopped him and pulled him back. Harry
stumbled slightly into Tom and looked up at him puzzled.
"Tom?" Harry tilted his head.
"You've not been sleeping again," Tom more stated than questioned, brushing his
fingers down Harry's cheek.
Harry resisted the urge to lean into Tom's hand — he just loved being touched
by him. He had to remind himself where they were and that literally anyone
could walk by and see them. Nonetheless, their hands remained firmly locked
together, giving Harry the distinct impression that Tom was purposely refusing
to let go. Not that Harry minded all that much.
"I've been sleeping," Harry countered. "Just not well."
"What's been bothering you?" Tom asked, pulling Harry closer to him.
He'd planned on giving Tom the same excuse he'd given Walter and Eugene, but as
soon as Harry opened his mouth, the truth came spilling out; "I've just been
having bad dreams, that's all."
Tom frowned lightly. "Tell me what these nightmares have been about."
Harry winced slightly, cursing his blabber-mouth. "I don't know, I don't
remember," he tried to rectify his blunder. "They're not something I want to
talk about anyway."
"I don't like you keeping things from me, Harry," Tom said in a deceptively
soft voice, an indication that he was not happy.
In the next moment, Harry felt the tell-tale tingling in his scar that meant
Tom was attempting to access his thoughts. Harry's eyes widened and he wrenched
himself away from the taller boy, his heart hammering in his chest from a
combination of shock and anger.
"Can you at least pretend to respect my privacy?" he accused vehemently.
He knew that he was being a touch hypocritical; there'd been a few instances in
the past where he'd purposely entered Tom's mind, but it'd always been for the
purpose of locating him, never to invade his private thoughts. Even though he
wanted to make the excuse that it could have been accidental, Harry knew deep
down that Tom was exactly the type of person to do something like that. It
didn't matter how much he'd changed, he was still the same boy who'd terrorized
a whole orphanage just to have his way.
If Tom was angry with Harry's defiance, he didn't show it.
"I only worry about you," he said, drawing Harry back to him. "Can you fault me
for that?"
The anger Harry had been feeling quickly evaporated into intense guilt. He now
felt like the bad guy for snapping at Tom. Of courseTom had only been acting
out of concern, and of course Harry had reacted like a complete jerk. That
didn't make what Tom did okay, but Harry felt he could have been more patient.
"I know, I'm sorry, you're right," Harry conceded, grabbing hold of Tom's hand
again. "I didn't mean to get so testy. I'm just tired — I even snapped at Simon
earlier."
Tom smiled at him and ran his free hand through Harry's unruly hair. "You will
come with me to the infirmary after lessons. We'll get you a Dreamless Sleep
Potion. And I don't want any arguments, Harry."
Harry's mouth, which had opened to protest, abruptly snapped closed. His
absolutely least favorite place in the whole castle (including the Potion's
dungeons) was the Hospital Wing. It'd once taken all five of his friends to
drag him there when he'd been deathly ill with pneumonia — with a good deal of
struggling and claims of being 'hardly sick at all' on his part. Madam
Peppercorn certainly hadn't been very impressed with the gaggle of teenagers
invading her infirmary and hauling a violently coughing and complaining Harry.
Nonetheless, Harry felt like he owed Tom for snapping at him and thus nodded
his head in agreement. He reasoned that he could actually use a good night's
rest for once. As it was, the only thing keeping him from collapsing on the
spot from fatigue was the support of Tom's surprisingly solid body (he always
looked so thin in his uniforms).
Harry's compliance seemed to please Tom greatly, and he was rewarded with a
dazzling smile that showed off the boy's perfect teeth. The effect it had on
Tom's already too beautiful face was absolutely devastating and Harry felt his
heart melt completely. He realized that he would do anything to get Tom to
smile like that more often.
Feeling quite possessive of that smile, Harry couldn't resist the temptation to
lean up and capture it with a kiss. As soon as their lips met, Harry completely
forgot their surroundings and the possibility of others walking by. Those
things didn't seem important anymore; the only thing that mattered was the boy
with him.
They were soon interrupted by someone wolf-whistling at them. Harry quickly
pulled away from Tom and turned around, somewhat relieved to see that it was
only Eugene and Walter...and Richard. Walter was grinning obnoxiously at Harry
while Eugene had a faint blush on his face from their rather public display.
Richard, on the other hand, looked extremely uncomfortable and a bit ill.
"Do they have to do that out in the open?" Harry heard Richard mutter as the
group walked into the hall.
Richard's words rang heavily in Harry's ears, filling him with an intense anger
and annoyance. Tightening his hold on Tom's hand, Harry found himself marching
into the hall after the others. He didn't know what had possessed him to do
this, all he knew was that he was definitelydoing it and there was no turning
back now. At first, no one noticed the pair as they made their way through the
hall, but slowly, one by one, heads began to turn and eyes began to widen.
Whispering erupted through the sea of students, and Harry was able to catch
snippets of what they were saying:
"What's going on? Why's Harry holding Tom Riddle'shand?"
"Are they really together?"
"Oh, Harry's so lucky!"
Ignoring them all, Harry strode over to the Slytherin table and purposefully
plopped down right beside Tom's gang. They were all staring at him with varying
degrees of curiosity and amusement. Tom gracefully slipped into the seat beside
Harry and snaked his arm around him waist.
He leaned in, lips hovering so close to Harry's ear that he could practically
feel his smirk. "That was quite the show," he whispered.
Harry smiled sheepishly. "You're not angry?"
Now that the heat of the moment had died down, Harry was starting to feel
horrified at his actions. The whole school was going to know now! He had no
idea how most of them were going to react to the news. Even worse, he hadn't
considered how Tom would feel about such a dramatic reveal of their
relationship. Harry had just become so fed up with Richard's continued shunning
and downright horrible treatment towards him that he'd wanted to just showhim
that he wasn't ashamed of who he was. Of course, that wasn't a good enough
excuse for his actions; there were certainly better ways to come out to the
school about his homosexuality and relationship with Tom Riddle than to storm
the Great Hall with anger and righteousness.
'I really need to learn to keep my temper in check.'
"Well, I perhaps would have taken a less dramatic approach," Tom responded,
raking his fingers through Harry's hair, "but no, I'm not angry."
"That's a Gryffindor for you," Avery snorted. "Always brash and lacking any
finesse."
"That's not a Gryffindor trait, that's a Harry trait," Lestrange commented
dryly. "He's an impulsive little twit."
"At least I'm not a slimy, conniving Slytherin bastard," Harry retorted,
reaching for the coffee.
Avery's eyebrows rose, a grin spreading on his face. "Are you forgetting that
you're in a relationship with one of those 'slimy, conniving Slytherin
bastards'?"
"Wait, hold on - exactly how long have all of you known about us, then?" Harry
asked upon noticing how nonchalant the Slytherins were about the whole thing.
"Oh, we've known quite a while," Lestrange replied. "Tom made it quite clear as
to whom you -ahem- belonged."
"Did he now?" Harry asked, sending Tom a side glance as he took a drink from
his coffee.
"Ah, if only you knew the sorts of things he does to any Slytherin who even so
much as looks-" Avery looked to Tom, then abruptly stopped talking and averted
his eyes down to his plate.
"Huh? What do you mean?" Harry blinked in confusion.
He looked over to Tom in curiosity, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. The
Slytherin smiled down at him and tightened his arm around his waist.
"Don't mind Frederic, he rambles about nonsense quite often," Tom informed,
taking the cup out of Harry's hand when he moved to refill it with coffee.
"Also, that's enough of that, Harry."
"Tom, give that back!" Harry made a grab for the cup, but Tom simply vanished
it and levitated the pot of coffee out of Harry's reach. Harry could only stare
after it longingly. How was he supposed to get through an entire day of lessons
now?
"Here, have some pumpkin juice," Tom said, pouring a cup of juice for Harry and
setting it down in front of him. "You are also to eat something before
lessons."
Harry wanted to argue, but he was simply too tired to, so he just took a sip
from the juice. He found no satisfaction from the sweet, faintly spiced drink,
too busy fantasizing about the pot of coffee just out of arm's reach. He also
made a half-hearted attempt at eating a slice of toast with butter and jam, but
found difficulty in finding the will to even chew. At noticing that Tom was
observing him quite closely, Harry sighed and stuffed the rest of the toast
into his mouth in one go — just to get it over with.
"Charming," Nott remarked wryly.
"I'd always wondered if Gryffindor table manners matched their personalities,"
Lestrange said, somewhat appalled. "Now I know."
"Try to eat a bit more — with sensible bites, this time," Tom instructed,
buttering another slice of toast for him.
Harry stared down at the toast, not even remotely interested in eating it, but
he gave it a go nonetheless. Fortunately, this seemed to satisfy Tom because he
didn't try to force him to eat anything else after that. He did have to stop a
few of Harry's 'sneaky' attempts at levitating the coffee back over to him,
though; which ended with him simply vanishing the entire thing as well, much to
Harry's displeasure. Harry decided to just lay his head down on the table,
considering taking a nap for the rest of breakfast, but his plans were
interrupted when Avery poked him in the shoulder.
"Just so you know, Harry, you other boyfriend is staring you down."
Other boyfriend...?
Looking up, Harry's eyes locked with Septimus's from across the hall. The boy
was frowning directly at them; or more specifically, directly at Tom. Unlike
the discomfort and aversion on Richard's face, Septimus only looked confused
and concerned. Harry could only imagine how worrying his actions might have
appeared to his friend.
Harry felt Tom's arm tighten around him, suddenly pulling him so close he might
as well be on the other boy's lap. It was an action obviously meant as a show
of possession, or perhaps to get a rise out of Septimus, but all Septimus did
was sigh and shake his head. Harry tried to meet Septimus's eyes, to convey a
message of reassurance, but the older boy was already looking away.
He was one of the only ones, though. Now that Harry had taken a moment to gauge
his surroundings, he'd noticed that there were quite a few people staring at
him. Most of them were Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, but there were also a few
Gryffindors, and their expressions ranged from mild fascination to complete
revulsion. Septimus had definitely been right about one thing: homosexuality
seemed to be somewhat rare in the wizarding world, as a number of people were
regarding him and Tom in the same manner one would an exotic or wild creature.
Conversely, the Slytherins — especially the pure-bloods — hadn't so much as
batted an eyelash at Harry's and Tom's relationship. Harry thought back to what
Eugene had said the other day, about how the magical world had its own brand of
prejudice. Pure-bloods were more preoccupied with blood status than they were
with sexual orientation.
"Seems we've caught Dumbledore's interest as well," Tom spoke up next to him.
Turning his attention over to the teacher's table, Harry saw that Dumbledore
was indeed looking their way, that ever-present twinkle in his blue eyes. He
seemed rather intrigued with the prospect of Harry's and Tom's relationship.
That didn't surprise Harry in the least bit — Dumbledore had taken a rather
curious interest in Tom's and Harry's relationship a few times before. He'd
never really understood why, though.
"He's probably worried one of his Gryffindors is being converted into an 'evil
snake'," Lestrange scoffed.
Avery snickered. "Unlikely. Harry doesn't have a Slytherin bone in his body.
He's a Gryffindor through and through."
"Actually, the Sorting Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin," Harry mentioned
conversationally.
There was momentary silence around the table as everyone stopped and stared at
him. Apparently none of them had been expecting that.
"I find that hard to believe." Lestrange's eyebrows rose. "If it's true, then
why aren't you in Slytherin?"
"I told the hat 'hell no', and then threatened to turn it into a pair of
Dumbledore's knickers," Harry responded with a shrug.
Avery burst out laughing. "Incredible. Maybe there is some Slytherin in you
after all."
Tom, in turn, was regarding Harry with extreme interest. "You're just full of
surprises aren't you?"
The intensity in which Tom was looking at him made Harry start to flush warm.
If he didn't know better, he would have thought Tom looked rather affected by
the revelation of Harry's secret Slytherin side. A small part of Harry now
wished he'd allowed the hat to put him in Slytherin — if just to be nearer to
Tom. He definitely found the idea of Tom sleeping only a bed away rather
appealing.
"You know, the only reason I told the hat no was because I didn't want to be in
the same house as you," Harry said, slipping his hand into Tom's. "Seems kind
of silly now, doesn't it?"
"Seems like exactly the kind of thing you'd do," Tom responded, squeezing
Harry's hand. "You've always been a willful thing."
"God, look at them! Do they have to hang all over each other at meal time?"
"I agree, I think I just lost my appetite."
"How is that even legal?"
Suddenly remembering that they were in a room full of people watching them,
Harry looked up to see that they'd become the subjects of scrutiny from a group
of gossiping muggle-born Ravenclaws. While Harry felt slightly uncomfortable at
the attention, Tom seemed completely unaffected by it, as if he thought their
opinions below him — and knowing Tom, that was probably exactly the case.
"Come, Harry," Tom said, standing up and taking Harry by the arm. "We have
lessons now."
"Oh, right, okay," Harry said, jumping to his feet. He was desperate for the
excuse to get away from the odium being directed at him.
Tom grabbed Harry's hand as he guided him across the hall and through the
doors. Harry could feel dozens of eyes following them the entire way out, but
he was less affected by it due to Tom's presence. His confident nature somehow
put Harry at ease.
'I don't know how he can always be so relaxed.'
"Are you bothered by what those muggle-borns said?" Tom questioned, looking
down at him.
Harry shrugged. "A little."
"Their views are that of muggles," Tom stated. "It is of little worth to us.
You mustn't put any value in what those people think."
Harry assumed that by 'those people' Tom meant prejudiced, homophobic people.
Of course, Tom was absolutely right. Harry couldn't allow what other people
thought become the determining factor in how he felt about himself. Especially
now that he was in a place that allowed him the freedom, both in a legal and
social sense, to be himself. More than the muggle world did, anyway.
Along the way to Harry's lesson, they caught a few odd stares and under-breath
remarks, but were otherwise left alone. Harry had a distinct feeling it was due
to the school's universal adoration of Tom. Even being in a homosexual
relationship couldn't mar his perfect image. He wouldn't be surprised if a few
boys actually turned homosexual just for the prospect of being with Tom.
'Like hell they'll get near him though,'Harry thought grumpily.
Tom looked down at him with an amused and curious quirk of the brow, making
Harry realize with horror that he'd heard that thought. He reallyneeded to
learn how to block out certain thoughts — otherwise, he'd constantly be at risk
of dying from embarrassment.
When they finally reached the Charms classroom, Tom leaned in to part ways with
a swift kiss. "I will see you at lunch time."
Harry watched Tom walk away until the boy turned a corner and disappeared.
Smiling to himself, he headed into the Charms classroom and took a seat near
Simon. With a wide yawn, he prepared himself for a long day ahead.
                                     xxxxx
Harry had barely managed to stay awake throughout the majority of his classes.
Simon had needed to jab him awake - twice — during Transfiguration, and he'd
nearly fallen face first into his cauldron during Potion's. There'd also been a
point during Defence Against the Dark Arts where Professor Merrythought had
been trying to call on him but he hadn't realized because he'd dozed off. He'd
lost Gryffindor five points for that and, needless to say, he hadn't obtained
any of the needed material from the lectures. Fortunately, he had an amazing,
genius boyfriend who'd graciously allowed him to borrow his notes and even
helped copy them over during their free period.
When his lessons were finally over, Harry's desperate wish was to just find
somewhere to collapse and sleep for two or three days, but he still had
Quidditch practice to get through. He could only hope that the fresh air might
help invigorate him a bit, otherwise there was going to be some problems. After
dropping his things off in Gryffindor Tower and grabbing his Quidditch uniform,
Harry sluggishly made his way down to practice. He was just stepping out the
portrait hole when someone called out to him.
"Harry! Wait a moment!"
Harry whirled around and saw that it was Niamh Waters. The last time he'd
encountered Niamh, she'd called him a few colorful names and dumped pumpkin
juice on him. After ensuring that there was no pumpkin juice in sight, Harry
paused so the girl could catch up with him.
"'Lo, Niamh," Harry greeted warily. "Did you need something?"
The girl stood before him, looking a bit nervous. "Yes. Listen...um...I really
want to apologize for, you know, trying to kiss you and the whole pumpkin juice
thing. If I'd known about...I mean I suppose it makes sense now, thinking about
it and all...I'd just thought-"
Harry smiled at her. "Don't worry about it, Niamh. It's alright."
Niamh looked immensely relieved. "I'm glad you don't hate me. I feel like such
an idiot!"
"We both acted like idiots that night," Harry said with a light grin. "Anyway,
I really need to get to practice, so I'll talk to you later, alright?"
"Oh, of course!" Niamh nodded. "Bye, Harry!"
Now in a slightly better mood, Harry continued on. He hadn't made it very far
before his path became obstructed by a blockade of Hufflepuffs, though. They
were Conrad Gibson, Nathaniel Baker and Jackson Hunter. He recognized a couple
of them as players for the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, but that was as much as
Harry knew about them. He'd never spoken a word to any of them otherwise.
"Er...excuse me?" Harry said, looking between them.
"I'd always suspected there was something off about you, Whitley," Hunter
sneered, looking him up and down in disgust. "Should have known you were a
bleeding queer."
Harry swallowed heavily and took a step back, his fight-or-flight response
kicking in. He definitely sensed hostility rolling off the three boys. The way
Hunter was looking at him in particular made Harry's skin crawl.
"Yeah...so what if I am?" Harry said cautiously.
"It's disgusting how you flaunt your perverse lifestyle like it's normal,"
Gibson spat savagely. "Do you know what they do to people like you in
ourworld?"
'Muggle-borns...' Harry realized with trepidation.
"We're not in the muggle world, are we?" he responded, surprisingly keeping his
voice even. "Their messed up laws don't matter here."
Hunter advanced on Harry. "That's quite lucky for you, isn't it?" he said
rather ominously.
Somewhat nervous now, Harry started reaching for his wand; at that exact
moment, however, there was a thunderous roar as the halls suddenly became
flooded with a stream of students bursting out of the classrooms. Hunter
quickly moved away from him and Harry inwardly sighed with relief — they
wouldn't be stupid enough to try anything with so many people around. The
Hufflepuffs eyed him hatefully before stalking off. Harry could only guess how
things would have gone if classes hadn't ended at that exact moment.
Feeling a bit shaky from adrenaline (and perhaps a touch of fear), Harry took
off down the corridor at a fast run, knowing he was already extremely late for
practice. By the time he reached the locker rooms, they were empty, indicating
that everyone else was already on the pitch. He hurriedly changed into his
Quidditch uniform, then grabbed his broom and raced to join the others. He
moved to stand by Walter, who was both a beater and the recently made captain
of the team.
"Ah, Harry, glad you could join us. Get caught up with...certain activities?"
Walter wriggled his eyebrows, most likely noticing Harry's rather flushed
appearance.
Harry shot him a glare. "No! I ran here."
"But whywere you so late, I wonder?" Walter grinned.
"Just shut up and get on with it," Harry said, resisting the urge to whack
Walter with his broom.
"Right, right," Walter snickered. "Alright, team; now that Harry has graced us
with his presence, let's run through the formation we practiced on Monday.
Mount your brooms!"
Before Harry could climbed onto his broom, Walter stopped him. "Are you alright
to play? You can take the day off, if you'd like."
"I'm alright," Harry said, not wanting to make a big deal of it. "Thanks,
though."
Harry tiredly lifted into the air after the others, his fatigue definitely
showing in his slow and sluggish maneuvering (normally he'd be the first one up
and ready). Glancing around the pitch, Harry's eyes landed on a familiar figure
sitting in the stands. Tom had started coming to almost every one of Harry's
practices for the past couple weeks — even if sometimes all he did was read a
book. Of course, the team had been a bit wary about it at first; the team
keeper, Gerald Spinnet, had even gone so far as to claim that Tom was a 'no
good Slytherin spy.'
Of course, Harry had found that utterly laughable. Tom couldn't care less about
Quidditch and wouldn't waste his time doing such a thing. Walter, having had
prior knowledge of their relationship, had seen no issues in allowing Tom to
observe them during practice. Just knowing that Tom was there always made Harry
feel good (and perhaps a tad prone to showing off).
That day, however, Harry could barely keep his broom flying in a straight line.
He kept zoning out and veering off wildly, only correcting himself when
something or someone snapped him back to reality. Yawning heavily, he peered
with bleary eyes around the pitch for the fluttering golden ball. His entire
surroundings were starting to blur and he was having a difficult time staying
awake. He'd even dozed off at one point and almost crashed into Olivia
Lawrence, one of the chasers.
Thinking the chill, damp air might keep him alert, Harry attempted to fly
circles around the pitch. He kept having to remind himself to look for the
Snitch, but he couldn't keep his mind focused on the task. Before he knew it,
Harry was slumping over the broom once again, heavy eyes slipping shut.
'No! Please, not Harry!'
'Avada Kedavra!'
"HARRY!"
Harry was shocked awake by the blinding flash of green light and he barely
managed a scream as he went tumbling off his broom. He didn't have time to
really register the fact that he was falling before his body hit the rain-
softened ground. Dazed, Harry stared up at the spinning sky as rain drops
splattered against his face. He felt disoriented and confused, remnants of the
dream mixing with reality. It was difficult to discern what'd really happened
and what hadn't.
'Who was that woman screaming...?'
Within seconds, his team mates were on the ground and crowding around him.
Walter's face hovered close to his, appearing slightly blurry; it took Harry a
couple seconds to realize it was because of the rain on his glasses.
"Bloody hell, Harry!" Walter said, eyes wide. "Are you alright?"
"I think so..." Harry responded, daring to move his limbs.
He was slightly sore but he couldn't feel any broken bones, at least.
"You're quite fortunate you'd drifted so close to the ground before falling,"
Olivia commented, white in the face. "You must have been flying asleep for at
least thirty seconds until you fell."
"I don't even remember falling asleep," Harry said, furrowing his brows.
"...Just hitting the ground."
And the nightmare, but he didn't want to mention that.
Just then, the crowd of Gryffindors suddenly parted as Tom came rushing over to
him. Harry felt his stomach drop; he'd almost completely forgotten Tom had been
there to witness his fall. He was definitely going to have words about this.
The Slytherin knelt down beside Harry in the mud, his face tense but his eyes
betraying his concern as he helped Harry into a sitting position.
"What happened?" Tom asked, running his hands over Harry's body to check for
injuries.
"I fell asleep," Harry said with a laugh, trying to downplay the situation.
Inwardly, he was extremely embarrassed.
Tom definitely did not look impressed or amused.
"We're going to the hospital wing immediately," he stated, gently helping Harry
stand. "This has gone on long enough."
Harry didn't argue with that, either because he was too tired to or because he
knew Tom was right. He shakily got to his feet, his uniform entirely soaked
through from water and mud. Tom wrapped his arm around Harry and held him
securely.
"Lean your weight against me," Tom instructed.
"Tom, I'm not injured, I can walk on my own," Harry protested.
"Do as I say, Harry," Tom ordered sternly. "Go on, lean on me just like this-"
Harry allowed Tom to situate him until the taller boy was bearing the majority
of his weight. Despite the slight embarrassment of looking so helpless in front
of his friends, Harry couldn't deny that it was now a lot easier to stay
standing; his legs were no longer trembling and swaying and not to mention how
inviting and warm Tom's body felt.
The Gryffindor team made a path for Harry and Tom to walk through. The journey
through the castle to the infirmary was quite a long and slow one with Tom
holding him. Harry was sorely tempted to lean his heavy head against Tom's
shoulder, but he decided that would make the act of walking even more awkward
and slow-going.
"Ah, Mr. Whitley," Madam Peppercorn greeted them as they entered the infirmary.
"What's happened this time? Doing something reckless, no doubt."
Harry gave a small grin. He'd probably paid more visits to the hospital wing
than all of the Hogwarts students combined. He had a talent for getting
injured; it was mostly from Quidditch, but there'd been other incidences as
well.
"Madam, Harry needs a Dreamless Sleep Potion," Tom said, guiding Harry over to
a bed. "He's extremely sleep deprived from reoccurring nightmares."
"Oh?" Peppercorn looked surprised. "Well, that is certainly new."
"He also took a fall off a broom, so he might need checking for injury," Tom
added, stepping aside.
"Now that sounds more like Mr. Whitley," Peppercorn tsked knowingly. "Right,
let me have a look, here..."
Peppercorn took out her wand, first casting a scouring spell to clean Harry of
the mud caking his body, and then a quick diagnostic spell to check for injury.
Harry always particularly hated this part; it wasn't painful, but it didn't
exactly feel nice either. It was a bit like a cold prickle across the surface
of his skin.
"Except for a few bruises, I detect no evidence of serious injury," Peppercorn
informed upon examining the results. "However, your weight is a bit lower than
last recorded. Have you not been eating properly?"
"I haven't had much of an appetite from being so tired," Harry responded
wearily.
"We'll get a nutrition potion in you as well," Peppercorn said, nodding.
"You'll also need to stay here for the night as the effects of the Dreamless
Sleep Potion are rather immediate. You wouldn't make it back to Gryffindor
Tower."
Harry sat up straight, his eyes wide. "But I-"
"Of course he'll do it," Tom said, seeming to be speaking more to Harry than
Peppercorn.
"Why can't I just take the potion to the dorms?" Harry continued over Tom
defiantly. He really did notwant to be stuck in hospital all night.
Peppercorn let out a bark of laughter. "And let students run amok with my
potions? I think not! Who knows what could happen. No, they must be
administered here in the infirmary."
"It's only for one night," Tom said, settling his hand over Harry's. "I'll come
collect you first thing in the morning."
"You're not going to stay?" Harry asked, his heart sinking.
Tom gave him a small smile. "I have other things I must contend to. You will be
asleep and won't even know I'm gone."
"I suppose," Harry reluctantly agreed, even though he didn't like it.
Tom did end up staying with Harry until Madam Peppercorn administered the
potions. She gave him the nutrition potion first; which, to Harry's delight,
had tasted like peaches. He'd managed the entire offering with ease (normally
he had to choke down most potions given to him). She also brought him a pair of
pyjamas for him to change into.
Upon Harry's request, Tom stepped outside the privacy curtain so Harry could
change. He felt rather silly for being so self-conscious around his boyfriend,
but he was not yet ready for Tom to see him like that.He'd never thought twice
about changing in front of his dorm mates, but this was Tom — Tom, who most
likely had a perfect body underneath those robes. He didn't wan't to risk Tom
becoming repulsed by his skinny, awkward body. Especially at the present moment
when he was bordering on underweight.
As soon as Harry was finished changing, Peppercorn brought out the Dreamless
Sleep Potion for him to take. It didn't taste as nice as the nutrition potion
but didn't exactly taste bad — it was a bit like dandelion and honey. Madam
Peppercorn hadn't been lying, either; the effects were immediate. Harry's eyes
became heavy and his whole body was fast overcome with a pleasant drowsiness.
Tom helped him into bed and covered him with the blankets.
"I'll return in the morning," he said softly, placing a kiss on Harry's
forehead.
That was the last thing Harry recalled before falling off into a wonderful,
floating sleep.
                                     xxxxx
"Rip...tear...kill...KILL!"
Harry sat bolt right in bed, instantly on high alert as he peered around the
room. It was still dark, indicating that it'd only been a few hours since he'd
had fallen asleep. He listened intently to his surroundings, trying to
determine where that voice had come from — he was certain it'd been coming from
right next to him.
When several minutes passed in complete silence, Harry was starting to wonder
if he'd simply dreamed the voice, even if that didn't quite make sense; he'd
taken a DreamlessSleep Potion. Certainly that meant he wasn't supposed to be
having any dreams, good or bad. Taking another glance around the room, Harry
slowly laid back down and took a deep breath to calm himself. Just when he
closed his eyes, it happened again.
"So hungry...for so long..."
Absolutely certain he hadn't dreamed that, Harry scrambled out of bed. The
voice sounded much farther away this time, barely a whisper - like it was
moving away from him. Grabbing his wand, Harry dashed out of the infirmary and
attempted to follow the sound of the voice. Whatever it was, it was moving
fast. Harry sped through the corridors, his ears strained on the voice, which
had become nothing more than an unintelligible hiss by then. By the time he
reached the first floor, the voice had completely vanished. He stood there and
listened to see if it would return, but it was no use — it was long gone. The
voice he did end up hearing, however, was not the one he'd been expecting.
"Harry? What are you doing?"
Spinning around, Harry's eyes landed on Tom. The younger boy was still
completely dressed in his school robes and he looked slightly vexed (most
likely at finding Harry out of bed).
"Tom!" Harry exclaimed, slightly breathless from running. "Did you hear that?"
Tom paused, giving him a strange look. "Hear what?" he asked.
"I-I don't know, I'd just woken up because I thought I heard...something,"
Harry said, realizing he wasn't exactly sure whathe'd heard. "Something
talking."
Harry suddenly just how crazy he probably sounded. He'd been running through
the castle after a disembodied voice, that apparently Tom hadn't heard — in the
middle of the night, in his pyjamas, no less. It was no wonder Tom was looking
at him like that.
"You must have been having another nightmare," Tom said, placing his hands on
Harry's shoulders. "I don't like you wandering around the castle in the middle
of the night, Harry. I told you to stay in the hospital wing until I returned."
"I know, I just - hang on, what are you doing out so late?" Harry asked, eyeing
Tom.
"In case you've forgotten, I'm a prefect," Tom said, taking Harry by the arm.
"I'm allowed to be out past curfew, in order to catch delinquent students such
as yourself roaming the halls."
"You've never complained about my nightly wanderings before," Harry said with a
cheeky grin.
"Yes, well, this time I expressly told you to do otherwise," Tom replied,
keeping a firm hold on Harry's arm. "Now, come along, I'll walk you back to the
infirmary."
"Do I have to?" Harry complained. "Can't I just go back to Gryffindor Tower
now?"
"You know Madam Peppercorn will have a fit if she sees you gone in the
morning," Tom said, and when Harry was about to protest further, he added:
"I'll stay with you for the remainder of the night."
"You will?" Harry said, perking up.
"Seems it's the only way to get you to stay put," Tom said. "You're obviously a
flight risk."
"I told you I hated the hospital wing," Harry grumbled, "but I suppose it won't
be too bad with you there."
Tom smiled (making Harry's heart flutter wildly) and released Harry's arm,
instead wrapping his arm around his waist. Harry no longer even minded that he
was being led back to a place he often considered worse than prison. Once in
the infirmary, Harry climbed back into bed and settled underneath the blankets.
Expecting Tom to take a seat in one of the chairs, it took Harry by surprise
when the Slytherin began removing his robes, along with his tie and the blazer
underneath. Harry didn't know why watching Tom partially undress was so
stimulating, but he found himself breathing a little faster than normal.
After neatly laying his robes out over the chair and taking off his shoes, Tom
walked around the bed and settled in behind Harry. Harry's heart was punching
against his ribs as he felt Tom's arm wrap around him and pull him back against
a firm, warm chest. Strong thighs nudged against his backside, shifting Harry's
body until he was intimately fitted into the curve of Tom's body — his legs
became tangled with Tom's and his arse was pressed snugly against his lap.
Tom's warm breath caressed the shell of his ear and his heart beat a faint
rhythm against Harry's back. Harry found himself extremely affected by this -
the last time they'd slept in the same bed had been when they were children,
and it'd never been like this.
"If you want to talk about Madam Peppercorn having a fit, just wait til she
discovers us like this," Harry whispered, chuckling.
"Would you rather I sit in the chair?" Tom breathed into his ear. His deep,
silky voice did interesting things to Harry's nether regions just then.
"No," Harry replied hastily, grabbing hold of Tom's arms to ensure he didn't
leave.
He felt Tom's smile against his ear. The Slytherin trailed kiss along Harry's
jaw and neck before nuzzling his face into the back of his neck. It wasn't long
before Harry felt himself becoming drowsy again, Tom's gentle breathing against
his neck and the steady rise-fall of his chest lulling Harry back to sleep with
ease. All thoughts of strange voices left Harry's mind and not a single
nightmare plagued him the entire night.
He hadn't even needed to take another potion.
Chapter End Notes
     I'm just going to celebrate the fact I actually got this out just at
     the two week mark. My excuse for taking so long is school and...you
     know, the fact this chapter is 8,961 words. Haha, what the fuck.
     Anywho, I do love how turned on Tom got by discovering Harry was
     going to be put into Slytherin; I bet you anything Tom's going to
     cream his pants when he finds out Harry's a parselmouth. Tom just
     needs to stop being a manipulative little dickwad now.
     Credits:
     Harry and Tom (FF.net), Notrus: For the idea of Harry having
     breakfast with the Slytherins. Honestly, my favorite scene from this
     whole chapter.
     I'm almost positive that's everyone I took ideas from for this
     chapter, but if not please let me know!
***** Chapter 21 *****
Chapter Notes
     There's some slight sexual harassment in this chapter. Nothing too
     obscene, but I'm putting a warning for anyone that might be sensitive
     to that sort of thing.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
They all sat together in the common room that evening. Simon and Walter were
currently immersed in a game of Wizard's Chess (which Walter appeared to be
losing quite spectacularly at) and Minerva took up a chair next to them, adding
the final touches to her orrery for an Astronomy meeting the following night.
Harry and Eugene sat near the fire, various Astronomy charts and graphs spread
out in front of them (it was easy to tell which were Harry's and which were
Eugene's). Harry was tutoring Eugene, who was in desperate need of help for his
OWLs after failing an Astronomy exam. As nice as Eugene was, there was no
denying that he struggled quite a lot in most of his classes.
"A lot of people believe that the phases of the moon are caused by the shadow
of the Earth falling on the moon, but this is actually incorrect; the phases of
the moon are caused when the sun illuminates the moon at varying angles as it
travels around the Earth."
"Really?" Eugene said, surprised. "I never knew that."
"Well, think about it; the moon would have to always be on the opposite side of
the Earth from the sun for the phases to be caused by Earth's shadow," Harry
explained.
Eugene paused thoughtfully. "Oh, I suppose that makes sense," he said, jotting
notes down on a piece of parchment. Harry waited patiently for him to finish
before continuing.
"The phases of the moon depend on its angular distance; so when the angular
distance from the sun is small, we see the crescent and new moon phases, and as
the angular distance gets larger, we see the quarter, gibbous and full moon
phases."
Minerva looked up from her orrery. "That means that the new moon occurs when
the moon and sun are quite close together, and the full moon occurs when the
moon is opposite from the sun," she clarified helpfully.
"And the first and last quarter phases occur when the moon and sun are
perpendicular to each other in comparison to the Earth, like so —" Harry added,
demonstrating a 90 degree angle with his arms.
"I…think I understand," Eugene said slowly, indicating that he probably didn't
understand. Harry just hoped that he remembered the concepts enough to get a
passing grade on his exams.
"Are you two done yet?" Walter complained after brutally losing to Simon. "It's
almost time for tea and I'm bloody starving!"
"Is it?" Harry blinked. "I hadn't realized it was getting so late."
"Sounds like a good time to take a break," Eugene said, stretching his arms
above his head. "I doubt I could cram any more information into my brain
tonight, anyway."
"I think I'll head down to the Great Hall with you," Minerva said while packing
her things away. "I've just about finished my orrery."
"I still need to finish mine," Harry informed them. "So I'll meet you down
there in a little while."
"Just don't take too long, or Tom might attempt to storm the tower looking for
you," Walter teased with a wink.
"You say that jokingly but why can I see Tom actually doing that?" Simon said,
raising his brows.
"Probably because he would," Eugene pointed out.
"He would not." Harry rolled his eyes. "I won't be but a few minutes more
anyway."
"Better hope so for your sake!" Simon snickered, giving Harry a thump on the
back. "We'll save you a seat."
And with that, the group walked out of the portrait hole, leaving Harry alone
in the common room. Collecting his charts up off the floor, Harry neatly
stacked them to the side before taking his orrery out and setting it onto the
table. It was smaller than the usual orrery but it was intricate. In the middle
was a large, yellow glass ball that represented the sun, and around it were
several smaller glass balls that were the planets of the Solar System. He'd
spent the last two weeks perfecting every painstaking detail — right down to
constructing Saturn's rings and painting Jupiter's Great Red Spot. The only
thing he had left to do was finish attaching the Jovian planets and testing the
orrery to make sure it rotated correctly. He'd already had to make some minor
adjustments once due to the fact that Jupiter had somehow ended up orbiting the
sun faster than Earth.
After fixing the blue ball that was Neptune to its brass rod, Harry set his
wand down and started turning the crank attached the orrery. He watched as the
little balls started to slowly rotate around the larger yellow one, all moving
at the correct speed now. He sat there for a while, just turning the crank and
admiring the planets as their glossy surfaces glistened in the soft firelight.
He imagined their drift among the stars, so bright and beautiful against the
dark backdrop of space.
He was broken out of his reverie when the half-hour bell started chiming.
Realizing that he was going to miss dinner, Harry quickly shrunk his orrery
down so it would fit into his bag (he wanted to show it to Tom later) and
hurried to join the others down in the Great Hall. He knew Tom wasn't going to
like his tardiness, but he only tended to say something when Harry missed a
meal entirely. After Harry had lost weight, Tom had gotten quite strict with
Harry's diet — he wasn't allowed to skip meals and he had to eat a decent sized
portion at each one, no excuses. The result was Harry gaining all of the weight
back, plus a little extra on top of that. Harry was just glad that the
nightmares had lessened, meaning he actually had an appetite again.
Harry was just starting down the staircase but paused upon spotting a group of
students heading up at the same time. A feeling of trepidation settled over him
when he recognized them as the muggle-borns (and one or two half-bloods) who'd
been giving him quite a bit of trouble lately. There was Gibson, Baker and
Hunter as well as a few Ravenclaws — Hector Wilkins, Timothy Sanders, and Paul
Brown. In hopes of slipping away without being seen, Harry quietly turned
around and started back up the stairs. Normally he wouldn't run from a bully,
but he was vastly outnumbered and he wasn't keen on finding out what they'd do
to him when no one else was around. He moved as quickly as he could without
making too much noise or drawing any attention to—
"Oh, look who it is! Where are you going in such a hurry, Whitley?"
Harry flinched and hastened his stride. He wanted to put as much distance as
possible between himself and the gang without alerting them to how nervous he
was. The last thing he needed was for them toknow they made him uncomfortable.
"Where's your boyfriend at, Whitley?"
"Yeah, what's it like being Tom Riddle's girlfriend?"
The group of boys snickered and jeered at him. Harry didn't react to their
taunts, but that didn't deter them.
"So, how many times have you taken it up the arse by now?"
"Just look at him, he obviously lets Tom bugger him up the arse every night."
"I bet it's not just Tom, either."
"Yeah, everyone knows homosexuals don't care about fidelity."
"How many different boys have you bent over for by now, Whitley?"
An unpleasant heat spread across Harry's face at their vulgar words. Despite
doing his best to ignore them, he couldn't help but feel slightly sick to his
stomach. He'd never had anyone say such things to him before and it somehow
felt worse than simply being called cruel names. He didn't want to admit it,
but their words were actually extremely upsetting. He refused to show it,
though and continued walking as if he couldn't hear them. That seemed to be the
wrong thing to do; his silence only caused them to become more aggressive.
"Oi, queer, we asked you a question!"
When Harry felt someone grab him from behind, he reacted with pure panic as he
slammed his elbow into his attacker's ribs and broke free. He immediately
started running, tearing down the corridor as fast as his legs could carry him
(which, thankfully, was quite fast).
"Don't let him get away!"
Their footsteps were thunderous as they made chase after him. Harry wasn't
paying attention to where he was going, panic clouding his mind. The only thing
going through his head was the need to get as far away from his attackers as
possible. He didn't stop until he ran up another flight of stairs and came to
the realization that he'd ended up on the seventh floor. He needed to get to
Gryffindor Tower! He started to head back the other way, but paused when he
heard the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws coming directly towards him. He was left
with no choice but to continue down the corridor he was in.
'I need somewhere to hide!' he thought desperately.
In the very next moment, something bizarre happened — a door started
materializing on the wall near him. Harry stared at it in amazement and
confusion, but snapped out of it when the sound of running footsteps reminded
him of his current predicament. Lunging at the door, Harry tore it open and
threw himself into the room. Slamming door closed behind him, he leaned heavily
against it and squeezed his eyes shut, hoping against hope that his attackers
bypassed the door. It was only when several minutes passed without anyone
bursting into the room that Harry allowed himself to relax. It seemed he'd
managed to successfully evade being beaten to a pulp for the time being.
Harry now spared a moment to take a look around the room; it was large and
spacious, with tall arching windows that allowed faint moonlight to illuminate
the room. There wasn't anything in it, which Harry found kind of odd; surely
such a copious amount of space would be put to some use? That wasn't the oddest
thing about it though — Harry still couldn't quite figure out how it'd just
appeared out of nowhere. He'd traversed through the seventh floor corridor a
thousand times and he knew for a fact there'd never been a door on that bit of
wall before. It'd simply appeared at the very moment he'd needed it the most.
'I definitely need to show this room to Tom.'
…Tom!
Upon realizing how late it was and that Tom was probably still waiting for him,
Harry practically sprinted back over to the door. He poked his head out first,
taking a quick peek up and down the hall to make sure his bullies weren't still
lurking about; when he saw no one, he dashed across the corridor. Running at
top speed, he barreled down the stairs towards the Great Hall, book bag
swinging wildly at his side. He was slightly disheveled by the time he skidded
to a stop in front of the hall, where an impatient  looking Tom was standing.
"Sorry…I'm…late," Harry managed between gasps for breath.
"Where were you?" Tom asked, quirking a brow at Harry's appearance.
"Er…I got a bit sidetracked," Harry responded, straightening out his clothes.
"I didn't mean to miss dinner."
Tom didn't know about Harry's 'little' problem with the bullies; mainly because
they never bothered him when Tom was around and Harry had yet to tell him about
it. He just didn't think it was necessary to get him involved — he could only
see it escalating the issue rather than resolving it. On top of that, Harry had
never been one to have other people fight his battles for him. He could handle
a few bullies.
"Sidetracked doing what?" Tom persisted, clearly not satisfied with Harry's
answers.
"I was working on my orrery," Harry answered (at least somewhat truthfully).
"And, some other things…I just lost track of time."
"Your orrery?" Tom repeated with interest. "Have you finally finished it?"
"Yes!" Harry said brightly. "I even brought it down with me."
"I would like to see it," Tom said. "But before that, I have something for
you."
Harry watched curiously as Tom reached into his satchel and pulled out
something wrapped in a serviette, which turned out to be a rather generous
slice of treacle tart — Harry's absolute favorite.
Harry's eyes instantly lit up. "Oh, thank you, Tom!"
"Yes, well, you mustn't miss anymore meals, understand?" Tom said, handing it
to him.
"I won't, I won't," Harry responded, rolling his eyes. "I told you I didn't
mean to."
"I'm certain there are a lot of things you don't 'mean' to do," Tom retorted
pointedly. "Now, do you want to show me your orrery?"
Harry nodded. "Yes—" But then he paused, another thought suddenly occurring to
him. "Oh! Wait! Tom! I have to show you something else I found!"
Tom looked slightly dubious. "What did you find?"
"Just come with me," Harry said, grabbing Tom by the hand and leading him
along.
"Why can't you ever justtell me what you're planning?" Tom said with slight
exasperation.
Harry grinned. "What's the fun in that?"
"I could at least prepare for whatever stupid, ill-conceived plan you have,"
Tom remarked plainly.
"Tom, that's the exact opposite of fun."
Tom responded only with an extremely unimpressed look.
"But that's not the case this time," Harry laughed. "I promise you'll like what
I'm going to show you."
Tom didn't look entirely convinced but followed along with Harry anyway. Once
they reached the seventh floor, Harry walked over to the bit of wall where the
door had last been — the only problem was, the door was no longer there. Tom
stood next to him and stared at the wall in confusion.
"You wanted to show me a wall?" he asked incredulously.
"Well, no," Harry snorted. "There was a door here earlier."
Stepping forward, Harry started feeling along the wall, just in case the door
had somehow turned invisible. He rapped his knuckles against the stone in a few
places and even leaned his ear against the wall to listen for any sounds on the
other side. In the end, no matter what he did, the wall remained just that — a
wall.
"Harry, there's never been a door there," Tom said. "Are you sure you lead us
to the right spot?"
"Yes! I'm positive!" Harry asserted. "It was right across from that tapestry
there. I just need to figure out a way to make the door appear again."
Tom turned back to the blank wall. "What were you doing when it appeared the
last time?"
"I was…um…" Harry faltered, not wanting to admit the truth.
Tom's gaze turned sharp. "Harry...what was the real reason you were late?"
"What do you mean?" Harry said, averting his eyes. "I told you already."
"I am aware you're lying to me," Tom said softly. "So, do tell the truth."
Harry winced at Tom's tone – he hatedthat tone. "Alright…I was looking for a
place to hide."
"And why were you doing that?" Tom asked, unnervingly quiet and calm.
"Because I was being chased," Harry replied, shrugging.
Tom's composure shifted. "By whom?"
Now Harry was the one who was getting annoyed.
"It doesn't matter!" he said, frustrated. "Nothing happened, and I don't want
you involved, so just dropit."
Harry crossed his arms and turned to glare at the wall, refusing to look at
Tom. For the most part, he just wanted to focus on getting the stupid door to
reappear. However, a smaller part of him was already starting to feel guilty
for snapping at Tom (again) and he knew that if he looked at him, there was a
good chance he'd crumble and do whatever Tom wanted. Harry couldn't risk that
happening — it was far too important to keep Tom as uninvolved in the situation
as possible.
"It sounds as if the room came to exist purely because you needed it to," Tom
said, as if the previous conversation had never occurred.
Harry looked over to Tom, slightly surprised at his passivity over Harry's
defiance. While Tom never got traditionally angry or aggressive with Harry,
he'd expected him to at least try to get the information he wanted out of him.
Harry wasn't entirely sure if he should feel relieved or suspicious that wasn't
the case. 
"Er…yeah, I suppose," Harry replied.
"Perhaps that's the key," Tom continued. "You have to need something for the
room to appear."
Harry shrugged. "It's as good a guess as any."
"Go on, give it a try," Tom said, looking at him.
"Huh?" Harry's eyes widened. "Me?"
"Yes," Tom answered with a small smile. "You've already made the room appear
once, so you're more likely to do it again. Just think of something you need."
"Uhhhh…" Harry blinked at the wall. "Right…okay…Should be easy."
Except that it wasn't easy.
'I need….I need…um…I really need to think of something I need. Ugh! This is
ridiculous!'
Harry ended up just staring at the wall for several long minutes with nothing
happening, and he couldn't deny that he was starting to feel just a tiny bit
stupid. Thinking of something he needed turned out to be far more complicated
than it sounded. Perhaps the room was picky about what the seeker needed?
Sighing, Harry ran his fingers through his hair and started pacing to help him
think better. He really wanted to get that room to appear again. There was a
strong possibility no one else knew of the room's existence, which meant it
might be the only place in the entire school where he and Tom could finally
escape the judgment of their peers. They could be together without prying eyes
and gossiping whispers following them everywhere. Thatwas what he needed — a
safe place for him and Tom.
"Harry, look."
Looking up, Harry saw to his amazement that it'd worked – the door was
materializing before his very eyes! The two boys shared an excited glance,
before Tom stepped forward and opened the door. Harry followed behind him and
immediately noticed that this was not the same room from before. Instead of the
vacant, cavernous room he'd been in last time, it now had the appearance of a
cozy lounge. There were squashy, comfortable looking chairs and settees
situated in front of grand fireplace (which had a fire already crackling
merrily in it), and several large bookcases filled with numerous tomes. The
floor was no longer plain, grey stone, but rather a glossy cherrywood with
plush carpets lain across it. There were even tables that could be used for
studying and a radio for listening to music. It seemed the perfect place to
hide away in for hours.
"This is odd," Harry said, perplexed.
"What is?" Tom questioned.
"The room is different," Harry explained. "Last time it was completely empty.
Now there's furniture."
Tom walked around the room, examining a few of the items in it. "I would assume
that the room changes based on what you need. The first time you merely needed
a place to hide, and this time…well, what was it that you asked for?"
Harry fidgeted with his bag strap. "A safe place for us to be together."
Tom put the book he'd been inspecting down and walked over to Harry. The taller
boy affectionately caressed Harry's cheek and leaned in to press their lips
together. Warmth instantly spread from Harry's lips right down to the very tips
of his toes, making him feel like he could melt right into the ground. He
brought his hand around the back of Tom's neck and attempted to deepen the
kiss. Tom smiled against his mouth and slowly broke away, much to Harry's
disappointment. The younger boy placed a soft kiss on Harry's forehead and
tenderly brushed a thumb along his chin.
"I believe you have something to show me," Tom reminded him.
"Oh, right!" Harry said in realization. "Let's go over here."
Harry pulled his bag off his shoulder and walked over to the coffee table
situated in the middle of the room. Sitting on the settee, he opened his bag
and gently pulled the orrery out, returning it to its normal size. His heart
sank upon noticing that several of the rods had come loose and the glass ball
for Venus had cracked. He realized the orrery must have gotten jostled around
when he'd been running from the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. He felt stupid for
not casting some kind of protection spell on it beforehand.
"Here, let me take a look," Tom said, sitting beside him.
Harry watched as the younger boy took his wand out and cast a few spells to fix
the rods back into their proper place. He proceeded to mend the crack in Venus
and even cast a charm on the orrery so it would rotate entirely on its own,
without the need for turning the crank. He didn't stop there, though. With one
last wave of his wand, dozens of tiny balls of light suddenly burst from the
tip and started swirling delicately around the orrery with respect to the glass
planets — like bright, twinkling stars. Harry's breath caught in his throat. It
almost looked like a real solar system.
"It's beautiful, Tom," Harry whispered.
"Quite," Tom agreed.
Turning his attention to Tom, Harry was startled to see that the other boy
wasn't even looking at the orrery; he was staring directly at him.Harry
swallowed heavily at how intensely Tom was looking at him, the reflection of
the stars in his eyes making them appear as if they were burning with fire. He
sat frozen, heart beating a crack in his ribs as Tom leaned in, his heavier
body pushing Harry's down into the cushions of the settee. Harry stared up at
Tom, barely breathing and mouth turning uncomfortably dry. He had no idea what
to do; they'd kissed a hundred times, but they'd never been in this position
before. It felt so foreign and new.
Tom hovered over him, using his knee to nudge Harry's thighs apart so he could
settle between them. Harry instantly tensed up. That one simple action somehow
brought back memories of all of the horrible and cruel things that'd been said
to him. For one terrifying moment, Harry wondered if they were true  — if maybe
he was some kind of sexual deviant who should be ashamed of the things he was
doing. He could still hear the taunting words and his cheeks burned with
embarrassment and shame. Obviously sensing Harry's hesitation, Tom stopped.
"Is something wrong?"
Harry met Tom's eyes and suddenly he forgot why he'd been so afraid. Tom's gaze
was so calm and secure that Harry felt safe beneath it. Everything else seemed
to fade away.
"No." He pulled Tom closer. "Nothing."
Tom closed the gap, moving their lips together in a slow and sensual rhythm.
When Tom's hips press down against his, Harry's face practically caught on fire
but he allowed his legs to fall open so Tom could settle against him. Even
though it was a bit odd being in such a vulnerable position, Harry decided he
really liked the feeling of Tom between his legs. Instead of being
uncomfortable as Harry would have assumed, Tom's heavier weight on top of him
felt really good and somehow right, the position allowing their bodies to
connect more closely and intimately. Harry even had some minor control, using
his thighs to hold Tom tighter against him.
He could feel Tom's breaths trembling against his lips and Harry realized that
meant Tom was aroused. Just seeing him so affected had Harry coming undone just
as fast, legs tightening against Tom to guide him closer. He started to run his
hands along Tom's body, just barely able to make out the definition of his
muscles through the layers of his uniform. He'd never hated their uniforms more
than in that moment. Frustrated, Harry pulled at the robes to signify that he
wanted them gone.
Tom apparently caught the hint because he leaned up to divest himself of his
robes and blazer. With only the thin fabric of Tom's Oxford left in the way,
Harry was able to feel along the lines of his body with better ease. Tom just
sat there with arrogant self-confidence as Harry touched him, not a trace of
shyness or embarrassment in his demeanor. Harry couldn't blame him — he'd be
arrogant too if he had a body as wonderful as Tom's. His hands mapped over the
contours of sharp hipbones and a flat stomach, running up to his firm chest and
shoulders. Everything about him was perfectly proportional and Harry couldn't
stop admiring all of it.
Leaning down over Harry, Tom kissed him along his jaw and down his throat. When
Tom experimentally began to nip and suck at his neck, Harry groaned softly and
curled his fingers into the other boy's hair. Seemingly encouraged by Harry's
reaction, Tom sucked at the skin more aggressively, eliciting a much louder and
rather embarrassing moan from Harry as a result. He'd never felt anything like
thatbefore. The suction of Tom's mouth on his neck, combined with his breath
against his saliva slicked skin had most of Harry's blood flowing southward.
Why had they never tried this before?
Tom gripped Harry's thigh and situated it so it was wrapped around his waist,
pressing their hips even closer together. Harry proceeded to wrap the other one
around him, panting heavily and gripping at Tom's hair as the other boy
continued to ravage his neck, which was very likely sporting a vivid red bruise
by now. Tom tenderly bit and licked at the spot before moving onto a fresh
patch of skin. Harry realized he was going to be a complete mess by time Tom
was done with him.
After making at least four marks on Harry's neck (Harry had become far too
incoherent to count), Tom brought his lips back up to his mouth and claimed him
with a rough kiss. Harry was so thoroughly caught up in Tom's passionate
affections that he almost didn't notice the hand slipping underneath his shirt.
When he felt warm fingertips brush against his belly, he jumped slightly and
attempted to wriggle away in embarrassment. Tom immediately halted his
movements and took his hand away, settling it on Harry's hip instead.
"Would you let me feel you?" he whispered against Harry's mouth. "I won't look.
I only want to touch you."
Harry's heart pounded against his chest. His thoughts were going haywire — what
if his body wasn't pleasing to Tom? What if he didn't like what he felt? All
sorts of self-degrading thoughts went through Harry's mind. It was so difficult
to see himself as worthy when his boyfriend was literally ten times more
attractive than he was. However, he also knew he was behaving stupidly. He
needed to be brave (he was a Gryffindor, damn it!) and he needed totrust Tom.
He was his boyfriend and these were things they were meant to share together.
If Tom wanted to touch him, he should be able to do so without Harry's
ridiculous insecurities getting in the way.
Taking a deep breath, Harry nodded. "Yes."
Tom rewarded him with a tender kiss as he slowly slid his hand beneath Harry's
shirt. Harry was trembling now and he couldn't tell if it was because he was
nervous or if it was because Tom's hand just felt so goodon him. His warm palm
rubbed across the almost concave plane of Harry's stomach, where hipbones and
ribs protruded sharply. Fingernails scraped lightly over Harry's chest and
abdominal muscles, making a host of goosebumps rise in their wake as he arched
up off the settee. Somehow, that'd felt even better than what Tom had done to
his neck. It was like Tom knew exactly how to touch him to make him feel
wonderful.
Even after Tom had mapped every bit of Harry's torso (right down to his
bellybutton), he kept his hand rested atop Harry's stomach. Harry found that he
didn't mind it being there, its warm weight comforting and safe. Tom nuzzled
his face into Harry's neck, placing soft kisses against the marks he'd made.
"Beautiful," Tom whispered.
Harry's heart ached. He would never understand what Tom saw in him that was so
beautiful — but he did understand how beautiful being with Tom felt.
And that was all he needed.
Chapter End Notes
     I actually built an orrery last year, except it took me four months
     to do it because I only have a power drill and super glue while Harry
     has flippin' magic. So, you know, he kind of cheated. Anyway, I don't
     think I used any ideas from anyone for this chapter. But I'm a stoner
     with a shit fuck memory so, you know, if I did, let me know.
***** Chapter 22 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Tom enjoyed the sunshine.
It reminded him of Harry; the way his skin smelled, the way it tasted as he
kissed along his body. His boy was so warm and bright, like a beautiful golden
summer sky. Even during the coldest of winter nights, Harry was like a ray of
sunlight through the darkness. Tom had never believed for a second Harry had
been born in the bleak month of October. Even back when they had been children,
Tom had always thought the orphanage had gotten it wrong when they declared
Halloween to be Harry's birthday. He was far too fiery and full of life. He
knew without a doubt his boy had been born in the summer. Harry belonged in the
sunlight and warmth.
The early morning sun streamed through the windows, bathing the sleeping boy in
a warm glow. He looked so beautiful when asleep. Admittedly, he wasn't the most
graceful of creatures, splayed inelegantly on his stomach, with his long legs
tangled up in the blankets and his wild hair sticking up at all angles.
Somehow, Tom was still completely enraptured by him. His face looked almost too
thin without his glasses, and somehow even more innocent than usual. There was
a strong part of Tom that desired to corrupt that innocence. He wanted to get
inside of Harry and make himhis.
Tom leaned in and brought his lips close to Harry's, catching a faint whiff of
peppermint on his breath. He smiled, placing a soft kiss on those lips. When
Harry made a soft sigh in response, he trailed his kisses to his nose…then his
chin, cheeks and forehead, and then every bit of him he could manage until
Harry's face scrunched up and the boy started squirming.
"Tomstoppit," he groaned sleepily.
Tom rolled atop the other in one fluid movement and claimed his mouth in a
heated kiss. His hands slid down Harry's sides to his thighs, where he lifted
them and wrapped them around his waist. He was delighted to feel Harry eagerly
respond by squeezing his legs around him, drawing their hips snugly together.
His Gryffindor was wide awake now, attacking Tom's mouth with just as much
fervor. Harry still wasn't what anyone would call an experienced kisser, with
his clumsy movements and strange alternations between being too timid and too
bold —   yet, Tom adored all of it.
Parting their lips, Tom admired Harry's flushed cheeks. "Good morning."
"Morning," Harry responded, breathless.
Tom kissed along Harry's shoulder, tasting the sunshine on his marvelously
smooth and warm skin. When he felt Harry shiver under him, Tom took great
pleasure in knowing how much he affected Harry. He wanted Harry to yearn for
his touch and desire only him. Tom would make sure only he would ever have
possession of the boy.
His grip on Harry tightened. "Say you'll always be mine," he demanded quietly.
"Always, Tom. I'll always be yours," Harry whispered, stroking Tom's face.
Harry's words were spoken without hesitation, filling Tom's chest with a
strange sense of satisfaction. To have another give themselves over to him...
no, not just anyone. Harry —Tom had never wanted another like he wanted Harry.
It made him even more possessive over the older boy. As he kissed at Harry's
face and neck, he whispered reverent praises into his ear: "Beautiful...and
mine…forever…"
His words seemed to have an effect on Harry. His excitement and eagerness were
evident from his fast breathing and the tightening of his limbs around Tom's
body. Tom smiled;'lovely,'he thought as he lowered his head to Harry's chest,
where he could hear the rapid beating of the boy's heart. It continued to beat
faster and faster, like a wondrous litany of promises against Tom's ear.
He knew that heart belonged to him now.
                                     xxxxx
Harry stirred awake. Warm air gently puffed against his lips, accompanied by
the sound of soft breathing. Tom's face was just inches away from his, eyes
still closed and looking uncommonly peaceful. Harry laid there and admired him
for a few minutes longer, taking advantage of the rare opportunity to see Tom
without his carefully constructed and well-placed masks. He was so beautiful
even while asleep. He couldn't resist the urge to reach out and brush his
fingertips along his lovely cheekbones.
Tom's eyes to fluttered open and Harry lost his breath. His dark eyes remained
half-lidded, thick lashes fanning against pale cheeks and silky hair falling
around his face in a mess of random curls. The other boy was still half-asleep,
attempting to pull Harry closer to him. Harry resisted the urge to laugh
— there was already noroom left between them on the make-shift bed they'd made
by pushing two settees together. Yet Tom was insistent on trying; he was more
of a cuddler than Harry was!
"Tom! Can't breathe!" Harry's words were muffled against Tom's chest.
"Mmm." Tom tightened his hold as he nuzzled into Harry's hair.
Harry squirmed again. "I will bite you."
Tom sighed, loosening his arms enough so Harry could talk and breathe. He
didn't allow Harry to move far, though. He kept one arm draped over his waist
and nudged a thigh between his legs so their limbs slotted together
comfortably. For a moment, Harry thought Tom had actually fallen back to sleep,
but the rhythm of his breathing suggested otherwise. He just looked
so…contented.
Harry wished he didn't have to say his next words: "We've already missed our
first lesson, Tom."
"Yes, I'm aware," Tom said without opening his eyes.
"Since when does Mr. Perfect-Student purposefully miss classes?" Harry
inquired, mildly surprised.
"I wanted to lie with you awhile longer," Tom murmured, stroking a hand down
Harry's back.
Harry felt a pleasant warmth at that and smiled. "Well, that means you can't
get angry with me for missing breakfast. It is your fault this time, after
all."
One of Tom's eyes peeked open. "I suppose that means you will have to eat
double at lunch."
Harry balked. "If I have to eat double, then so do you!"
Tom untangled himself from Harry. "I will eat as much as I need," he responded,
standing up. "Now, get yourself ready for our next lesson."
Harry sat up, prepared to argue the point, but he was cut off when Tom took out
his wand and suddenly sent the settees sliding back to their original places
— with Harry still on one. He ended up tumbling over and then very nearly right
off the settee. Standing up, Harry tossed the blanket to the floor with a huff
and glared heavily at Tom.
The nerve!
Tom chuckled. "You look like some sort of savage with that glare and that
hair."
The smug bastard was already dressed and looking impossibly immaculate for
someone who had just woken up only minutes ago. Harry, on the other hand,
definitely looked like someone who had just rolled out of bed. His uniform was
rumpled and his hair was sticking up quite literally everywhere. Even Tom, with
all of his magical know-how, wouldn't be able to get it to lie flat.
"The hair is a lost cause," Tom commented, brushing a wayward lock out of
Harry's eyes, "but we might be able to keep you from looking like a complete
ruffian."
Tom started by fixing Harry's tie and buttoning up his blazer to hide the
wrinkles in his Oxford. He proceeded to fasten Harry's robes for him, smoothing
his hands along his front and down his arms to brush away traces of lint
(though Harry had the feeling he was using it as an excuse just to touch him).
Harry didn't even use an excuse. He just reached up into Tom's hair and gently
played with a stray curl (one of Harry's favorites that grew near Tom's ears),
marveling at how silky soft it was. He was secretly glad that Tom hadn't cut
his hair short again after coming to Hogwarts. It somehow suited him much
better than the generic crop Mrs. Cole had given all the boys at the orphanage.
Tom grabbed Harry's hand and interlaced their fingers. "We mustn't dally,
Harry. We'll be late."
"Oh, so now you care?" Harry said slightly teasing, slightly disappointed.
"We'll have all the time in the world to express our affections this evening,"
Tom promised, kissing Harry upon the forehead. "And I, for one, am quite
looking for to it," he added in a sensual whisper against Harry's ear.
Something akin to eagerness welled up inside of Harry at the unspoken promise
in Tom's words. He couldn't deny that their exploits the previous night had
been quite enjoyable and he wouldn't mind experimenting a little further. Now
having something to look forward to at the day's end, Harry allowed himself to
be lead out of the room by Tom. He looked over his shoulder in time to watch
the door dematerialize, a strange happiness taking over him. The room would
still be there and no one but them knew about it — it was their little secret.
They were late to Transfiguration. Dumbledore had his back turned as he drew a
diagram of a mouse on the chalkboard, but Harry had the sneaking suspicion that
the professor was only pretending not to notice their tardy arrival. They
received a few stares as they walked through the rows of tables, something
Harry had come to expect nowadays. In this case, the class was comprised of
Gryffindors and Slytherins, so the stares weren't so much hostile as they were
curious (and for a few students, envious).
Noticing that his friends had saved him a seat, Harry moved to sit with them.
However, Tom just pulled him to a table where Avery, Lestrange and Nott were
sitting. Slightly disappointed, Harry followed along and took a seat between
Tom and Avery. Sitting with the Slytherins tended to be the norm as of late.
It took Harry a moment to notice that the other Slytherins were smirking rather
unnervingly at him. Shifting uncomfortably, he looked around in confusion,
trying to figure out why.Harry caught Walter's eyes from across the room,
noticing that the other boy was grinning at him and indicating wildly at his
neck. Horrible realization immediately dawned on Harry and his hand flew up to
his neck to cover the marks that were obviouslyvisible. He'd completely
forgotten about them! It was no wonder everyone had been staring at him when
he'd walked in.
Cheeks burning, Harry kept his hand curled around his neck as he hunched over
the table. He could hear the Slytherins snickering at his obvious
embarrassment. It didn't help that Tom looked infuriatingly self-satisfied
— the bastard had probably wanted everyone to see the marks. Groaning, Harry
buried his face in his hands.
"I suppose that answers why you were late," Lestrange drawled.
"And why you hadn't come back to the dorms last night," Nott added with
amusement.
"Having a bit of a fun, I see."
"Looks like you might have had a little too much fun."
"It's not what you're thinking!" Harry snapped through the gaps in his fingers.
"Oh? And what arewe thinking, then?" Avery inquired with a grin.
Harry flushed and slid his fingers closed. "Nothing. Never mind."
Now he was doubly embarrassed for jumping to conclusions. He hated to admit it,
but the things those muggle-borns had said to him still affected him quite a
bit. They had viewed him as some sexual deviant who went around sleeping with
not only Tom but other boys as well. He didn't want others to think him a
pervert that did nothing but have sex all the time! He'd never done anything
more than kissing! The muggle-borns had judged his and Tom's relationship to be
a purely sexual one (because heaven forbid homosexuals actually love one
another) and Harry had wrongly assumed the Slytherins were thinking along the
same lines.
'They're definitely going to think that now because I'm the only one whose mind
jumped straight to…tothat!'
"We'll not talk about that any longer."
Feeling a hand rub down his back, Harry lifted his head to see Tom gazing at
him warmly. Avery, Lestrange and Nott had all fallen silent, focusing intently
on their work now. Underneath the table, Tom grabbed his hand and locked their
fingers together securely, giving it an affectionate squeeze every so often.
Already, Harry felt instantly better.
"We will be continuing our work with the vanishing spell," Dumbledore
announced, turning to the class. "As you know, we've been working with snails
up until now, but I do believe it's time we move onto something a little more
complex. Mice!"
A quiet murmuring followed this announcement, some students voicing excitement,
others doubt. Tom didn't look bothered, having mastered the spell in his third
year. Harry, on the other hand, was able to vanish medium-sized objects and
small animals with relative ease (which was more advanced than most fifth
years). Transfiguration was the only other subject he did exceptionally well
in, as it required a more scientific way of thinking much in the same way
Astronomy did. Tom was still better than him at it but not by much.
Dumbledore split the class up into pairs. The more advanced students were put
with a student who tended to struggle. Tom had been paired with Eugene, who
couldn't even transfigure his way out of a wet paper bag if necessary. Harry
had to try really hard not to laugh — he could just imagine how much fun Tom
was going to have working with literally the worst student in the whole school.
He just hoped one of Eugene's botched spells didn't end up accidentally
disfiguring his boyfriend.
Harry's amusement was short lived. To his absolute horror, Dumbledore partnered
him with Richard. He didn't know if this was some optimistic attempt at
reconciliation or if his professor was literally just completely unaware of the
circumstances; either way, Harry couldn't think of a worse position to be in.
It was obvious the other boy wasn't particularly happy with the arrangement,
either; he was completely avoiding looking at Harry and kept himself at a
distance.
Despite being used to this from Richard, Harry's feelings were still hurt.
"Right, um," Harry started, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. "Since we're
working with mice now, we have to take into account the change in anatomical
structure and body weight. It'll require a more precise and forceful wand
wave."
Richard just gave a curt nod, still keeping his gaze averted. Harry's hand
tightened around his wand and it took all of his willpower not to just walk off
right there.
"I'll demonstrate," he bit out. "Watch."
Not even caring if Richard was looking or not, Harry just waved his wand
angrily at their mouse, vanishing it. There was several seconds of silence and
then—
"DEAR MERLIN, WHAT IS THAT!"
The exclamation came from somewhere across the room and everyone immediately
turned in his direction. Noticing that Richard was staring down at something
with wide eyes, Harry followed his line of sight and dropped his wand in shock.
On their desk, running in frantic circles, was half a mouse. Not the good half,
either.
"That's HORRIFYING, Harry!" Eugene shrieked in fright.
When the mouse blindly fell off their table and started scrabbling around on
its hind legs, Eugene let out another very undignified sound and tried to hide
behind Tom. Harry knew underneath that cool exterior, Tom was justtwitching
with irritation. The Slytherin just stepped aside as the half-mouse scuttled
over to their table and bumped into the leg of Eugene's seat.
Eugene hurriedly lifted his feet off the ground. "It's coming for me! Someone
do something!"
Richard and Harry shared a glance before bursting out laughing.
"It's not funny! Get rid of it, Harry!" Eugene demanded, cheeks turning red.
Harry stopped laughing and coughed. "Sorry, Eugene."
Getting out of his seat, Harry quickly walked over to the half-mouse and picked
it up. He couldn't help but think how bizarre it was to be holding half of a
mouse — that was still alive. Bringing it back to his table, Harry set it down
and proceeded to vanish it just as he had the first half. Eugene released an
audible sigh of relief as he timidly lowered his feet back to the ground (as if
he didn't believe the half-mouse was truly gone). The excitement soon died down
and the lesson resumed as normal. Harry realized Dumbledore had just been
observing the chaos with serene interest the entire time.
"And, uh, that's a demonstration of what happens when you don't concentrate."
Harry rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.
Richard snorted. "Or just when you're Harry."
Their eyes met and their smiles slowly started to fade. Reality came crashing
in full force and Harry was faced with the painful truth once more — they
weren't friends. Not anymore. Richard turned away from him again, expression
taking on its usual guilty discomfort.
Harry couldn't take it.
"Why are you doing this?" he asked in a harsh whisper.
"It's not what I'm doing, Harry," Richard hissed back. "It's what you're
doing."
"What am I doing, Richard?" Harry retorted, struggling to keep his voice down.
"What am I doing that's sowrong?"
"You and Tom…" Richard replied, frowning. "Two men...it's just not right. I
won't have anything to do with it."
"I…" Harry swallowed, almost unable to keep speaking, "I know that's what
people believe in the muggle world, but it's different here. Please try to
understand that."
Richard sighed and looked at him. "Why can't you just stop, Harry? Things can
be normal again."
Harry suddenly slammed his hand down on the table, making Richard jump. "No,
why can't youstop, Richard?"
The classroom had fallen deathly silent, every eye turned on him for the third
time that day. Even Richard looked taken aback by Harry's outburst, as if he
hadn't expected him to react in such a manner. Angry and slightly embarrassed,
Harry just turned away and glared down at his books. A long silence ensued in
which Harry was quite sure his pounding heart could be heard by everyone.
The tension was broken when Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Mr. Miller, I do
think it would be best if you switched places with Mr. Johnson's partner for
the remainder of the lesson."
Harry barely paid attention as Richard moved away and his new partner took his
place. The rest of the time passed by as a haze in which Harry was merely
counting the minutes until the lesson was over. He couldn't wait to get away
from the stifling atmosphere of the classroom; away from Richard. When
Dumbledore finally excused them, Harry hurriedly stuffed his things into his
bag and leaped out of his seat to join Tom — only to be stopped at the door.
"Tom, I'd like to borrow Harry for a moment, if you don't mind," Dumbledore
addressed the pair mildly.
Tom seemed a bit wary (Harry knew Tom didn't like Dumbledore for some reason or
another) but complied with the request nonetheless, stepping out of the
classroom. Dumbledore led Harry to the office that was adjacent to the
classroom and gestured for him to take a seat in one of the chairs. Harry did
so a bit hesitantly.
"What did you want to talk about, Professor?" Harry inquired, despite having a
vague idea.
"Well, it's not every day one of my students has an outburst in the middle of
class," Dumbledore said, sitting behind the desk. "Is there, perhaps, something
bothering you, my boy?"
Harry shrugged noncommittally. "Not really."
Dumbledore peered at him over the top of his spectacles. "You've been having
some issues with your peers regarding your recent relationship with Tom Riddle,
am I correct?"
"Er…yeah, I suppose," Harry said, wondering just how much Dumbledore knew about
that.
Dumbledore nodded. "I'd like to let you know, Harry, that Hogwarts has a zero-
tolerance policy for harassment," he informed pointedly, "so if there is
anything you wish to report-"
"Thanks," Harry interrupted him. "But I'm fine. It hasn't been anything that
serious."
"Are you quite certain?" Dumbledore pressed, his blue gaze piercing.
"Yes," Harry said unwaveringly. "Very."
As much as Harry appreciated the sentiment, he didn't want to get the teachers
involved in his affairs. He wasn't a child.
"Well, then." Dumbledore sat back, linking his fingers together. "I suppose if
there's nothing you wish to tell me, you may go rejoin Mr. Riddle. I'm sure
he's waiting for you by the door."
Harry gathered up his things and headed for the door.
"Oh, just one more thing, Harry."
Pausing, Harry turned around and faced Dumbledore questioningly.
"Ask Tom what he considers the greatest power to be," Dumbledore said, eyes
twinkling. "I'd be most interested to hear if his answer has changed since our
last discussion on the topic."
Harry was slightly confused by the request, but didn't think much of it
— Dumbledore was a strange fellow, after all. He left the classroom and found
Tom standing outside the door just as Dumbledore had predicted. They linked
hands and started walking to their next lesson while Harry relayed Dumbledore's
bizarre question back to Tom.
Tom paused and then snorted softly. "Foolish old goat."
However, Tom squeezed Harry's hand just a little bit tighter.
                                     xxxxx
Harry and Tom separated after lunch (Tom had been quite serious about making
Harry eat double portions) and they wouldn't be seeing each other again until
lessons were over. Even then, it would be a short-lived reunion, considering
Harry had an Astronomy Club meeting that evening while Tom had to attend one of
those silly Slug Club gatherings. Harry had no idea if Tom actually enjoyed
going to those or not, but he'd be surprised if he did. He most likely only
went to keep up his 'superstar' status with Slughorn — which was a mystery all
on its own because Slughorn wasn't someone Harry would be all that keen on
keeping company with.
It was while he was heading down to his History of Magic lesson that Harry was
overcome with the distinct feeling of being followed. Before he could even
prepare himself, he was grabbed by the back of the robes and suddenly thrown up
against a wall. His entire body seized with alarm, waiting for the inevitable
blow. Getting a look at his attackers, he saw that it was just the three
Hufflepuffs this time, but it was still more than Harry could handle by himself
(two maybe, but not three). To add to his generally horrible luck, the corridor
they were in was vacant, most students having already gone to their lessons by
then.
"You gave me quite the bruise on my ribs last night, Whitley," Hunter said,
shoving Harry roughly.
Harry winced as he was knocked into the wall and glared. "Oh, I'm sorry; I'll
aim for your head next time."
"You're way too cocky for your own good," Hunter sneered maliciously. "It's
going to get you into trouble one of these days."
"And you're way too stupid for your own good," Harry retorted hotly. "Must be
nice not having to worry about that 'thinking' thing."
Hunter growled and grabbed Harry by the front of his robes. "You better shut
that mouth, you disgusting little queer!"
Harry's reaction was instantaneous – with unprecedented force, he slammed his
foot down on top of Hunter's and then kneed him in the stomach. The other boy
yowled in pain and let go of Harry, stumbling back in surprise. Harry didn't
hesitate as he swung his heavy book bag and slammed it into the side of
Gibson's face, knocking the boy away from him and into Baker. Seeing his
opportunity for escape, Harry slipped through the Hufflepuffs while they were
taken off guard and took off running.
He plunged his hand into his robe and fumbled for his wand as he ran. His
fingertips had just brushed the glossy wood when he was grabbed by Baker and
dragged back. Harry fought wildly, yelling out a string of colorful expletives
and calling the Hufflepuff all sorts of names that would have earned him a
paddling back at the orphanage. He didn't know what they were going to do to
him but he wasn't going to make it easy for them. What he hadn't expected was
to suddenly be let go as Baker went sailing back into the other Hufflepuffs.
Three ropes flew out and wrapped securely around the boys to keep them from
running off.
Whirling around, Harry saw Avery standing there with his wand out and wearing a
look of exasperation.
"Honestly, Harry," he said, sighing. "Can't you stay out of trouble for one
day?"
"What the hell are you doing here?" Harry sputtered out.
"A very Gryffindor way of thanking someone," Avery arched a brow, "but I
suppose I shouldn't have expected any better."
Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Alright. Thank you for saving me.
Now what are you doing here?"
"As much as I'd love to stay here and answer all of your riveting questions,"
Avery said with a hint of annoyance, "I have some business I need to take care
of."
Turning back to the Hufflepuffs, Avery gestured for them to start walking,
which they complied to grudgingly. Harry decided to follow after them,
wondering what Avery was going to do — part of him wanted to make sure he
wasn't going to do anything other than report them to an authority figure. They
may be bullies, but that didn't mean Harry wanted anything overly bad to happen
to them.
Avery didn't take them to the Hufflepuff Head of House as Harry had expected
him to. He was surprised (and horrified) when he brought them directly to Tom.
Before Harry could intercept in any way, it was already too late.
Avery shoved the Hufflepuffs forward. "Caught these m—Hufflepuffs attacking
Harry in the hall, Tom."
Tom approached them, glancing briefly to Harry. "Is that so?"
"Are you going to report us to our Head of House?" Gibson quivered, looking
white in the face.
"I can't get any more letters home! My parents will kill me!" Baker wailed
desperately. "We're sorry for bothering your boyfriend, we won't do it again!"
It was almost fascinating to watch how quickly 'big' and 'tough' bullies
deteriorated into frightened little boys once faced with the prospect of
punishment for their actions. Harry thought they could at least face it with a
modicum of dignity. He was almost embarrassed for them.
To Harry's utmost astonishment, Tom just smiled. "No, I won't be reporting this
little incident. I believe just detention will suffice."
The Hufflepuffs glanced to each other, looking immensely surprised and
relieved. Obviously, they hadn't expected Tom to let them off so lightly (and
to be honest, neither had Harry). Surely theboyfriend of their victim would
have delivered a much harsher punishment.
"Oh, thank you, Tom!"
"We promise we won't bother Harry ever again!"
"Yes, I imagine you won't," Tom replied, flicking his wand to vanish the ropes
around the Hufflepuffs. "You may leave."
The three boys practically scrambled over each other, most likely wanting to
get out of sight before Tom changed his mind about their punishment. Once they
were gone, Tom turned to Harry, not looking angry but not looking entirely
happy either.
"I assume those were the boys you spoke of last night?"
Harry nodded, albeit a bit begrudgingly. "I suppose there's no point in denying
it now."
"You should have told me sooner, Harry," Tom said, gently gripping Harry's
chin. "All of this could have been avoided if you had."
"I just hadn't wanted to escalate the situation," Harry explained. "I'd thought
for sure you'd try to do something–"
"Something drastic?" Tom finished, quirking a brow.
Harry nodded, feeling somewhat apologetic. Tom had handled the situation far
better than Harry had expected him to; and honestly, Harry should have known
better. Tom wasn't exactly the irrational, impulsive type to go off exacting
loud and violent retribution (which honestly sounded more like something Harry
would do). He was starting to realize just how unfounded his fear had been all
along. If he had told Tom from the start, he could have been saved the
humiliating and degrading harassment he'd been subjected to.
"I'm disappointed you didn't trust me to properly deal with the situation," Tom
said softly, tilting Harry's chin up. "I want you to come to me, immediately,
the next time something like this arises."
Tom's words made Harry's stomach knot up with guilt. "I'm sorry. I just thought
I could handle it."
"To his credit, the little whelp can hold his own quite well," Avery remarked
from beside them. "I almost hadn't even needed to jump in."
"Regardless, the situation had gotten out of hand," Tom stated, rubbing Harry's
arms up and down. "Your assistance had obviously been necessary."
A thought suddenly occurred to Harry and he looked up at Tom. "That reminds me;
why had Avery been there?"
"What do you mean?" Tom asked, his expression giving nothing away.
"Avery...why had he been in that corridor?" Harry reiterated.
Avery quirked a brow. "I'm a student at this school, for your information; I'm
allowed to go down any corridor I please."
"No, I mean...you and Tom should have been in the same lessons for the rest of
the day," Harry clarified, slowly putting the pieces together. "You shouldn't
have been anywhere near the corridor I was in at that time..."
Harry's eyes narrowed when it all became abundantly clear.
"Tom...did you have Averyfollow me?"
Thatmust have been the feeling of being followed Harry had experienced. Not the
Hufflepuffs.
"He's sharper than he looks," Avery chuckled.
Tom was unfazed by Harry's accusatory tone. "Of course I did," he admitted
freely, cupping Harry's cheeks. "What else did you expect me to do when you
were keeping things from me?"
Harry wrenched away from the taller boy. "Oh, I don't know – anything but send
one of your cronies to stalk me!"
"Calm yourself, Harry," Tom frowned, trying to pull Harry back to him. "I was
merely ensuring your safety."
"I didn'twant you involved,Tom! You should have respected that!" Harry yelled,
wrestling out of Tom's grip. "I can't believe you'd just go against my wishes
and invade my privacy like that!"
"Harry-" Tom reached for him again but Harry just shoved his hands away.
"No, Tom!" Harry seethed, trembling with rage. "I don't even want to look at
you right now!"
Too angry and too upset to wait for a response, Harry just turned away and left
Tom in the corridor.
                                     xxxxx
"You seem very distracted tonight, Harry. Is something wrong?"
"Just not in a good mood — look, there's a meteor. Just by Ursa Minor. 10:28
pm."
Harry and Minerva watched as the bright light streaked across the sky for a
mere second before disappearing among the stars. They both fell silent as they
recorded the time at which it was observed, marked its place on the star map
and noted both its direction and tail length. When they were done, they resumed
their place sitting back to back (so there was less chance of missing any
meteors) and continued their watch. It was a cold night, so they were bundled
up in about three coats each and even then Harry was wishing he'd brought a
blanket (he never did well in the cold). They sat in silence for a while before
Minerva cautiously resumed the conversation.
"I know you don't like to talk about things, but I can tell you're really upset
this time," Minerva prodded lightly. "So what happened?"
Sighing, Harry rubbed his eyes. "Tom and I got into a fight."
"Oh?" Minerva responded, sounding surprised. "What was it about?"
Harry hesitated, unsure of how much of this he wanted to go into with a twelve
year old girl. "He…he just did something I expressly asked him not to do."
"So…basically something you do all the time?" Minerva quipped.
"This is different!" Harry responded defensively. "This directly invaded my
privacy!"
"I know, I know!" Minerva amended hurriedly. "I was only joking, Harry."
Harry grimaced. "Sorry, Minnie — I'm just really tense right now," he said
apologetically. "I haven't fought with Tom like this in a long time."
"Well, what did he have to say about all of this? — Oh! There's another one
going across Cepheus. 10:42 pm."
The conversation went momentarily forgotten as they recorded their data. After
making his marks, Harry sighed and leaned back against his smaller friend,
staring up at the sky. He found little solace in the stars that night.
"Honestly…I didn't really give him a chance to say much," he admitted, slightly
ashamed. "I sort of stormed out of there in a self-righteous fit of rage."
"Well…maybe you should talk to him," Minerva suggested pointedly. "I'm only
twelve years old and even I know relationships only work when there's
communication."
Harry suddenly felt very small and childish with Minerva chastising him like
that — she was four years younger than him for Merlin's sake! Perhaps she was
right, but Minerva didn't know the whole story, so Harry still felt somewhat
justified in his actions. Tom had completely violated his privacy and
disrespected his wishes. Harry had every right to be as angry as he was.
At least, he thought he did.
"Alright, everyone, time's up!" Professor Nira announced. "Hand in your marked
up star charts and data tables!"
Harry and Minerva stood up, stretching and wincing from sitting in the same
spot for nearly two hours. All that waiting and they'd only observed a grand
total of seven meteors. Next time, he was bringing a pillow and some hot cocoa.
After handing in his charts, Harry started packing up his things but purposely
took longer than necessary in order to have a few minutes alone on the tower
(and considering he was Professor Nira's favorite student, she generally gave
him special permission to be on the tower later than anyone else). Once
everyone was gone, he went to sit in his usual spot by the edge — which he
still considered his and Tom's spot.
Despite still being incredibly angry, he missed the bastard.
He hated to admit it but when Tom wasn't royally pissing him off, he always
made Harry feel special. He spoke to him with such reverence in his voice and
touched him with such tender admiration, like Harry was literally the most
precious thing in the world to him. The truth was, being with Tom was the only
time Harry ever felt truly wanted. Throughout his whole life, Harry had carried
around the knowledge that he'd been abandoned and left to die in the rain by
the only people who should have wanted him unconditionally. Even though he'd
never talked about it before, his parents abandonment was still something that
effected him immensely. For the longest time, Harry had thought that he was
going to be alone forever.
But now he had Tom. He was never alone with Tom, never unwanted. It'd taken
Harry a long time to realize that Tom had always been there, right from the
start. They may have spent most of their lives hating each other, but they'd
still gone through it together. Harry could only think of a handful of
instances in his life where Tom hadn't been there, part of it.
Without Tom, Harry would feel like a huge chunk of him was missing. Tom's
mistake suddenly seemed so insignificant in comparison to how significant Tom
himself was to Harry. He was the most important thing in Harry's life.
Realizing he had to talk to Tom and set things right, Harry gathered up his bag
and headed out of the tower. He was almost eager to see Tom again (which was
silly, considering how furious he was with him not even a few minutes ago).
Just as he climbed down the last of the steps, it happened:
"I want to rip…I want to tear…I want to KILL!"
Harry's blood ran cold at the sound of the terrible voice. He'd not heard it
since that first night and had long since let himself believe he'd simply
imagined it. Now he knew that not to be the case. He listened carefully for it
again and when it started to move away, he followed after it quickly. It seemed
to crawl through the walls — no, slither seemed a more appropriate word.
He chased it through several corridors until it suddenly vanished completely
— again. Coming to a stop, Harry looked around in confusion and disappointment.
He desperately wanted to find out what that voice was! He was quite certain it
was going to drive him mad otherwise.
When it did not return, Harry was about to head back until something caught his
attention. Furrowing his brows, he slowly walked ahead a few paces. The closer
he got, the more it looked like…someone's hand? Heart rate picking up, Harry
walked a bit faster — yes, it was definitely someone's hand. He turned the
corner and let out a startled gasp at what he saw.
A Ravenclaw named Jill Robertson lay on the ground, completely unmoving and
eyes wide open.
Running over to her, he took out his wand and tried to revive her. When that
didn't work and she continued to lay exactly as she was, a sense of dread
settled over Harry. He tried the spell one more time but it was only met with
the same result. 
Heart pounding and fearing the worst, Harry pocketed his wand and reached out
with a shaky hand to brush over her arm. He sucked in a harsh breath at how ice
cold Jill's skin was to the touch. It was unnerving.
Upon further inspection, he noticed that she was holding onto a personal
mirror, as if she'd been right in the middle of checking her makeup. Obviously
whatever had happened had taken her off guard.
"WHITLEY! WHAT IN MERLIN'S NAME HAPPENED?"
Harry jumped to his feet and whipped around to see two prefects — Bertha Frost
and Samuel Jordan — running towards him. It didn't take a genius to realize
exactly how this looked.
"I-I-," Harry stuttered. "I just found her like this!"
Harry was pushed out of the way as Bertha Frost knelt down beside Jill and
attempted to revive her. She was met with no better results than Harry — Jill's
body remained unmoving and statue-like. After attempting several more spells
and all of them failing, Frost rose to her feet and turned to Jordan.
"Get to her to the infirmary," she instructed sharply, before rounding on
Harry. "You — come with me. We're going to the headmaster's office."
Harry swallowed heavily. He was in trouble now.
Chapter End Notes
     I'm going through a really, really bad phase right now of hating my
     writing. IDK. Hopefully I get over it. Thanks for reading, guys. It
     means a lot to me.
***** Chapter 23 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Despite having somewhat of a trouble-maker status among the student body, Harry
had never actually been sent to the Headmaster's office in his five years at
Hogwarts. Most delinquent incidences were handled by the Heads of Houses and
the Deputy Headmaster (and in the more minor cases, the Head Boy and Girl).
He'd never done — or rather, had never gotten caught doing — anything serious
enough to warrant being sent straight to the headmaster.
He supposed there was a first time for everything.
Harry stood nervously in the middle of the room, trying to push down the sick
feeling rising in his stomach. He continued to remind himself that he hadn't
done anything wrong, but horrible thought after horrible thought still railed
through his mind like a runway train. It didn't help that the portraits hanging
along the walls were all staring down at him and whispering things about him.
He thought he heard one say something along the lines of: "yes, always getting
into trouble, that one."
He struggled to keep himself from snapping at them to mind their own business.
Nosy damn portraits.
"Please do take a seat, Mr. Whitley."
Harry nearly jumped out of his skin at the voice. Headmaster Dippet, along with
Professor Dumbledore, had now entered the office. The headmaster was a rather
elderly man (well over three hundred years old!) with a snow-white beard and
hair to match. While Harry had never personally interacted with the headmaster,
he had the understanding that he was a fair and reasonable man.
He was about to find out firsthand if that was true.
Slightly shaky, Harry obediently lowered himself into one of the empty chairs.
The Headmaster sat in the high-backed chair behind his desk while Professor
Dumbledore remained standing. Harry caught Dumbledore's eye briefly — the
amiable man gave him a smile and a small wink. Harry felt slightly reassured at
that; at least Dumbledore seemed to be on his side (he hoped so anyway). When
Dippet cleared his throat, Harry immediately returned his attention to the
headmaster.
"Miss Robertson has been taken to the infirmary and Madam Peppercorn is
currently attempting to revive her," Dippet began, sounding somewhat grave. "In
the meantime, I would like to hear from you what happened."
Harry swallowed, his stomach rolling with nerves. "I was just walking back from
an Astronomy Club meeting when I found Jill like that," he explained, eyes
moving between Dippet and Dumbledore. "I swear I didn't do anything to her!"
He'd never hurt another student like that! He still couldn't get the image of
her lying so prone out of his head. The look on her face had been one of near
shock, as if she hadn't even had time to properly form the expression. The
thing that stuck with him the most was how grey and cold she'd been – as if she
were nothing more than a statue.
"You just happened upon her completely by accident?" Dippet questioned with
incredulity. "What were you doing in that corridor at that time of night? You
should have been heading back to Gryffindor Tower."
Harry paused with uncertainty. His only alibi was not a particularly…favorable
one. However, he knew that if he kept silent, it might make him look even
guiltier; he had absolutely no feasible excuse for being in that corridor. It
seemed he had very little choice but to admit the truth in hopes the headmaster
would believe him.
"I-uh-" Harry hesitated. "…heard a…voice."
He regretted his choice as soon as the words left his mouth. They definitely
sounded as crazy as he'd thought they would. Now the headmaster was going to
think him some raving loon who went around hearing voices and attacking
students. Harry suppressed a groan – he should have just kept his mouth shut.
"A voice?" Dippet asked, eyebrows rising. "What kind of voice, boy?"
"I don't know — a voice," Harry said, gesturing his hands as if that explained
everything. "I couldn't tell where it was coming from so I tried following it
and that's how I found Jill! It was saying something about wanting to kill."
"You're saying that you heard a disembodied voice," Headmaster Dippet clarified
slowly, "and that it's quite possibly the source behind Miss Robertson's
attack?"
'Why did he put it likethat? Now it definitely sounds crazy!'
"Uh…well, maybe…" Harry responded, fiddling with the sleeves of his coat. "I
just know it lead me to her."
Dippet reclined in his seat, giving Harry a shrewd look. "Well, Mr. Whitley,
that's certainly unusual," he remarked. "I'm sure you can understand how such a
story would be quite difficult to believe—"
"It's the truth," Harry pressed insistently. "I'm not making it up!"
"I'd think at least one other person would have reported an ominous voice
wandering the castle," Dippet responded somewhat doubtfully. "Why is it that
you are the only one who'd heard it?"
"Maybe because it appeared really late at night when everyone is asleep?" Harry
retorted, trying to keep the annoyance out of his voice.
The last thing he needed was for his tempter to get him into even more trouble.
Dumbledore cleared his throat, gaining their attention. "Perhaps we should ask
the portraits if they've heard anything unusual around the castle?" he
suggested mildly.
"Ah, an excellent idea, Professor Dumbledore," Dippet agreed with a nod. "I'll
send Amrose. He's always the quickest."
The headmaster rose from his seat and turned to address the portrait of a man
with a long ginger beard, who was currently dozing in a large armchair. It was
former Headmaster Amrose Swott. "Amrose, wake up! I have a request of you."
The portrait grunted awake and glowered down at Dippet. "I'd almost gotten back
to sleep, Armando! What do you want?"
"I need you to go ask the other portraits if they'd seen or heard anything
unusual around the castle tonight," Dippet informed briskly, ignoring the
painting's tone. "A voice, in particular."
"At this hour?" Amrose responded indignantly. "Certainly it can wait until
morning!"
"I'm afraid it cannot." Dippet shook his head. "It is a matter of utmost
importance."
Amrose grumbled under his breath but heaved himself out of his armchair and
walked out of view. The main purpose of the portraits was to serve the current
headmaster or headmistress with whatever they needed but it didn't look like
Amrose was particularly happy with that job. Harry supposed if he was a
painting stuck on a wall being forced to obey the commands of someone else all
the time, he'd be rather grumpy too.
Dumbledore chuckled lightly, as if reading Harry's thoughts. "Amrose has always
been a rather surly fellow. Especially when woken from one of his naps."
"He has always proven himself reliable, at least," Dippet remarked, though
slightly exasperated. "I do hope he gets back to us quickly, that information
is crucial. Now, I wonder where Miss Frost is, she was supposed to return
promptly with —"
Dippet was cut off when, at that exact moment, someone knocked on the door and
entered the office. It wasn't Miss Frost, however.
"Ah, Tom! Do come in!"
At hearing the boy's name, Harry nearly broke his neck whipping around in his
seat. Tom was standing there, hands clasped behind his back and wearing a
handsome smile on his face. His demeanor was purposefully reserved and non-
obtrusive but the air about him still radiated confidence. Harry couldn't take
his eyes off of him.
"Good evening, Professors," he greeted cordially, gaze briefly flicking to
Harry.
That split-second of eye contact was enough to send Harry's heart into
palpitations.
"What are you doing here, Tom?" Headmaster Dippet inquired in confusion. "I
asked Miss Frost to report back to me on the status of Miss Robertson."
"I offered to do it in her stead," Tom replied, inclining his head. "She has
been doing rounds for most of the night and was in obvious need of rest, the
poor dear."
Harry nearly snorted out loud that. The day Tom gave a damn about some random
girl would be the day Eugene got an O in one of his subjects. He knew the real
reason was because Tom had found out about Harry's situation and decided to
take matters into his own hands (again). It was charming in its own way — it
was sort of like the other boy was coming to his rescue. Perhaps Tom wouldn't
put it so dramatically, but Harry did find himself more at ease with Tom there.
"Right, right, very good of you, Tom; and what is the news?" Dippet questioned
hopefully. "Has Madam Peppercorn managed to revive her?"
"Unfortunately not," Tom responded grimly. "The girl has been petrified,
Professor."
"Petrified, you say?" Dippet gasped disbelievingly. "Certainly Madam Peppercorn
can administer the Mandrake Draught?"
"She is waiting on Professor Beery's newest batch of Mandrakes," Tom said,
shaking his head. "It could take quite some time."
"That is not the news I was hoping to hear," Dippet sighed, sitting back down
in his chair. "I will have to inform the girl's parents of the situation, of
course, and we will need to conduct a thorough investigation behind the
incident."
"What of Harry, sir?" Tom inquired politely.
Harry's stomach jumped at the mention of his name and he held his breath as he
looked to the headmaster.
"Hm?" Dippet responded, almost as if he'd forgotten about Harry. "Oh, right, of
course. We're just waiting on — ah! Amrose, you've returned! Excellent timing;
have the portraits heard anything?"
"No, not a thing," the portrait of Amrose informed. "Though apparently there
have been a lot of explosions coming from Edgar Strougler's portrait again
— probably trying to invent some ridiculous new gadget. He's been keeping the
entire sixth floor awake for the past week!"
"That is hardly of importance at the moment," Dippet said, waving it off
impatiently. "Are you quite certain the portraits have heard nothing strange
around the castle?"
"Yes, I am certain!" Amrose said, affronted. "Now if you're quite done sending
me on your ridiculous quests, I would like to resume the lovely nap I'd been
having before being so rudely awakened by the arrival of your delinquent
student."
"I am not a delinquent!" Harry retorted hotly.
Amrose just regarded him with a haughty sniff and returned to the chair he'd
been formerly occupying. Harry glowered heavily and turned his back to the
portrait, folding his arms in a huff. He couldn't believe he'd just been
insulted by a painting of all things! He was tempted to throw a few choice
insults right back at it.
Tom quirked a brow at Harry and Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in amusement.
Alright, maybe getting into an argument with a portrait was a little bit
childish — but it started it!
"Yes, well, let us focus on the matter at hand," Dippet said, gaining
everyone's attention again. "I'm sure you can understand that Harry was found
in a rather incriminating position and as such —"
"I beg your pardon, sir, but certainly you don't believe a fifth year capable
of magic strong enough to petrify a student?" Tom argued respectfully. "I
highly doubt Harry knows what is required to petrify a person let alonehow to
do it."
Harry felt immense gratefulness and affection for Tom in that moment. It was
almost ridiculously ironic, actually — his entire childhood the boy had been
the one responsible for getting him into trouble. Now he'd come to be the one
constantly fixing things and getting him out of trouble (which seemed to be
quite often as of late). Ever since Tom had rescued him from that closet, Harry
realized he'd subconsciously started viewing Tom as someone safe; as someone
who would make everything better again.
"I would have to agree with Mr. Riddle," Dumbledore said in a grave tone. "This
is some very serious magic at work. I firmly believe Harry would never use such
magic, let alone on another student."
"That is all well and good, Professor Dumbledore," Dippet said, sighing. "But
Harry was caught with the girl."
"Innocent until proven guilty, Armando, let us not forget that," Dumbledore
asserted, looking more serious than Harry had ever seen him. "There is no
evidence to suggest Harry did anything but stumble upon Miss Robertson."
"We cannot simply ignore that fact that the boy was the only one there,
either," Dippet countered. "This is a very serious situation that must be
treated as such."
"I agree with you, Headmaster." Dumbledore inclined his head. "However, that,
alone, is not enough to incriminate Harry. As you said, this matter must be
dealt with very seriously and with great care; we cannot jump to conclusions
simply based on how things appear to be."
Silence followed that statement and Harry could tell that Dumbledore's words
were having an effect. Dippet appeared to be waning in his stance. After
several moments, the man just sighed and nodded.
"Yes, of course you are right," he conceded, reclining in his seat. "We will
look into the situation very closely before making any further decisions."
"In that case, I do believe we should send Harry and Tom back to their common
rooms," Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling again. "It's getting quite late and I'm
sure both are exhausted from the day's events."
"Quite right, quite right," Dippet agreed, turning to Harry. "Is there anything
else you wish to tell us at this time?"
Harry shook his head. "I've told you everything I know, sir."
"Very well, you may leave," Dippet said, waving his hand at him. "Do try to
keep yourself out of trouble for a while, Mr. Whitley."
"Yes, sir," Harry nodded.
Tom set a hand on Harry's shoulder. "I will ensure he gets back to Gryffindor
Tower. Come, Harry."
Harry bid the professors good night and followed Tom out of the office. As they
stepped onto the rotating staircase, Tom grabbed hold of his hand but didn't
say anything. Harry honestly couldn't tell if Tom was angry with him or not
— the boy was silent for the most part and they hadn't exactly parted on the
greatest terms (not to mention Harry had managed to land himself into some sort
of trouble again). However, he couldn't sense any anger coming from Tom; his
presence was just as warm and calming as it always was. Harry found himself
shifting to walk just a little bit closer to him.
Tom didn't take him back to Gryffindor Tower. They ended up on the seventh
floor, standing in front of the familiar stretch of blank wall. Tom released
his hand and began pacing in front of the wall with a concentrated look on his
face. Harry watched in confusion, not understanding what he was doing at first
— but when the door started to materialize, it suddenly occurred to him. He'd
done the exact same thing when he'd made the door appear last night! Harry
himself hadn't realized it, but Tom had obviously figured out pacing was a
necessary step in making the door appear.
Harry followed Tom through the door. The room was exactly the same as before
— with one obvious addition. A comfortable looking bed was now situated near
the windows, adorned with a plush duvet and several soft pillows. It certainly
looked a far cry more comfortable than two settees pushed together. Harry idly
wondered if Tom had it in mind for them to be sleeping together a lot more
frequently.
The door clicked shut behind them and Harry was suddenly grabbed up into a
tight, unyielding embrace. Taken by such surprise, he didn't react at first. Of
all the things he'd expected Tom to do, it hadn't been this. He could feel
Tom's warm breath as he buried his face into his neck, nuzzling and kissing
into the skin affectionately. His arms never loosened their hold.
Suddenly, Harry couldn't remember why he'd even been angry at Tom. His heart
ached with the realization of how much he'd missed him — missed this. He felt
so guilty and stupid for shoving Tom away when the other boy had tried to hold
him. He couldn't fathom pushing him away now; the mere thought had Harry
gripping tightly into the back of Tom's robes and pulling him closer.
"I missed you," Tom whispered into his neck. "You mustn't just run off like
that."
"I missed you too, Tom," Harry said, feeling incredibly guilty. "I'm sorry."
Tom just tilted his head up and smiled at him. "Come lie with me," he
whispered, interlacing their fingers.
Harry didn't need to be asked twice.
They walked over to the foot of the bed and paused. Tom stepped a little
closer, standing nearly chest to chest with him (his cinnamon breath puffing
against Harry's lips) as he began to undo Harry's coat for him. The garment was
slipped off his shoulders and discarded onto the floor carelessly. Harry's
heart started beating way too fast when Tom guided him to lift his arms above
his head, pulling his jumper off next. He was sure it had more to do with the
way Tom's fingers had brushed over his waist and the fact his lips were now
much closer to his own than they'd been seconds ago.
Their gazes met as Harry reached out and started to remove Tom's robes. The
fabric glided easily down his arms and pooled around their feet. The blazer
came next, Harry's fingers working slowly at each button until he could slip
his hands inside and feel his chest — Tom's breathing becoming just a little
bit faster as a result. The blazer, along with Tom's tie, soon joined the
steadily growing pile of clothing on the floor. Not yet satisfied, Harry
gripped at Tom's neatly tucked in oxford and pulled it free from the waist of
his trousers. It was so rare for Tom to be in such a casual and unkempt state,
but Harry enjoyed the fact that he was the only one who ever got to see him
that way.
Toeing off their shoes, they climbed into the bed together — which was exactly
as soft as it looked. Their bodies practically sank into a sea of pillows and
blankets as they curled around each other, Harry lying on his side with Tom
behind him. One arm wrapped around his chest while a leg tangled between his,
keeping him close and secure. It only took a few seconds for Harry's breathing
to fall into rhythm with the rise and fall of Tom's chest against his back.
Harry stared out the window. From where he lay, he could just barely make out
Auriga, Taurus and Perseus imprinted against the frosty December sky. He
thought back to the lonely nights at the orphanage, when he used to stare up at
the very same sky and wish upon the very same stars as a child. He used to
truly believe that stars were actually born from wishes — that they were
breathed, thrown, screamed into the sky by the desperate and lonely. He now
understood how silly that was; but if it'd been true, he knew at least a
thousand stars would've belonged to him by now, all born from the same repeated
wish.
He sometimes wondered if Tom had any stars.
"Tom?" Harry whispered.
"Yes?" came the soft reply against the back of his neck.
"Do you ever think about your parents?" Harry asked, still staring out the
window. "What it might have been like if they'd, you know, been around?"
There was a pause. In all honesty, Harry didn't expect Tom to answer. The other
boy was always so closed off about anything personal or emotional, the subject
of his parents being no exception. It was one of the rare times Harry truly
understood Tom and it was probably the one thing they had the most in common.
Harry avoided talking about his parents as much as possible — life tended to be
a lot easier when he didn't think about the people who'd abandoned him.
Tom did eventually answer, but it wasn't what Harry had expected; "Not
anymore."
Harry's heart broke just a little. He could say that he was surprised, but he
wasn't. Throughout the years, he'd convinced himself that Tom was a cold,
unfeeling monster who just didn't care — but deep down, he'd always known that
wasn't true. He'd seen the signs at the orphanage, the brief glimpses of the
sad little boy that lay dormant under Tom's cruel exterior. He now knew for
certain that, at one point, Tom had made the same wish Harry had.
He'd just given up wishing long before Harry.
"Do you remember that day, in my room?" Harry said after a while. "When you
burned my stuffed dog?"
"Yes," Tom responded softly. "I remember."
Harry looked out towards the stars. "Why did you do it? Why did you want to
hurt me so much?"
Tom pressed his forehead into Harry's shoulder, his hand finding Harry's and
threading their fingers together.
"Because I didn't want to be alone in my loneliness," was his answer. "I had
nothing and I wanted you to be like me."
Harry didn't say anything right away. He was honestly surprised — both by the
answer and the sheer honesty of it. There was something incredibly vulnerable
about the confession and it made Harry feel more intimately connected with Tom
than ever before. He felt like Tom had shared a piece of himself just then — a
real piece. When Tom had destroyed his one true possession, Harry had despised
him for the longest time. The act had seemed so needlessly cruel and hateful;
but in reality it'd been one of desperation and fear of loneliness.
Harry understood that more than anything and he wanted to ensure Tom never felt
that way again.
"You'll never be alone, Tom," Harry promised.
A warm breath expelled against the back of his neck. Tom drew Harry closer, his
chest rising and falling rapidly against his back. Harry, in turn, could barely
breathe at all as Tom started kissing at his neck and shoulders. Skillful hands
stroked at his chest and stomach, making Harry shiver and shift against him. He
didn't at all resist when Tom leaned down over him and turned him onto his
stomach. The larger boy settled onto his back, his body pressing Harry's down
into the soft mattress. Just like before, it wasn't as uncomfortable as
expected — Tom's weight felt surprisingly quite nice on top of him, even in
this position.
Tom stretched himself over Harry, taking hold of his hands and pinning them
above his head. Their fingers squeezed together and Tom nuzzled his cheek
between Harry's shoulder blades. Harry shifted under him, trapped between the
soft bed and Tom. With his flushed face buried in the blankets, Harry was
forced to focus entirely on the feel of Tom's body — his firm chest pressing
into his back, his strong thighs rubbing against Harry's, his hips snug against
his arse. It was almost too much and he couldn't help it when he arched hips up
against Tom.
The other boy's breath shuddered against him. The fingers clutching his
tightened marginally and Tom's hips moved in experimental counterpoint. Harry
bit into his lip and his heart started pounding as he timidly rocked up into
him. He felt Tom's breath, hot and fast, against his ear but the motion of his
hips remained controlled and gentle. There was something almost calming about
Tom's body moving on top of his — the familiar warmth completely encompassed
him and eased any anxiety he might've felt about this. Closing his eyes, Harry
relaxed under Tom and enjoyed the feeling of having him so close.
Harry really shouldn't have been surprised when something hard nudged against
his arse. He sucked in a soft breath, a swelling quickly occurring between his
own legs in response. Wanting to feel it again, Harry pressed his forehead into
the mattress and carefully rolled his hips. The hardness pressed against him
more firmly and he groaned into the blankets. The sensation was unfamiliar and
a little strange, but it felt so good.
Tom panted quietly into the back of his neck, apparently just as affected as
Harry was. Despite his fingers aching and his palms sweating, Harry's grip on
Tom's hands tightened. Tom placed warm kisses along Harry's neck and nuzzled
his nose behind his ear, pressing his hips a little closer to him. There was no
urgency in their movements, the rhythm of their bodies remaining unhurried. It
wasn't about sexual gratification or a race to an end — they just wanted to
feel each other.
When Tom carefully released his hands, Harry felt a rush of tingles through his
fingers as feeling returned to them. He hadn't realized just how hard
(desperately) he'd been holding onto Tom until just then. Tom shifted atop him,
lightly brushing his hands down Harry's sides before slipping them beneath him.
The boy's arms wound around him in a tight, but comfortable embrace; his weight
was distributed so he wasn't crushing Harry. A warm hand glided up Harry's
shirt, making him shiver, and settled over his chest. It remained there and
Harry realized Tom was feeling his heartbeat.
Harry thought he could feel Tom's heartbeat against his back, even more
prominently than his own. The other boy laid his cheek against him, his head
turned towards the window.
They watched the stars together, hearts beating fast
                                     xxxxx
Tom had gotten him into trouble again.
Harry had been carrying a pot of porridge to serve to the other orphans when
Tom had tripped him. The pot, which had already been almost too big for the
seven year old to manage, went flying out of his hands as Harry tumbled
helplessly to the ground. Mrs. Cole, having heard the commotion, had come
bursting into the dining hall to discover the mess. Harry had only been able to
stutter excuses while Tom watched on with cruel satisfaction.
He'd, of course, been punished.
In addition to cleaning up the porridge, Harry had to sweep all of the floors.
It wasn't the worst chore he could've been tasked with, but it was still
unfair. He hadn't done anything to deserve it! That jerk Tom had done it! Not
that he could prove it; he never could. Tom always got away with everything.
He just wished once, ONCE, Tom could suffer like he made Harry suffer.
His broom made soft swishing noises as it brushed back and forth across the
floor. The thing was difficult to handle because it was taller than he was.
It'd taken him nearly half the day to sweep the entire orphanage. He just
needed to finish the foyer and then he'd finally be done (and maybe Mrs. Cole
would actually allow him some free time). Sighing, he stared out the window as
he worked, watching as the autumn sun sparkled against the glass. He was
jealous of the children who got to play outside instead of being forced to do
chores all day — he was jealous of children who had parents who let them play
outside.
He tried to imagine what it might be like to be one of those children.
His daydream was interrupted when the door opened. A gust of wind brought in a
flurry of dried leaves and other debris — all over the floor he'd just swept!
Puffing his cheeks in annoyance, Harry stomped over to the door and was
prepared to slam it closed when something made him pause.
Blinking, he stared out the door.
Tom was sitting alone on the front steps of the orphanage. Harry felt his
annoyance drain away, replaced by sadness. There was something very lonely
about Tom just sitting there by himself, while children laughed and played on
the street only feet away. Harry knew Tom came outside and sat by himself for
hours at a time quite often, he'd just never known why. He'd always assumed it
was because he was anti-social and hated everyone, but seeing him now, Harry
thought it looked like Tom was waiting for something.
Harry found he could understand that. He waited sometimes too.
Hesitating only briefly, he carefully set his broom aside and walked out the
door. Pausing beside Tom, Harry waited to see if he'd say something or try to
send him away. When Tom just glanced up at him but said nothing, Harry took
that as permission and sat down next to him on the step.
Just so he didn't have to wait alone.
Chapter End Notes
     Okay, horror story: my computer did a stupid earlier this week and
     I'd lost the entire rough draft of this chapter, TWO chapters for my
     original book that I'm trying to publish and my astrophysics paper on
     orbital mechanics and gravity before I'd had the chance to back any
     of them up. Luckily, I had most of my notes written by hand so I was
     able to rewrite the paper, and this chapter. Go me. Anywho, I hope
     everyone had an awesome Halloween. I got kicked out of an L.A club
     for punching a bouncer in the face hahahaha.
***** Chapter 24 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Harry still remembered the first time he and Tom had visited Hogsmeade
together.
Spending Christmas together had turned into something of a tradition between
the two of them. They never really did anything particularly special; normally
they'd just sit in the library or spend the day outside in the snow (one year
they even sneaked down into the kitchens, drinking hot cocoa and eating
biscuits the entire night). However, during the winter of their fourth year,
Tom had approached him with the idea of visiting Hogsmeade together. Harry had
been rather surprised by the suggestion, considering Tom rarely visited
Hogsmeade, but he supposed looking back on it, it really hadn't been that
surprising.
Harry still remembered everything about that day. He remembered the trek they'd
made through the snow, how cold it'd been, and how pink Tom's pale cheeks had
turned; Harry even recalled having the strangest urge to kiss those pink
cheeks. There hadn't been much they could do in the village, considering they
hadn't had any money, but the owner of Honeydukes had allowed them to sample
some of his treats. Harry had discovered his favorites were the peppermint
candies (they weren't like normal muggle peppermints — they'd lasted hours and
made Harry's breath smell like peppermint for three entire days), while Tom had
only tried a single piece of chocolate.
They'd ended the day by going to The Three Broomsticks and sitting by the fire
to watch the snow fall. They hadn't said much to each other, but they hadn't
really needed to. They'd just been content with each other's company.
It had been one of Harry's most favorite Christmases.
Winter holidays had come again and for Harry, it hadn't been soon enough. An
almost stifling tension had befallen the castle the days following Jill's
attack. Even though no one besides a few teachers and prefects knew of his
involvement in the situation, Harry couldn't stand listening to the gossip and
rumors that were going around the school about it. It only served to remind him
of the fact that hewas currently the number one suspect in the case. When
classes had finally broken up for Christmas break, Harry couldn't have been
more relieved.
As usual, he and Tom had remained behind. However, to Harry's utmost surprise,
Simon had ended up staying as well. Apparently it was due to Simon's parents
going through some rather turbulent 'marital' issues and Simon hadn't wanted to
get caught up in the middle of it. Although Harry did feel badly for Simon, he
was also secretly elated that he'd get to spend Christmas with one of his best
friends.
"So you and Tom are finally going on a real date?"
"I wouldn't call it a date."
"It sounds like a date to me."
Harry rolled his eyes. "We're just going to Hogsmeade."
"You should take him to Madam Puddifoot's," Simon said with a grin. "It'll be
romantic."
Harry burst out laughing. "You know I want Tom to stay with me, right?"
"Alright, fair point," Simon conceded, laughing as well. "That place is
horrid."
"Didn't you take your last date there?" Harry asked, arching a brow.
Simon appeared to wince at the memory. "And that's exactly why we never had a
second date."
"For someone so handsome, you have the worst luck with women," Harry shook his
head sympathetically.
"You think I'm handsome?" Simon said, seemingly surprised.
"Well, Walter and Eugene have a point. You do sort of look like Tom," Harry
said.
Simon was indeed a very handsome boy who shared similar traits with Tom. He had
the same dark hair, angular features and tall stature (not to mention they were
both quite intelligent, well-mannered and school prefects). However, Simon had
a more muscular physique than Tom and his hair was perfectly combed and
straight, lacking the curls that Harry so adored. The biggest difference was
quite possibly his eyes — they were a bright and blue, which reminded Harry of
a deep, shimmering ocean. He could almost see the water rippling in his irises.
"Ah, right, of course," Simon sighed, returning his attention to the essay he
was working on.
Harry got the impression he'd somehow offended Simon with his remark, so he
quickly attempted to rectify his mistake.
"Only a little bit, though," he added. "I mean, it's not like you two look
exactly alike."
Simon glanced up. "Yeah, I know — I'm more handsome," he said with a wink.
Harry snorted and threw a crumpled up parchment at Simon's forehead. "Idiot."
Honestly, he was just relieved Simon wasn't actually angry at him. With
Septimus currently out of the picture, Simon had sort of taken over as Harry's
best friend. They'd grown quite close recently (much closer than Harry was with
Walter or Eugene), which likely had something to do with the numerous sleepless
nights they'd spent together when Harry had been going through his nightmares.
Simon had been surprisingly caring and concerned during that time, often
staying up with Harry and looking after him until he'd been able to go back to
sleep.
The two of them were currently occupying a secluded corner of the library while
they worked on a few assignments together; books, quills and parchments were
scattered messily about on the floor where they were sitting. Harry was
attempting to help Simon with his essay on Ganymede, while Simon (who was quite
skilled in Defence against the Dark Arts) was showing Harry a few counter-
jinxes. It was only when they'd actually started spending time together that
Harry realized he hadn't seen much of Simon – or any of his friends for that
matter — over the past few weeks. Most of his time had been occupied by Tom as
of late, which meant he hadn't really had many opportunities to see his
friends. Even though they were just doing homework, it felt rather nice to be
around Simon again.
"So, how serious are you and Tom, anyway?" Simon asked while scratching out a
mistake on his essay.
Harry blinked and looked up from his textbook. "What do you mean?"
"Well, I mean, what do you feel about each other? Do you see a future with
him?" Simon clarified, looking at Harry curiously.
"Oh, um…" Harry paused, trailing off.
The strange thing was Harry hadn't even considered a future without Tom an
option before. Tom had always been a big part of his life and he was quite
certain that would always be the case – it was almost impossible to imagine Tom
notbeing there.
"It's sort of difficult to explain," Harry finally said, "Tom and I have always
had this strange connection...even back when we hated each other. It's as if
he's part of me…or I'm a part of him, you know? I really can't imagine my life
without him."
"Wow, I don't think I've ever experienced that with anyone before," Simon said
as if amazed, "it sounds serious."
Harry laughed. "I think practically everything involving Tom is serious, if I'm
honest."
"He is a rather serious fellow," Simon agreed, chuckling. "I would've never
thought you'd go for someone like him."
"What do you mean?" Harry asked, furrowing his brows.
"Well, he's so reserved and studious," Simon answered, "while you're definitely
more outgoing and fun. I would've thought you'd go for someone more like that."
"Tom's fun," Harry said, laughing when Simon arched an incredulous brow, "in
his own way, I mean. There's something about Tom that's so…intense."
"Ah, so heexcites you," Simon said with a mischievous grin.
Harry was sure his face had turned beet red. "Not in that way…" but then he
paused in thought, "well, maybe in that way sometimes."
He couldn't deny that, despite his initial reservations, he quite enjoyed some
of the more intimate things he and Tom had been doing lately.
"I knew it," Simon said, snickering. "When are you two going to finally shag?"
Harry rolled his eyes. "You and Walter take way too much interest in my non-
existentsex life, you know that?"
"Of course we do, that's what friends are for!" Simon nudged Harry playfully.
"Now, answer the question."
"Uh…well, I don't know," Harry said, averting his eyes to the floor. "I'm not
really ready."
Harry still wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea of being naked around
Tom. He'd never been overly conscious of his body in the past, but being with
Tom had suddenly made him very aware of all of his flaws — from his knobbly
knees and bony shoulders to how awkwardly skinny he was compared to his height.
They were all things he'd much rather keep hidden from view.
If Harry was perfectly honest with himself, though, that wasn't the only reason
behind his hesitancy. He hated admitting how greatly he'd been affected by it,
but the crude comments from the muggle-borns had turned him off from the idea
of sex a good deal. Before that night, he'd only had a vague idea of how
homosexual intercourse worked, but their remarks had made the full details
quite clear. The fact that he'd been introduced to the idea in such an
aggressive and perverted manner made the whole thing rather unappealing to him
(not to mention the thought of putting that in there was a bit frightening in
itself).
"Fair enough," Simon said in understanding. "It's not that big of a deal."
Harry smiled at him gratefully. Unlike Walter, who had a habit of pestering and
teasing people relentlessly, Simon knew when to back off on a topic.
"How's your essay coming along?" Harry asked, deciding to change the subject.
"Horrible. I don't know how you understand this stuff, Harry," Simon said in
frustration, aggressively scratching out a small paragraph. "I don't even get
the point. There's no magic involved at all!"
Harry chuckled and scooted closer. "Here, let me see what you have."
As he leaned in to read over the essay, Harry couldn't help but notice Simon
smelled a bit like vanilla — it was smooth and mellow in comparison to Tom's
spicy cinnamon scent. He oddly found it representative of their wildly
contrasting personalities. Simon's presence was always light and airy, never
cumbersome or overwhelming, while Tom's was always the heaviest and most
powerful in the room. It only served to remind Harry that, despite their
similarities in appearances, they were entirely different people.
"I do hope I'm not interrupting anything."
They both jumped slightly at the unexpected voice. Harry looked up to see Tom
standing there, his dark eyes fixed on the two of them.
Harry beamed at the sight of him. "Hi, Tom. We're just doing homework," he
explained, moving away from Simon. "I was helping Simon with his essay."
"I'm afraid he's going to have to finish it on his own," Tom said, his gaze
still trained on Simon. "It's time for us to leave, Harry."
Harry checked the time, as if surprised at how late it was already. "Alright,
let me just put everything away quickly."
He started to gather up his things but Tom didn't seem willing to wait for him.
The other boy simply took out his wand and gave it a sweeping wave. In the span
of only a few seconds, all of Harry's belongings were levitated into the air
and packed neatly away into his bag. With another wave of Tom's wand, the flap
of the bag was snapped closed and the strap was gently draped over Harry's
shoulder.
"Come, Harry," Tom said, holding out his hand to him.
"I suppose I'll see you later tonight," Simon said, sounding just a little bit
disappointed. "Have fun."
"I'll look over your essay when I get back," Harry promised and walked over to
Tom to take his hand.
Tom clasped his hand tightly and led him out of the library. Harry followed him
and spared a moment to look the other boy over. Normally, Tom always wore his
uniform, even on the weekends. Harry suspected it was because he despised
wearing the clothes given to them by the orphanage. However, that day he was
dressed in a plain grey jacket and a white dress-shirt that was neatly tucked
into a pair of grey trousers. Even in such old, worn out clothing Tom still
managed to look immaculate and handsome.
Just before they headed out of the castle, Tom stopped him and pulled something
out of his bag. It was his green and silver striped scarf, which he carefully
wound around Harry's neck. When he was done, he took Harry's hand again and
proceeded to walk him out the front doors.
"It's cold out," was Tom's response to Harry's curious look.
Harry didn't mind the gesture at all — the scarf was warm and it smelled like
Tom. Bringing it closer to himself, he unconsciously nuzzled his face into the
soft fabric. It was indeed quite cold out. The steely grey sky was splotched
with icy looking clouds and a thin layer of snow crunched under their feet as
they walked. Even with his coat and Tom's scarf, Harry was already shivering.
Tom, on the other hand, didn't seem that bothered by the cold. The only thing
that suggested he was affected at all was the slight rosy tinge to his cheeks.
That was something Harry had noticed about Tom even back when they were
children — his cheeks would always turn pink from the cold. They looked so
lovely that, just like last time, Harry had to resist the urge to kiss them.
By the time they reached the village, Harry's teeth were chattering and his
fingers were practically numb from the cold. Apparently having noticed this,
Tom led them into The Three Broomsticks so they could stand by the fire and
warm up for a bit. Tom held Harry against him and just rubbed his hands up and
down Harry's arms to help bring warmth back into his body. Even with the fire,
Harry was still shivering quite noticeably.
"I ha-hate the c-cold," he complained.
"We'll bundle you up in twelve coats next time," Tom commented, brushing some
snow out of Harry's hair. "You won't even be able to walk out of the castle."
"You'd have to roll me to Hogsmeade," Harry laughed. "Can you imagine?"
Tom smiled, lifting Harry's hands to his face and gently blowing on them. Harry
couldn't help but shiver at how pleasant Tom's hot breath felt against his cold
fingers. When Tom did it again, he breathed out slower and allowed his lips to
lightly brush over each one of Harry's fingers.
"Better?" Tom asked, giving Harry's knuckles one last kiss.
Harry nodded — he definitely felt quite warm now. Tom doing that had affected
him more than he'd like to admit. Thankfully, if Tom had noticed, he didn't say
anything. He just laced their fingers together and kissed Harry on the
forehead.
"Well, isn't this a sight?"
Harry and Tom broke away and turned towards the source of the voice. It was
Madam Matilda, the landlady of The Three Broomsticks. She was an older, dark-
skinned witch with bright hazel eyes and greying hair. She was well-known for
her temper when it came to anyone causing trouble in her pub — Harry could
recall at least three instances when someone had been either thrown out or
turned into something nasty for starting fights.
"Sorry, Madam," Harry said, slightly embarrassed. "We were just warming
up…we'll go now."
"Nonsense!" Madam Matilda waved him off. "You'll stay and have some
butterbeers."
"Oh, but we haven't any money," Harry quickly tried to explain.
"On the house," Madam Matilda responded, ushering the two of them to a table.
"It's not every day I get such a sweet couple at my inn."
Harry's eyes widened. "We don't want to impose or anything –"
"I insist," Madam Matilda said, practically pushing them down into their
chairs. "I've had no one but old codgers in my pub all day, what with all of
the students gone home for the holidays. You two are a breath of fresh air."
Both Harry and Tom obediently sat down, a bit taken aback by the woman's
generosity. Growing up as orphans, they were accustomed to being treated with
resentment and disregard by the general population. They weren't used to random
kindness from strangers.
"Well, um, thank you," Harry said with a small smile.
"Yes, that's very kind of you," Tom added a bit more courteously.
"You two just sit right there and I'll be right back with your drinks." Madam
Matilda winked at them and bustled off, her high heeled shoes clicking against
the floor.
Once she was gone, Harry turned back to Tom. "Well, that was unusual."
"Quite," Tom replied, taking Harry's hand again. "We seem to attract a fair bit
of attention."
"It is a bit rare to see two boys together," Harry remarked with a shrug, "even
in the wizarding world."
"Hm." Tom reached over and adjusted Harry's (well, technically Tom's) scarf.
"You look rather appealing wearing my scarf."
"Do I?" Harry asked curiously.
"Indeed," Tom said, trailing his fingers over the fabric of the scarf.
"Slytherin's colors suit you nicely."
"They look better on you," Harry said, shaking his head. He never knew how to
respond to compliments.
"I agree with your beau, dear. They complement your lovely green eyes."
Madam Matilda had returned and she was carrying two frothy mugs of warm
butterbeer. Harry smiled up at her as she set them down on the table.
"Thank you, Madam."
"Any time, honey," Madam Matilda said cheerily. "Just shout if you need a
refill."
"Will do, thanks."
They watched until she walked away and then turned their attention back to each
other.
"I think she likes us," Harry said, picking up his mug and taking a drink.
"She's right, though," Tom remarked. "Your eyes are beautiful."
Harry averted his eyes and took a big gulp from his drink to hopefully keep
himself from blushing again. He really hated how poorly he handled receiving
compliments — he wasn't used to it and most of the time he didn't even believe
them. After chugging about half his butterbeer in one go, he wiped some foam
off his lips and looked back to Tom.
"So…when you asked me to go to Hogsmeade with you last year, was that your
sneaky way of taking me on a date?" Harry asked, half teasing, half curious.
"Partly," Tom replied, seemingly amused by the question. "I'd just wanted to do
something with you, considering we've always spent Christmas together."
While it was true that they'd spent every Christmas together since coming to
Hogwarts, Harry realized it went even farther back than that. Christmas had
never been heavily celebrated at the orphanage — at best, Mrs. Cole would give
them the day off from chores and, if they were fortunate, someone would have
donated extra food and clothing. However, there'd been one thing that Harry had
always looked forward to on Christmas day and that was Mrs. Cole taking the
entire orphanage to church service. He'd always found childish delight in
singing along to the hymns and listening to the priest talk about mystical
things. It'd been a nice escape from the grey, lifeless walls of the orphanage
— if only for an hour or two.
Harry smiled fondly. "Do you remember that one Christmas we accidentally got
left behind at the church and we didn't know our way back?"
"We spent the entire day reading the hymn books," Tom nodded. "It was past dark
when Mrs. Cole finally found us."
"I always remember that Christmas," Harry said, glancing up at Tom. "Mostly
because it was the first time you didn't seem so...miserable. I hadn't realized
until years later it was because we were away from the orphanage."
Tom's expression did not waver but Harry could still see it — that underlying
hatred towards the place that had caused him so much misery. Harry was quite
possibly the only person who truly understood Tom's hatred of the orphanage.
While it wasn't the most pleasant of places, with its endless chores, strict
rules and the occasional paddling, Harry knew that they were well-taken care of
in comparison to quite a lot of orphanages.
No, Tom's hatred came from a much deeper place than that. The orphanage was a
representation of how easily he'd been disregarded. How easily he'd been
forgotten. For as long as he lived there, he would always be seen as
disgraceful, worthless, disposable — unwanted. To the eyes of the world, he was
nothing but an orphan.
Harry knew that Tom strove to be more than that. He was meantfor more than
that.
"We should run away," Harry blurted suddenly.
That'd obviously taken Tom off guard, because his eyes widened slightly and he
stared at Harry in surprise. If Harry was honest, he'd taken himself off guard
with the suggestion.
"What are you talking about, Harry?"
"From the orphanage," Harry clarified, refusing to go back on what he'd said.
"We should just leave. There's no reason for us to stay there."
There was nothing tying either of them to the orphanage – just a bed and a few
scarce belongings. Quite possibly the only reason they even went back every
summer was each other. It'd never been their home; not really. They'd both
experienced loneliness and desperation behind those four gloomy, grey walls.
They'd both experienced what it felt like to be unwanted. Harry realized that
he needed to take Tom away from that place. He needed to rescue him from his
misery...to show him that he was wanted and worth something.
He was worth everythingto Harry.
After a few moments, Tom's lips quirked into a small smile and he reached out
to brush a stray lock of hair out of Harry's face.
"You never fail to surprise me," he murmured softly.
"Does that mean you want to?" Harry asked, searching Tom's face.
Tom cupped his chin and pressed their lips together. "Yes. We'll leave
together."
They curled their fingers together tightly and fell into silence. The small
details didn't even matter — where they'd go, what they'd do — all that
mattered was they were finally going to be together and free.
They stared out the window, watching the snow fall as Harry finished up his
butterbeer. Considering Tom didn't like butterbeer, Harry ended up drinking his
as well. By the time they left The Three Broomsticks, his belly was quite full
and warm (Madam Matilda had tried to refill their mugs again but Harry was
quite sure he'd have been sick if he drank any more).
They next stop they made was to Honeydukes sweet shop. Harry had been looking
forward getting a sample of the special peppermint candies the owner handed out
every Christmas. He'd very rarely had sweets growing up as a child, so it was
something he tried to indulge in as often as possible.
"Ah, I remember you," the old wizard asked, holding out the tray. "You're quite
fond of these, aren't you?"
"Yes, sir," Harry nodded, taking one of the offered sweets. "They're my
favorite."
"Perhaps you'd like to buy some?"
"I can't. I haven't any money," Harry said in disappointment, shaking his head.
"We'll purchase a bag," Tom said, holding out a shiny silver sickle.
Harry's eyes went as wide as saucers. "Where did you get that?"
His immediate thought was Tom had stolen it. It wasn't an unlikely explanation
— Tom had stolen quite a lot in the past without remorse. However, Harry had
been quite certain Tom had stopped doing that after coming to Hogwarts.
Narrowing his eyes, he watched as Tom exchanged the mysterious money for the
bag of peppermint sweets.
Tom glanced at Harry, obviously knowing what he was thinking.
"It's from my fund," he explained, handing Harry the peppermints. "I cut back
on a few things and bought cheaper materials so I could save up."
"But why?" Harry asked, looking down at the bag of candies in confusion.
"For you," Tom answered simply, taking Harry's hand and leading him back out of
the shop.
"Oh."
To say Harry felt like an arse would be an understatement. He'd assumed the
worst about Tom, but in reality his motives had been sweet and honest. It was
almost heart wrenching to imagine Tom saving up money just so he could buy
something for Harry, especially considering Tom must've done so well before
they'd even gotten together. It was obvious he'd been waiting for this
opportunity for a while.
Suddenly overwhelmed with affection, Harry stopped and pulled the other boy
into a tight embrace. At first, Tom went still (most likely from surprise) but
then he relaxed and slowly wound his arms around Harry in return. They just
stood there in the snow like that for several long minutes, with Harry refusing
to let Tom go. It was as if he'd suddenly been hit with just how much he loved
this boy.
"Harry," Tom urged gently, kissing the top of his head. "Let's walk back before
you freeze again."
"Right, okay," Harry nodded, reluctantly releasing the other boy.
Tom made sure to lock their hands together again. As they started heading back
to the castle, Harry pulled a peppermint out of the bag and slipped it into his
mouth. The candies were special to him for a different reason now. They'd
always remind him of Tom.
Harry was glad Tom had suggested they leave when he had. By the time they made
it back to the castle, the snow had started falling quite heavily and a bitter
wind had picked up, chilling them to the bone. Harry wanted to do nothing more
than wrap up in several blankets and warm himself by the fire in the common
room.
However, Tom apparently had different ideas. The other boy started leading
Harry down the familiar trek towards their secret room (which, Tom had found
out, was apparently called the 'Room of Requirement').
"Tom, I told Simon I'd help him with his essay," Harry said, tugging on Tom's
hand. "I should probably head back to Gryffindor Tower."
Tom stopped walking and looked down at Harry. "Surely that can be done another
night."
"Well, yes…" Harry bit into his lip. "But I did say I would…"
"I don't think he will mind," Tom said, pulling Harry closer to him. "Stay with
me."
Harry stared up at Tom. He always had such difficulty refusing him, especially
when he seemed so vulnerable. Just a year ago, Tom would have never expressed
any type of desire for companionship or company; yet there he was, standing
before Harry and practically telling him that he needed to be with him. There
was a very big part of Harry that wanted to give Tom anything he asked for, if
only to see him happy. Even though he felt badly for not keeping his promise to
Simon, Harry knew that he would always put Tom first.
"Of course I'll stay," Harry said, taking Tom's hand again. "I'll always stay."
Tom seemed pleased by his answer. He rewarded Harry with a dazzling smile; the
kind of smile that made Harry's heart flutter erratically (he'd literally do
anything to make Tom smile at him like that). They walked up to the seventh
floor, where the door to the Room of Requirement appeared almost automatically
for them. Harry vaguely wondered if a room could be sentient enough to
recognize people — then again, he supposed anything was possible in a magical
school.
The room was delightfully warm when they stepped inside. Harry was immediately
drawn to the fire that was already crackling in the fireplace. Despite wearing
about three layers more than Tom, Harry was still shivering and chattering from
the trek through the snow. He had no idea how Tom hadn't turned into a complete
icicle wearing only a single jacket over a thin shirt.
Harry sat on the settee as close to the fire as possible. The cushions dipped
down as Tom joined him and wound his arms around Harry, positioning him so he
was sitting between the other boy's legs. Leaning back against Tom's chest,
Harry focused on the rhythm of his breathing as he watched the fire. Tom just
rested his chin on Harry's shoulder and started rubbing gentle circles along
his stomach with his hands.
When Tom's hands slipped under his jumper and pressed against his bare skin,
Harry took in a deep breath and closed his eyes. Tom often took any opportunity
he could to touch Harry, and Harry realized that he liked it when Tom touched
him. He desired those warm beautiful hands on his body, even if Harry was
sometimes too afraid to let it happen.
He couldn't help but think about the conversation he'd had with Simon earlier.
It made him wonder if he was potentially building a wall between himself and
Tom with his insecurities. He didn't want to get naked in front of Tom because
he was afraid of not being perfect enough – Tom was perfect and he deserved
someone perfect. However, Harry knew he'd never be anyone but himself(no matter
how much he sometimes wished he could be). The only way to find out if Tom
truly desired him — all of him — was to face his insecurities.
"Tom?" Harry said, biting into his lip.
"Hm?" Tom hummed into his neck, still stroking his stomach.
"I want you to see me naked," Harry blurted out unceremoniously.
He practically winced at how awkward that'd sounded. He'd never been very
articulate, but he couldn't imagine there were very many eloquent ways of
making such a statement in the first place. Daring a glance over his shoulder,
he saw that Tom was regarding him with quiet contemplation, as if trying to
gauge whether or not Harry had really meant what he'd said.
"Are you sure?" he questioned quietly.
For some reason, Harry was infinitely grateful that Tom wasn't questioning why
he'd suddenly changed his mind. He thought it'd be even more awkward trying to
explain his self-esteem issues and the reasoning behind his decision. It was
possible Tom already understood all of that, anyway.
"Yes," Harry nodded, even though his stomach was fluttering with nerves. "I'm
sure."
"Alright," Tom smiled, kissing behind Harry's ear.
Harry honestly didn't know if there was a 'proper' way of going about something
like this, but he decided he'd much rather do it standing. Somehow, it felt
like a less vulnerable position to be in. He and Tom got up from the settee and
turned to face each other. Harry felt very uncomfortable all of a sudden,
knowing that in just a few minutes he was going to be naked; in front ofTom. He
was glad when Tom took the initiative (possibly having sensed Harry's anxiety)
and started removing his own jacket. Harry decided to follow his lead, fumbling
with his own coat and pulling it off. It was dropped carelessly to the floor by
his feet along with Tom's scarf.
He was grateful that Tom was letting him undress himself; Harry felt marginally
better by having complete control over the situation. While Harry was
practically shaking, Tom looked entirely too calm and relaxed as he started
unbuttoning his shirt (it was like he wasn't even aware that he was about to be
completely starkers in front of another person). Harry squeezed his eyes shut
as he followed along and ungracefully tugged his jumper up over his head, along
with the shirt underneath. He couldn't bring himself to open his eyes even as
he stood there shirtless, not yet ready to face Tom's reaction to his body.
When he heard Tom undoing his belt buckle, Harry swallowed heavily. He couldn't
believe they were actually doing this; they were actually going to see each
other naked for the first time. They'd never even so much as bathed together
when they were children, considering Mrs. Cole had feared they'd end up trying
to drown one another. That made this completely new territory for the both of
them.
Harry took a deep breath and decided to just get it over with. He toed off his
shoes and loosened his own belt (which had taken a couple of tries due to his
nerves). Unbuttoning his trousers, Harry hesitated briefly, but then mustered
up all of his Gryffindor courage and simply shoved them down around his ankles,
his pants following soon after. He rather unceremoniously kicked them to the
side and released the breath he'd been holding.
It was over with. Well, nearly.
Forcing himself to finally open his eyes, Harry trained them on the ceiling and
resisted the urge to cover himself up with his hands. After a few moments, he
finally lowered his gaze onto Tom and purposefully avoided looking at his face,
instead focusing his attention on the other boy's fully nude form.
Harry's heart gave a resounding ache at the sight of him. He was beautiful. He
wasn't very muscular, but his body was hard and defined. While Harry was made
up of awkward angles and sharp protrusions, Tom was elegantly contoured with
lean muscle under smooth, pale skin. His hip bones and ribs jutted out just
like Harry's did, but it made him look neither undernourished nor bony. It only
enhanced his features.
Feeling his cheeks get warm, Harry couldn't stop his gaze from dropping even
lower. Between two strong thighs was Tom's cock. It wasn't the first time Harry
had ever seen another boy's penis (he shared a dorm with four other boys after
all) but it was the first time he'd really paid attention to one. It wasn't
that much different from any other boy's penis — it was currently flaccid and
the glans was hidden by the foreskin — but because it was Tom's, Harry found it
just as beautiful as the rest of him.
Harry hesitantly brought his gaze up to meet Tom's eyes. To his surprise, Harry
saw nothing judgmental or even lustful in the way Tom was looking at him. In
fact, he appeared to be admiring Harry's body in the same way Harry had been
admiring his. There was warm affection and almost reverence in his eyes, which
strangely made Harry's anxiety fade away. He somehow felt safe and secure under
Tom's gaze, despite being completely naked in front of another person.
"You're beautiful," Tom said, reaching out to stroke Harry's cheek.
Harry knew Tom was telling the truth.
He timidly closed the gap between them and slid his arms around Tom's waist.
Their bare torsos pressed together, the feel of warm skin on warm skin making
the embrace feel so much different than usual. So much more intimate.
"So are you," Harry whispered, pressing his face into Tom's shoulder.
With nothing acting as a barrier between them, Harry was acutely aware of every
little detail — their hipbones poking into each other, their chests rising and
falling in almost perfect sync, their soft cocks trapped between their bodies.
Tom's skin was silky and smelled clean, with underlying hints of cinnamon and
that dark, starry scent that was uniquely Tom. Harry nuzzled his face into
Tom's shoulder, breathing in his warmth and his scent. Part of him wanted to
stay exactly like this forever.
They spent a few minutes just feeling each other. Harry's hands explored the
smooth plains of Tom's back, trailing over the length of his spine and the
sharp cut of his shoulder blades. He absently counted Tom's ribs with his
fingertips and pressed his lips against his beautiful collar bones in a series
of soft kisses. He even took a moment to study the prominent veins that ran up
Tom's wrists and forearms. Harry was able to feel his heartbeat beneath his
fingertips.
"That feels nice," Tom murmured into his ear, kissing his neck.
Harry smiled and interlaced his fingers with Tom's. Together, they walked over
to the bed and climbed into it. The sheets were soft and cool as they slid
under the blankets, turning to face each other. Harry stared into Tom's eyes as
the other boy caressed his cheek and then slowly slid his hand down his side.
His touch was warm and gentle as he affectionately rubbed Harry's hip, pulling
him closer. Harry felt Tom nudge one of his legs between his own, tangling
their limbs together. Harry didn't even care that Tom could probably feel how
knobbly his knees were.
Tom lifted one of Harry's skinny legs and carefully draped it over his waist.
The more open position allowed their bodies to slot together almost perfectly.
Harry's eyes fluttered closed when Tom ran his hand down Harry's thigh and let
it come to a rest on the swell of his arse. It felt large and warm there, but
not uncomfortable or intrusive. When Harry opened his eyes again, he saw that
his and Tom's faces were so close that they were almost kissing.
"You smell like peppermint," Tom commented softly, brushing his lips over
Harry's.
For some reason, that statement felt vaguely familiar to Harry, but he couldn't
quite place why. He just laid a hand on Tom's cheek and pulled him in for a
soft kiss. Using his leg to draw the other boy as close to his body as
possible, he wound his arms around him tightly and almost desperately.
He never wanted to let go.
Chapter End Notes
     I'm sooo sorry this took so long to get out. The past two weeks have
     been hellish as I had three big exams to study for. Finals are also
     coming up in a couple of weeks, so just try to bear with me until the
     semester is over. Also, I'd like to give special thanks to blopOoOo
     and Watttsx (both from FF.net) for drawing beautiful fanart for my
     story. It really helped motivate me to get this chapter done. Lastly,
     I hope all my fellow U.S citizens have a wonderful Thanksgiving. I
     was busy traveling England last year, so I'm looking forward to
     spending this one with my family and eating some pumpkin pie. So
     weird how fast a year goes by - seems like just yesterday my drunk
     ass was getting lost in London on New Year's Eve.
     Anyway, thanks for reading and enjoy!
***** Chapter 25 *****
Chapter Notes
     This chapter is dedicated to Sfk because it's her birthday (and also
     because I love her story).
     Happy Birthday, babe. I'll be sure to take a shot in your honor.
     To everyone else: Go read her story, 'Aware'. I promise you'll love
     it.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
December 31st, 1942
The door opened and he stepped across the threshold. It was dark inside of the
house and he was greeted by the panicked shouts of its occupants. Their fear
was heavy in the air around him.
"GO, LILY! TAKE HARRY AND RUN. I'LL HOLD HIM OFF!"
He admired the man's courage. It was foolish, but it was brave. Unfortunately,
they both knew that his bravery would not save him this night. However, when he
came face-to-face with James Potter, he found himself pausing, suddenly unable
to breathe.
That face…
But…the eyes…they were wrong. He came back to his senses and wasted no time in
disposing of the obstacle.
He would never admit that he could not look into the James Potter's face as he
ended his life.
Stepping over the body, he slowly made his way up the staircase and down the
hallway towards the door at the end. With another wave of his wand, the door
burst open, allowing him entrance. There was another scream followed by the
desperate pleading of a frightened mother.
It was the woman's eyes that made him contemplate sparing her life. They were
so beautiful, so familiar —  the same eyes that haunted his dreams every single
night.
And yet, it made him angry to see those eyes onherface. It wasn't right, it
wasn't fair. It made him murderous.
He hated her for having those eyes.
Lily Potter's life was ended in a flash of green light.
Harry didn't realize he'd screamed nor did he realize he'd fallen out of bed
until he was already on the floor. His scar was tingling intensely as his eyes
flew open but he was met with only pressing darkness, which did nothing to
abate the cold fear overtaking him.
"Harry!"
Simon had scrambled out of bed and was over to him in an instant. Harry was
still breathing heavily and feeling slightly disoriented even as Simon helped
him to his feet. It took him several moments to even remember that he was in
his dormitory.
"Blimey, Harry! What happened? Was it another nightmare? Merlin, you're pale as
death. Come with me."
The loud thudding of his heartbeat made it difficult to comprehend Simon's
words. It wasn't helped by the fact that the dream kept replaying in his head
— over and over again, he was forced to relive that horrible flash of green
light as he murdered another person. Despite that, he did somehow manage to
regain enough composure to allow Simon to lead him into the bathrooms. They'd
been through this routine so many times by now that Simon always knew what to
do.
"I'd thought those nightmares had gone," Simon said, leading Harry over to one
of the sinks.
"Me too," Harry mumbled, wiping his sleeve across his sweaty forehead.
"You're absolutely drenched in sweat, Harry. Here."
Something cool and wet was pressed to Harry's forehead, nearly making him jump
from shock. However, he relaxed when he realized that it was only a damp cloth.
Simon's motions were gentle as he wiped the sweat from Harry's face and Harry
was immediately reminded of the night Tom had taken care of him while drunk.
For some reason, that helped calm him down.
"You gave me a right scare, you know that?" Simon said softly but a bit
playfully. "I've never heard you scream like that."
"I'm really sorry, Simon."
"It's alright, honestly," Simon said, tossing the cloth into the sink. "How are
you feeling now?"
Harry offered a weak smile. "Better. Thanks."
Simon didn't quite look like he believed him. Not that Harry could blame him;
he didn't quite believe himself. Those dreams shook him up more than any other
nightmare he'd ever had. Even though he usually experienced them from a
different perspective, Harry was always vaguely aware of his real emotions
during the dreams — it felt a lot like being two different people at one time.
He figured that explained why he always woke up so terrified.
It'd been made worse this time by the fact that he now knew the identities of
the man and woman in his dreams. They'd never had names or faces before then.
James and Lily.
For the life of him, Harry couldn't figure out why he was dreaming about these
people, but knowing that they had names made witnessing their murder all the
more terrifying. That wasn't even the eeriest part of the whole thing, though —
the man, the one named James, had looked almost exactly like him. He could
still recall the shock his dream-self had felt upon coming face-to-face with
the man. The only difference between himself and James Potter was the eyes —
James's eyes had been brown while Harry's were green.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Simon interrupted his thoughts.
"Not really." Harry shook his head. "That's the last thing I want to do."
Simon nodded in understanding. "Do you want to try to go back to bed, then?"
"Actually, I take back what I'd said." Harry laughed. "That'sthe last thing I
want to do."
"Somehow, I don't blame you," Simon said with a crooked grin. "Those dreams
sound like they're horrible."
Harry just nodded, yawning and rubbing his tired eyes with his hands. It was
only then that he realized he wasn't wearing his glasses.
He blinked and looked up at the other boy. "Simon, do you mind grabbing my
glasses for me?"
"No problem. One moment."
When Simon left the bathroom, Harry pulled his wand out of his pocket and
conjured an empty glass. Turning the tap back on, he proceeded to fill the
glass with cold water and drink it down. It took only five seconds flat to
finish the entire thing. The water felt soothing going down his throat, which
had become dry and raw from screaming. Pressing the cool glass to his still
tingling scar, he turned his gaze onto the mirror and was met with the slightly
blurry image of his pale, sweaty face.
His face had belonged to the man he'd killed in his dreams.
And his eyes...they had belonged to the woman.
Only a few moments later, Simon returned with Harry's glasses. "Here you go,
mate."
"Thanks," Harry said, smiling and slipping his glasses on. "You don't have to
stay up with me, you know. You can go back to bed now. I'm fine, honestly."
"I'm wide awake now." Simon shook his head. "I don't mind staying up with you."
Harry started refilling the glass with water again. "What time is it, anyway?"
"I think it's just past one in the morning."
Harry inwardly cringed. They hadn't been asleep for very long at all before
Harry had woken them both up with his screaming. He only hoped that this didn't
lead to severe sleep deprivation like the last time — he could only imagine how
much Tom would fret (not to mention the bastard had a habit of stealing his
coffee from him). Despite knowing he was robbing his friend of so much sleep,
Harry was still grateful to have Simon with him during times like this. He
always knew exactly what to do to make Harry feel better.
Vanishing the glass, Harry turned to Simon, a sudden idea occurring to him.
"Simon, can I ask you something?"
Simon looked at him curiously. "Of course, Harry."
"You grew up in the wizarding world, right?" Harry asked slowly. "So, you
probably know all about wizarding families and everything?"
Simon looked a bit confused by the question but he nodded anyway. "A bit. But
my dad's is a muggle, so I spend a lot of time in the muggle world, too."
"Do you know anything about the name 'Potter'?" Harry inquired. He'd decided it
wouldn't hurt to try to figure out if there was anything at all to his dreams
and Simon was the only person he felt comfortable with asking.
"Potter?" Simon repeated thoughtfully. "It sounds a bit familiar. I think it's
a pure-blood name. You'd probably be better off asking Walter or…" Simon paused
and cleared his throat awkwardly, "or any other pure-blood. Considering all
pure-blood families know about each other."
It was obvious that Simon had nearly said the name 'Septimus' but had caught
himself last second. Harry felt a tiny pull in his chest at the thought of his
former best friend. He knew, in the past, Septimus would have been the first
person he would've gone to help him with something like this. Septimus had an
uncanny ability to figure things out and give Harry guidance in tough
situations.
But things were different now.
Harry just pushed those thoughts away. "I don't really want to get anyone else
involved in all of this."
"All of what?" Simon asked, furrowing his brows. "What's going on, Harry?"
"It's just something from the dreams," Harry said, playing it off casually (he
didn't want to worry Simon or, worse yet, make him think he was nuts). "There
was a 'James and Lily Potter' in it. I'd never known their names before today."
"You think your dreams might actually be real?" Surprisingly, Simon's tone of
voice was neither skeptical nor incredulous. If anything, he sounded rather
fascinated by the prospect.
"Maybe…" But then Harry shook his head. "I don't know. I'm just curious, I
suppose."
"Well, I don't know anything about a James or Lily Potter," Simon said.
"However, if they ever went to Hogwarts, they might be in the school records,
so –"
Harry suddenly perked up. "That's a great idea, Simon!" he interjected
excitedly. "We'll check the library!"
Simon looked slightly taken aback and his eyes widened. "Whoa, wait, what?
Right now?"
"Yes, right now," Harry stated, brushing past Simon towards the dorms. "What
else have we to do all night?"
"Harry, it's one in the morning, the library is closed," Simon pointed out as
if Harry wasn't aware of this fact. "We can't go there right now."
"Of course we can." Harry waved off his concerns. "We just can't get caught."
"You know I'm a prefect, right?" Simon said with a mixture of exasperation and
amusement.
"Which is exactly why it's not against the rules for you to go into the library
right now," Harry explained, changing into a pair of trousers and a jumper.
"You're allowed in after hours to make sure there aren't any students wandering
about."
"Yes, but that's not why we're going there." Simon rolled his eyes.
"Small details." Harry tossed Simon a cheeky grin. "You can even give me
detention later, if you want."
"Tempting," Simon said with a chuckle, also starting to undress, "but you know
I'd never do that."
Harry found himself pausing as Simon removed his shirt. Of course, he'd already
seen Simon without his clothes dozens of times before, but he'd never really
paid close attention before. Now that he'd seen Tom nude, Harry was suddenly
interested in seeing how they compared to each other (which was oddly something
he was doing quite a lot lately). Just like their personalities, Tom's and
Simon's bodies were nothing alike. Simon's body was broad and muscular — he
represented masculinity in the most traditional sense. Tom's body, on the other
hand, harbored so much power and strength that it was easy to forget how thin
he was.
"Harry?"
At the sound of Simon's voice, Harry looked up to see that the other boy's eyes
were sparkling with amusement (and maybe a little bit of curiosity). Harry,
suddenly embarrassed that he'd been caught staring, quickly averted his eyes.
He couldn't believe he'd been ogling Simon like that!
Maybe the muggle-borns had been right – maybe he really was some kind of
pervert.
"Everything alright, Harry?" Simon asked, obviously a bit concerned now.
Harry nodded, blushing and still having difficulty meeting Simon's eyes. "Let's
just go."
They walked out of the dorms and down to the common room. It was quiet and
empty, with dying embers still burning in the fireplace. However, they soon
discovered that it wasn't as empty as they'd originally thought. As they made
their way over to the portrait hole, a voice stopped them in their tracks.
"And where are you two going?"
Harry and Simon whipped around and came face-to-face with Minerva. She'd stayed
behind in the castle for winter holidays as well, but Harry had seen her so
little over break that he'd almost forgotten she was even there. At the moment,
she was in her dressing gown and wearing the most suspicious expression Harry
had ever seen.
"Minerva!" Harry said in surprise. "What are you doing down here?"
"I couldn't sleep, so I was reading," Minerva said, her eyebrow arching. "What
are you up to, Harry?"
"What makes you think I'm up to something?" Harry's attempt at sounding
innocent failed miserably.
"Because you were obviously about to sneak out, at one in the morning," Minerva
informed, crossing her arms. "Not to mention the fact it's youwe're talking
about.
Harry realized that there was absolutely no use in continuing to try to lie.
Minerva knew him better than that (not to mention, he was sort of terrible at
lying).
"Simon and I are going to the library."
Simon nodded to confirm this story.
"The library?" Minerva repeated skeptically. "Why on Earth would you be going
to the library at one in the morning? And don't try to tell me it's for
homework."
"I just need to look something up," Harry admitted. "It's really important,
Minnie."
Minerva studied him for a moment, as if trying to detect any hint of a lie in
his words. Eventually, she uncrossed her arms and sighed.
"I'll come along. I can help you find whatever you're looking for."
Harry blinked in surprise. Out of all things, he hadn't expected her to say
that. At first, he was rather hesitant at the prospect of her tagging along
— after all, he hadn't wanted very many people to get involved in this (not
even Tom). However, Minerva did know the library better than he did and she
might be better at finding the information he needed. Plus, it didn't look like
she was going to back off from the issue any time soon.
"Alright, you can come along," Harry said, smiling.
Minerva gave him a small smile back. "I must get dressed first. I'll be right
back."
Simon and Harry watched as Minerva turned and disappeared up to the girl's
dormitory. They hadn't needed to wait for very long for her return – just a few
minutes later, she was coming back down the stairs, fully dressed and carrying
her wand.
"Right, let's go," she said.
The three of them headed through the portrait hole together. It was quite dark
in the halls, only a dim flickering from the torches lighting their way. The
paintings were whispering things about them as they passed and at one point,
they'd run into a ghost (which, thankfully, had only been Nearly Headless Nick
and not Peeves); other than that, they met no obstacles along the way and it
didn't take them very long to traverse down to the library.
Simon carefully cracked opened the doors and poked his head through. After
checking to make sure the coast was clear, he nodded to them and they filed
inside. The library was dark, the only light coming from the silvery moonlight
streaming through the windows. Minerva took out her wand and illuminated the
tip.
"So what are we looking for?" she asked, turning to Harry.
"School records."
Minerva gave him a strange look. "School records? Whatever do you need those
for?"
"It's difficult to explain," Harry replied, somewhat unsurehow to explain it.
"I'm looking for a specific name."
"What name?"
"James Potter."
He'd decided there was probably no point in trying to find 'Lily Potter'. It
seemed that James and Lily had been a married couple, which meant she probably
wouldn't show up in any school records under that name (of course, assuming
that either of them had attended Hogwarts at all).
Minerva nodded, walking towards the reference and records section. "May I ask
why we are looking for this person?"
"I'll explain later," Harry said, following after her. "Let's just see if he
even exists first."
"Alright…" Minerva said slowly, obviously not liking that answer. Thankfully,
she didn't press the issue any further. "Well, there are literally hundreds of
records of all the students who'd ever attended Hogwarts. Is there any
particular time frame we should start with?"
"Perhaps the last twenty years at most," Harry replied. The man in his dreams
hadn't looked very old at all — he couldn't have been any older than his mid-
twenties. That meant that, assuming the dreams had taken place in recent times,
James Potter would have left Hogwarts only a few years ago.
Minerva began searching the rows upon rows of the (quite heavy looking) books
lined up on the shelves. After a few moments, she pulled one out and handed it
over to Harry. "That's a record of all of the students who'd attended Hogwarts
in the last 30 years."
"Thanks." Harry took it from her. "You two can start looking at records from
even farther back, just in case."
Simon and Minerva nodded and grabbed a book each. The three of them sat down on
the floor and illuminated their wands so they could read through the pages.
There really wasn't much to the records — just a list of names, along with the
years the student had attended Hogwarts and a small annotation of anything
outstanding they'd done. It was rather tedious work, considering there were
literally hundreds of names to go through (even taking into account that they'd
skipped straight to the Ps).
Eventually, though, Harry came across a name that caught his attention. "Look!
I've found something."
Both Minerva and Simon looked up from their tomes.
"What is it?" Simon asked.
"Right here. Fleamont Potter. Attended Hogwarts from 1918 to 1925," Harry
pointed the name out. "He was a prefect and Quidditch captain."
"Do you think he might be related to the James Potter you're looking for?"
Simon inquired, sounding interested.
"It's possible." Harry nodded. "At least now I know for sure that the name
Potter exists in the magical world."
"You really need to tell me what's so important about the name Potter," Minerva
interjected, obviously getting frustrated and impatient.
Harry hesitated then sighed. "It's just…I've been having these reoccurring
dreams about this man named James Potter. I wanted to see if he actually
exists."
Minerva's eyebrows rose. "You've never mentioned these dreams before."
"I didn't really want to make a big deal out of them." Harry shrugged. He was
already having mixed feelings talking about it even now.
"Right, well…look, I've found two more Potters," Minerva said, holding up her
book. "Henry Potter: attended Hogwarts from 1871 to 1878. There is also Charlus
Potter, who attended Hogwarts from 1859 to 1866. Both had been prefects and
Head Boys. It looks like they were probably brothers as well."
"Still no James, though?" Harry asked.
Minerva shook her head. "No, but I'll keep looking."
They returned to their task, but Harry was starting to realize that it was
becoming less and less likely that James Potter had ever existed — at least at
Hogwarts. Nonetheless, he was determined not to give up just yet. They spent
another hour pouring through the tomes, until Simon came across the last Potter
in the records: Hardwin Potter, who'd attended Hogwarts in the 1100s.
"I suppose that's it," Harry sighed, snapping his book closed and sagging
against the book shelf. "We've searched every record and there wasn't a single
James Potter."
"Sorry, mate," Simon offered sympathetically.
"Actually, it's alright," Harry said, smiling. "It's probably better that he
doesn't exist."
He wasn't lying, either — Harry was actually quite relieved. He'd been afraid
that James Potter had been a real person and he was somehow having premonitions
of his death. Of course, there was still the possibility that James Potter
hadn't attended Hogwarts at all but it seemed unlikely. Now that he was almost
one-hundred percent sure that his dreams weren't real, Harry felt some his
anxiety start to ease.
"Come on, let's get all of this cleaned up," Harry said, gathering up his
tomes.
As they started to clean up the mess they'd made, there was the sound of
someone entering the library and they all froze. They immediately extinguished
their wands and ducked down behind the bookshelf. Straining his ears, Harry
picked up the sound of footsteps.
"Oh, blast it, I bet that's Pringle," Simon whispered. "He's probably
patrolling for anyone out after curfew."
Harry had to hold back a groan. Pringle was the school caretaker and he was
known for being particularly harsh with punishing students (much worse than
Mrs. Cole or Mrs. Edwards had ever been). He didn't give detention like most
teachers and prefects did — he used a cane. Harry had received a caning from
him in his third year and he wasn't particularly keen on reliving that
experience.
"Can't you go tell him you've already checked in here?" Harry asked as quietly
as possible. "You're a prefect; you won't get in trouble."
Simon shook his head. "He'd find that too suspicious. Prefects aren't usually
out quite this late. We should try to sneak past without him seeing us."
"Oh, great idea," Minerva whispered harshly. "I can't see that ending badly at
all."
"Do you have a better plan?" Simon retorted. "It's either that or we wait here
until he finds us."
Minerva just pressed her lips together but didn't argue any further. Quickly
and quietly, they put the books back into their proper places and returned to
watching the glow from Pringle's lantern move about the library.
When it was far enough away, the three of them made a quick dash across aisles
and dove behind another bookshelf. They paused for a few moments and when it
seemed safe enough, they made another run for it. It was so dark in the library
that Harry hadn't noticed the chair directly in his path and he ended up
running right into it. There was a horrifying moment in which both Harry and
the chair tumbled to the ground with a resounding crash.
"Who's in here?" Pringle's gruff voice called from across the library.
Simon ran back to him and hurriedly helped Harry to his feet, practically
throwing the both of them behind a bookshelf before they could be seen. For
several long moments, they stood there as still as possible, holding their
breath in fear. Simon's arms were wrapped around him so tightly that Harry
could feel the fast beating of his heart against his back.
He flushed slightly from their close proximity and made a small noise, which
prompted Simon to release him. It was difficult to tell in the darkness, but
Harry was almost positive that the other boy was embarrassed.
"Look, Pringle's coming back this way," Minerva whispered from the aisle across
them, gaining their attention. "We need to get out of here now!"
Harry and Simon nodded in understanding. They braced themselves, took a deep
breath, and then bolted out from their hiding places. Harry's veins were
pumping with adrenaline as they sprinted through the aisles of bookcases and it
felt like an eternity before they finally reached the doors. They threw them
open and continued running, not stopping until they had put several corridors
distance between themselves and the library.
"That was close," Harry panted, trying to catch his breath.
"I thought we were done for," Simon agreed, as equally out of breath.
"This is the last time I ever follow you along on one of your nightly
adventures," Minerva said, brushing her dark hair out of her face. "I should've
known you'd likely get me into trouble someday."
Harry grinned. "It was your idea to come along, remember?"
Minerva just snorted softly. "Let's just get out of here before Pringle finds
us."
"I'm not really ready to head back to Gryffindor Tower yet. How about we stop
by the kitchens for some hot cocoa and biscuits?" Harry suggested. "I'm a bit
hungry after all that excitement."
"Great idea! I could do with some food," Simon agreed, patting his stomach.
"The elves make the best hot cocoa."
They both looked to Minerva expectantly. At first, she looked like she wanted
to object but then she just sighed.
"Oh, alright," she relented. "Biscuits do sound rather nice."
The trio headed down to the kitchens (keeping a sharp eye out for Pringle the
entire way). When they reached the portrait of the bowl of fruit, Harry reached
up and tickled the pear. It giggled and transformed into the familiar green
door knob. Upon noticing Minerva's almost disturbed expression, Harry couldn't
help but laugh.
"I had the same reaction the first time I came down here, too," he said,
opening the door and stepping inside.
The kitchen was just as homey as ever. There was a large, merry fire crackling
in the fireplace, and the scents of the previous night's dinner still lingered
in the air. Because of the late hour, there weren't dozens of house-elves
bustling about and preparing food like usual; however, Nippy was there to greet
them eagerly.
"Mr. Whitley, sir!" she squeaked. "Are you here for Mr. Tom Riddle's birthday
cake?"
At Nippy's question, it suddenly occurred to Harry that it wasTom's birthday.
Due to everything that had gone on that night, he'd almost completely
forgotten.
"You're going to give Tom a cake for his birthday?" Simon asked curiously.
Harry nodded. "I sort of do it every year. I send him a chocolate cake. At the
orphanage, he'd never received gifts from anyone, so I like to make sure he
gets something and…you know…I can't really afford a proper gift."
"Chocolate?" Simon arched a brow. "He does not seem like a chocolate sort of
person."
"I don't think he was at first, to be honest," Harry laughed. "I think I sent
him so many chocolate cakes that I sort of turned him into one. I do wish there
was something else I could do for him, though — something more special. Just a
cake seems so simple and stupid."
"You shouldn't be so hard on yourself – I think it's quite a nice gift," Simon
said with an encouraging smile. "I'd personally love it if someone gave me an
entire cake for my birthday."
Harry smiled back, feeling slightly better. "I suppose you're right."
"Would you like Nippy to get started on the cake, Mr. Whitley sir?" Nippy said,
looking up at Harry with her large, orb-like eyes.
Harry almost nodded, but then stopped himself abruptly. A different idea
suddenly occurred to him.
"Actually, Nippy, I think I want to do it myself this year."
Simon raised his eyebrows. "Really?"
"Do you even know how to bake a cake?" Minerva asked skeptically.
"Well…no," Harry admitted, rubbing the back of his head, "but I can try. It'd
make Tom's gift more special this year."
"Nippy will get the ingredients you need, sir!" Nippy said, obviously quite
excited and eager to help in any way possible.
"And maybe a cookbook?" Harry added almost sheepishly.
"Of course, sir!"
Nippy snapped her fingers and produced a large, magical cookbook. She handed it
over to Harry with a bow and then hurried across the kitchen to gather the rest
of the ingredients they'd need for the cake.
"Do you want us to help you?" Simon asked, watching Harry flip through the
cookbook.
"I'm sure I can handle it," Harry responded, stopping when he found the recipe
for cake. "Blimey, there are a lot of ingredients — what's baking soda?"
"Oh, give me that," Minerva sighed, snatching the book from Harry. "You
obviously have no clue what you're doing."
Harry would have argued but Minerva was absolutely right. He'd cooked things
like toast, porridge and powdered eggs at the orphanage, but baking a cake
(from scratch no less) was entirely new territory for him. If it was anything
like brewing a potion, then he knew he was going to need some help.
As Minerva went through the recipe, Nippy returned only a few minutes with her
arms laden with various items.
"Here you are, sir!" Nippy announced. "This is everything you will need!"
Harry smiled at the house-elf. "Thank you so much, Nippy."
"Is there anything else Nippy can do for you, sir?"
"No, I think we'll be alright from here," Harry said, shaking his head.
Nippy nodded but remained close by in case they needed anything else.
"Alright, I think I know what to do," Minerva said, eyes still fixated on the
cookbook. "Harry, you should start mixing cocoa powder, flour, baking powder
and baking soda into a large bowl."
"Er, right."
Conjuring a large bowl and mixing spoon, Harry set them on the table and
started sifting through the ingredients. He'd never used half of these things
before, so it took him a minute or two to locate the ones he needed.
"While he's doing that, Simon, you should start blending together some vanilla,
eggs, sugar and butter into another bowl."
"What are you going to do, then?" Simon asked, arching a brow.
"I'm going to make the frosting," Minerva replied, setting the cookbook down on
the table. "Well, go on then, get started."
Simon just snorted. "Harry, we're getting bossed around by a twelve year old."
"Honestly, she's more mature than the both of us combined, so I'm not even
bothered," Harry laughed and poured cocoa powder into his bowl.
"Fair point," Simon said with a grin, grabbing the eggs.
Baking a cake turned out to be a little messier than Harry had anticipated. At
one point, Simon accidentally dropped several eggs and Harry somehow ended up
with a face full of flour when he'd ripped open the bag. Of course, Simon
nearly laughed himself stupid at that and Harry simply threw a handful of flour
at him in response.
"What was that for?" Simon exclaimed, wiping flour off his face.
Harry just grinned triumphantly. "For laughing at me."
"Is that right?" Simon arched a brow.
The other boy snatched up a handful of flour from Harry's bag, but before he
could throw it, Minerva cleared her throat loudly. They both froze and turned
to look at the girl – she was regarding them with slight annoyance.
"Will you two please stop making a mess everywhere?" she said exasperatedly.
"Oh lighten up, we're just having a bit of fun," Simon chuckled, dropping the
flour back into the bag.
Minerva just looked at him unimpressed. "We'll never get this cake done if you
keep throwing the ingredients everywhere."
"She's right," Harry said, shaking flour out of his hair. "And then I won't
haveanything for Tom's birthday."
"You should've kept the flour in your hair. It was a good look on you," Simon
said with a wink.
"Ah, yes, the 'I-just-aged-forty-years' look." Harry rolled his eyes with a
snort. "I'm sure Tom would find me attractive then."
Simon just shook his head. "He'd be crazy to ever think you're unattractive."
Harry paused and tilted his head at Simon curiously. "You really think so?"
"Definitely," Simon said, smiling almost awkwardly.
Harry felt his cheeks turn strangely warm and he smiled back softly. They ended
up standing there like that for several moments before Simon suddenly averted
his eyes, as if embarrassed. The other boy focused (much more intently) on the
contents of his bowl. Slightly unsure of what'd just happened, Harry also
returned to his bowl and started pouring baking powder into it.
"When you two are done with that, just combine the two mixtures together,"
Minerva instructed, still working on the frosting. "Make sure it's mixed
together really well."
"Yes, ma'am."
Simon and Harry combined the contents of their bowls and started stirring it
together (not without accidentally dribbling some of it all over the table).
The task was actually a lot more difficult than Harry had originally assumed
— his arm was starting to get tired from all the stirring and even after nearly
ten minutes, there were stilllumps in the batter.
It was Simon who'd gotten the brilliant idea to use magic to help things along.
He attempted to charm the spoon to stir on its own, but it'd ended up spinning
so fast that some of the cake batter went splattering everywhere. It got all
over the table, themselves and, worse yet, Minerva.
"Oh, honestly!" Minerva said, batter dripping down her face. "You two are
impossible."
Harry and Simon glanced to each other and burst out laughing.
"I think more of this is going to end up all over us than in the actual cake,"
Harry said, looking at their messy forms.
Minerva seemed to be trying to keep a straight face, but her mouth twitched and
she eventually started laughing along with them. She wiped some of the batter
off her cheeks and gave it a taste.
"This is quite nice, though," she said in approval. "You two did a good job –
if you ignore the fact that you made an absolute mess of it."
"Sorry, Minerva," Harry said, a bit breathless from laughing. "We'll get it
cleaned up."
"I'll get started on it," Simon said, playfully wiping a blob of batter off
Harry's nose.
Harry grinned and returned the favor, swiping up a bit off of Simon's cheek. He
stuck his finger in his mouth and, upon tasting the batter, he was delighted to
discover that it wasquite delicious. He couldn't wait to finish it for Tom — he
was sure he was going to love it.
He barely even noticed that Simon was blushing.
Harry ended up having to use a little transfiguration to replenish the amount
of batter they'd spilled. After that, though, it hadn't taken much longer to
actually finish the cake. The cookbook had provided a spell that they used to
bake it (though, considering Harry had ever used baking spells before, the cake
had ended up burnt around the edges). After applying Minerva's chocolate
frosting, Harry used another spell to write "Happy Birthday Tom" on the top in
the traditional green icing. It didn't look as nice in his messy scrawl as when
the elves did it, but Harry thought it gave it more of a personal touch.
Finally, he conjured a box to put the cake in. "I can't believe we actually did
it."
"It looks really good," Simon said, as equally as impressed. "You should bake
one for my birthday."
"Alright, but you have to help me with it," Harry said, laughing.
"I wouldn't have it any other way," Simon replied, grinning.
At that moment, Nippy brought out a tray of biscuits and three mugs of hot
cocoa. Covered in head to toe with flour and batter, but feeling highly
accomplished, the three of them sat around the table and spent the rest of the
morning consuming as much hot cocoa and biscuits as they could manage. It
wasn't until the sun started coming up that they made their way back to
Gryffindor Tower.
They parted ways with Minerva at the dormitories. With bellies full with hot
cocoa and biscuits, Simon and Harry crawled back into their beds. Harry was
absolutely exhausted from the night's events and he felt like he could fall
asleep instantly.
"Are you going to be alright?" Simon asked just as Harry's eyes started
drifting closed.
"I think so," Harry nodded sleepily. "Thanks for being there, Simon."
"Always, Harry," was the last thing Harry heard before he fell into a deep,
peaceful sleep.
                                     xxxxx
Later that evening, Harry sat in the Room of Requirement. The snow was falling
quietly just outside the window and a warm fire crackled in the fireplace.
Wanting to look nice for Tom on his birthday, Harry had dressed in the nicest
outfit he owned — a simple pair of trousers (the only ones he owned that didn't
have a bunch of patches sewn into them) and a dark green shirt. He was feeling
slightly nervous and he knew it was because he wanted to make sure Tom's
birthday was special.
The cake was sitting on the table in front of him. In Harry's opinion, it
didn't look like at all fitting for someone like Tom — it was messy and sloppy
and slightly burnt, while Tom was perfect and beautiful and everything that
neither Harry nor the cake was. He was suddenly anxious, wondering if Tom would
like it or even want it.
When Tom entered the room only minutes later, Harry felt his heart skip a beat
at the sight of him. He was always so beautiful. He'd never understand why
seeing Tom always felt like setting eyes him for the first time. Standing up,
Harry walked over to the taller boy and kissed him deeply.
"Happy birthday," he murmured against his lips.
Tom cupped Harry's face in his hands. "You know I don't care about my
birthday."
"I know, but I do," Harry said, smiling.
Tom stroked Harry's cheeks fondly and then pulled him in for another kiss. They
must have remained like that for a good five minutes before Harry finally
pulled away from him. As much as he wanted to just stand there and kiss Tom
forever, he also wanted to give him his gift.
"I have something for you," Harry said. "I made it special."
"Oh?" Tom arched a brow in interest.
Harry nodded. "Wait here."
He walked back over to the table to retrieve the cake. As he carried it over to
Tom, Harry watched the way the candles flickered in the dim lighting and he was
reminded of starts twinkling against a night sky. Suddenly, he thought it fit
Tom perfectly.
Stopping in front of Tom, Harry smiled and held the cake out.
"Make a wish."
Chapter End Notes
     Oh, I love it when Harry's past dreams about him and Tom start coming
     true. Anyway, I'm so sorry this took over a month to get out. I'm not
     lying when I say I actually worked on this chapter nearly every day
     this past month. What happened was, I was distracted by finals the
     first couple weeks, so I didn't have much time to work on the
     chapter. After finals, I kind of fell into a really bad mental
     exhaustion where it became extremely difficult to focus on anything.
     I tried really hard to write this, but it was so difficult to get my
     ideas out coherently (not lying when I say that I deleted and rewrote
     this chapter about four times). You'll probably notice that this
     chapter is written a bit sloppier than usual, and that's because of
     how damn hard it was for me to write anything. I struggled badly but
     I was determined to get it done. Thank you to everyone who didn't
     give up on me even after such a long wait. I also hope everyone had a
     wonderful Christmas and here's to a great New Year!
     Also thank you to blopOoOo for drawing more wonderful fanart for this
     story. Thank you so much
***** Chapter 26 *****
Chapter Notes
     Fair warning: There's a very graphic sex scene in this chapter, so
     continue on with caution if that's not something you wish to read.
     For this, the story's rating has now been changed to Explicit.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
"Do you think you could show me the beetles to buttons spell now?"
It was late-afternoon and Harry was sitting with Minerva in study-hall
practicing transfiguration. After noticing that she seemed to have quite a
talent for the discipline, he'd offered to teach her some of the more advanced
spells. She, being the diligent student that she was, had readily accepted.
They'd spent the last week or so learning how to transform objects into birds
and turning small creatures into matchboxes (spells first years generally
didn't learn until later in the year). Unsurprisingly, the girl had mastered
the two spells quite quickly and was ready to move onto something more
difficult.
"That's a second year spell, Minerva, are you sure?" Harry asked, despite
knowing the answer.
"I'm quite certain I can handle it," Minerva replied confidently.
Harry just chuckled. "I'm afraid I don't have a beetle on hand, though."
"Not a problem," Minerva said, taking a jar out of her bag and setting it on
the table. "It just so happens that I do."
Sure enough, there was a big, black beetle scuttling around in the jar. Harry
leaned down to peer through the glass and arched a curious brow.
"Were you carrying this around all day just in the hopes that I'd teach you the
spell?" he asked in amusement.
"It never hurts to be prepared," Minerva replied matter-of-factly. "A concept
you clearly don't live by."
"Hey, I'm always prepared," Harry defended, but faltered when Minerva gave him
a 'look'. "…Most of the time — okay, sometimes — oh just give me the blasted
beetle."
The younger girl smirked and Harry just snatched up the jar. However, he became
momentarily distracted when a familiar, red-headed figure walked past their
table. It was Septimus. As head boy, it was his duty to watch over study hall,
so it wasn't exactly unusual for him to be there. However, that didn't make it
any less awkward. There was a brief, uncomfortable moment of eye contact
between the two of them before Harry quickly averted his gaze and cleared his
throat.
"Just like with any transfiguration spell, you must envision quite clearly what
you're trying to turn the object into," Harry said, turning to Minerva. "The
wand movement itself is actually very simple. All you need to do is tap the
beetle twice."
Harry released the beetle from the jar and quickly demonstrated before it could
scuttle off. He pointed his wand at the beetle, tapped it twice and spoke the
incantation. A white glow surrounded the beetle and when it dissipated, a shiny
black coat button was now laying on the table. Harry then turned the button
back into a beetle and looked to Minerva.
"Do you want to give it a go?"
The girl nodded and took out her own wand. She spoke the incantation clearly
enough, but Harry noticed that she'd hesitated a split-second too long in-
between the taps of her wand. This resulted in probably one of the funniest
transfiguration creations Harry had ever seen — a button with little legs,
antennae and pincers.
"Oh, yuck," Minerva said, making a face. "That didn't go too well, did it?"
"Honestly, that was really good for a first attempt," Harry said, stopping the
button-beetle before it could scuttle off the table. "Most people don't manage
to change it at all their first try."
Minerva brightened up at that. "Do you suppose I could try again?"
"Of course," Harry nodded. "Just let me change this back."
After returning the button-beetle to just a beetle, he set it at the center of
the table and sat back as Minerva attempted the spell once more. This time she
was much more successful — she managed to transform it into an almost perfect
button. The only flaw that Harry could see was that there were little antennae
poking out from the top.
"That was really close, Minerva!" Harry praised. "I think it'd taken me at
least four tries to even come that close to mastering that spell."
Minerva looked like she might've been blushing. "I suppose I have you to thank
for that."
"At this rate, you're going to be even better at this than I am," Harry said,
grinning. "You really should consider doing something with it."
"I suppose I'd like to," Minerva replied thoughtfully. "I have always really
enjoyed it. It's much more mentally stimulating than other subjects."
"I think you'd be brilliant at it." Harry smiled.
"Thanks." Minerva smiled back. "Anyway, let's keep going. I want to get it
perfect."
Harry nodded and returned the beetle to its proper form once more. They'd only
needed to try the spell about three more times before Minerva finally created a
perfectly round, antenna-less button. Harry clapped while Minerva beamed in
pride. She proceeded to transfigure the beetle several more times, making the
button just a little bit fancier each time. By the fifth transformation, Harry
was almost certain Minerva was able to make nicer looking buttons than he
could.
"See? I told you that you'd end up better than I am at this," Harry said,
laughing.
"Oh, be quiet," Minerva rolled her eyes, despite the fact that she was smiling
along with him. "You're still far more advanced than I am."
"Only because I'm older." Harry shook his head. "If we were the same age, I bet
anything you'd be kicking my arse in the subject."
"Well, you'll always be better than I am at Astronomy," Minerva said in
compromise. "Speaking of which, we really should work on — oh! Look! The
beetle's escaping!"
Harry looked in the direction she was pointing and, sure enough, saw the beetle
scurrying across the table. A few girls let out shrieks of disgust and quickly
moved their books out of the way before the beetle could crawl over them.
"Don't worry, I'll get it!" Harry said, jumping up from his seat.
He quickly chased the beetle down to the other end of the table. Harry ended up
nearly knocking a couple of students over as he practically dived onto the
table and cupped his hands over the beetle to trap it.
"Got it!" he announced triumphantly. "Pesky little —"
He was cut off when he was suddenly and quite aggressively shoved to the side.
"Erg, get away from me, queer!"
Taken completely off guard, Harry hadn't quite comprehended what'd happened at
first. He stumbled back and only after catching his footing did he turn to the
person who'd pushed him. It was Hector Wilkins, one of the Ravenclaw muggle-
borns who had a nasty habit of harassing him over his sexuality.
The scathing words rang in Harry's ears. Of course, he was used to people
saying things like that by now, but that didn't mean it was any less affecting.
Glancing around, Harry noticed a few nearby students were staring in his
direction now and to his horror, he saw that Richard was among them. While his
former friend wasn't snickering like some of the others were, he didn't look
very sympathetic towards Harry either.
Harry suddenly felt sick to his stomach.
"What did you just call him?"
Minerva had now joined them and was angrily glaring at Wilkins. Normally, a
teenage boy probably would've been embarrassed to have a twelve year old girl
stand up for him, but Minerva had quite a mean temper and the magical skill to
back it up. Harry personally wouldn't want to be on the receiving end of her
ire.
Wilkins looked at the small girl and just laughed. "Why don't you mind your
business, little girl?"
"It's my business when one of my friends is being treated badly," Minerva shot
back hotly.
"What're you going to do about it?" Wilkins mocked, obviously thinking a first
year couldn't do anything to him.
Minerva narrowed her eyes and before Harry could even blink, she had her wand
out and pointed at Wilkins. Harry was about to intervene before Minerva could
do anything stupid — she could get into a lot of trouble for attacking another
student — but he hadn't been fast enough. There was a flash of light followed
by a split-second of silence before Wilkins's eyes suddenly widened and he shot
up out of his seat.
"Ah! What did you do?!" he exclaimed, frantically trying to shake out his
robes.
That was when Harry noticed a couple of beetles scuttling out of Wilkins's
sleeves. It only took Harry a moment to figure out what Minerva had done: she'd
transformed the buttons on Wilkins's shirt into beetles and they were now
crawling all over him. Harry blinked in surprise (he couldn't deny that he was
impressed she'd managed to pull that off) and then burst into laughter. A few
students around them also started laughing as Wilkins flailed wildly in an
attempt to fling the beetles off of him.
Obviously humiliated and angry, Wilkins rounded on Minerva. "I'll get you for
that!" he shouted, taking his wand out and pointing it at her.
"Hey! Leave her alone!" Harry yelled, jumping in and pushing Wilkins away from
Minerva. "She's just a twelve year old girl!"
Wilkins stumbled back. At first, his expression was one of shock, but it
quickly transformed into red-cheeked anger.
"What did I say about touching me, you disgusting pervert?"
Something in Harry snapped at that. "JUST SHUT UP!"
The next thing he knew, he'd jumped on Wilkins in a blind rage. The other boy
yelled out as the two of them went tumbling to the ground. There were several
gasps and shouts coming from those around them — some were trying to get them
to stop while others were egging them on — but Harry could barely even hear
them over the loud pounding in his ears (it took him a moment to even
comprehend the sound as the furious beating of his own heart). He was fed up
with being called a queer; he was fed up with the humiliation and shame; he was
fed up with being treated like he wasn't even a person; he was fed up with it
all.
"Harry!"
"HARRY! STOP!"
The scuffle was only broken up when someone locked their arms around him and
forcibly pulled him off of Wilkins. And the only reason Harry hadn't leapt
right back onto Wilkins was because the person holding onto him was bigger than
he was.
"Harry! Calm down! It's alright…It's alright."
Harry finally recognized who it was that was holding him — he'd know his voice
anywhere. Septimus. Breathing heavily, Harry went completely still in his arms.
At some point, he noticed his glasses had been knocked off during the fray, and
for a moment he thought that was the reason his vision was so blurry…but then
he felt the warm slide of tears down his cheeks and he realized he was crying.
Embarrassed, he quickly scrubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands and tried
to compose himself before anyone noticed.
"Everything's alright now, Harry. Here…"
Feeling his glasses being slipped onto his face, Harry blinked a couple of
times as his vision cleared and looked around. The first thing he saw was a
crowd of people standing around him, staring at him. Minerva was there, wearing
an expression of concern and anxiousness. He sent her a reassuring smile (even
if it probably wasn't a very convincing one) and then finally turned to face
Septimus.
Warm, sympathetic brown eyes were staring down at him and, for a moment, it was
almost like the last two months had never even happened.
"Are you alright, Harry?" Septimus asked, setting his hands on Harry's
shoulders.
Harry just nodded his head. "I think so."
"BUT HE ATTACKED ME!" Wilkins shouted angrily.
Harry, who'd almost completely forgotten about Wilkins up until that point,
looked over to where Simon currently had the boy in a relentless hold.
"You'd do well to keep your mouth shut," Simon growled, gripping Wilkins's
robes tightly.
"This isn't fair!" Wilkins complained. "You all saw it! He attacked me first!"
Septimus rounded on him. "What I saw," he informed in a deceptively calm tone,
"was you not only calling Harry inappropriate and derogatory names, but also
threatening to harm another student — both of which are grounds for being sent
to the headmaster's office. So if you know what's best for you, you'll take
Simon's advice and shut up."
Septimus looked so intimidating and dangerous in that moment that even Wilkins
didn't dare to argue further. The Ravenclaw immediately snapped his mouth shut
and fell silent.
"Should we send him to the headmaster's office then?" Simon asked, still not
letting go of Wilkins.
Harry watched as Septimus contemplated his options. It was obvious that he was
in a predicament; he couldn't punish Wilkins without also punishing Harry.
While Wilkins hadcalled Harry names and threatened Minerva, Harry had still
been the one to instigate the fight by attacking Wilkins. They were both in the
wrong.
"Just let him go," Septimus finally said, albeit tersely. "However, consider
this a warning, Mr. Wilkins — don't let me catch you calling Harry anything
like that again or I won't be so lenient next time."
Wilkins nodded, though rather insincerely. After Simon reluctantly released
him, the Ravenclaw sent Harry a glare and then walked away. Now that the drama
had died down, the crowd began to disperse as well.
A moment or two of silence followed as Harry and Septimus stared at each other.
Harry wouldn't lie. He was nervous. He hadn't spoken to Septimus in nearly two
months and, save for a few glances in the common room and corridors, he'd
hardly seen him as well. What was he supposed to say?
Hey? How've you been?
How's life?
I'm sorry?
…Why did you take so long to come back?
"Harry."
Startled out of his thoughts, Harry turned to the source of the voice. Tom had
entered the hall, with Aver and Lestrange following closely behind. Harry
blinked in confusion, taking an instinctual step away from Septimus so Tom
could approach him. He didn't miss the way Septimus frowned at that.
"Tom?" Harry questioned.
"I was informed of what'd happened," Tom said, taking Harry's chin in hand.
"Are you alright?"
Harry glanced over to Avery and Lestrange and instantly knew who'd told Tom.
'Of course.'
"I'm alright," Harry responded. "It's no big deal."
"You've been crying," Tom observed, softly rubbing a thumb over Harry's cheek.
"It's nothing." Harry shook his head. "Really. Septimus and Simon took care of
it."
At that, Tom finally acknowledged the presence of Harry's friends. Harry could
tell that he was particularly interested in Septimus's involvement, because his
gaze seemed to linger on him the longest.
"Of course," he said, smiling politely. "I thank you for that, but you're no
longer needed here."
Septimus's eyebrows shot up in disbelief. "Oh? That's rich coming from that one
who wasn't here for Harry in the first place."
Tom's expression didn't even falter. "Are we referring to today? Or the last
two months? Because then I do believe we'd be talking about you, Septimus."
Septimus looked like he'd been slapped in the face at that. His cheeks turned
red — either from shame or anger, it was difficult to tell — and his hands
curled into fists at his sides. There was a brief moment in which Harry
actually wondered if Septimus would hit Tom.
Avery and Lestrange seemed to be thinking along the same lines. They subtly
moved in closer to Tom and had their wands out and ready at their sides. It
appeared as if they were taking the best possible position in case they had to
protect Tom from an attack.
Tom, on the other hand, seemed perfectly relaxed and unconcerned — as if he
really didn't see Septimus as a threat at all. Nonetheless, Harry didn't want
to take any chances and quickly stepped in between the two of them.
"Stop this," he said. "Just stop fighting."
Tom looked to him and smiled. "Yes, you must be tired after today's events.
Come, let's get you rested."
"No, Harry, wait," Septimus spoke up urgently. "Stay here. Let me explain
everything. It's not how he's making it sound."
"You've had plenty of opportunities to talk to him over the last two months,"
Tom stated simply, holding his hand out to Harry. "Harry. Come with me."
Harry glanced down at Tom's hand and then over to Septimus. The look his friend
was giving him was practically begging him not to leave. Harry was torn. He did
miss Septimus, he couldn't deny that but…maybe Tom was right. Maybe Septimus
could have tried to fix things with Harry a little sooner. In fact, the more he
thought about it, the more he realized that he was actually a little angry with
Septimus.
Harry had been in this tug-of-war situation more times than he could count. Now
Septimus was purposely putting him in another one, when he really didn't have
the right to. He'd disappeared for two months while Tom had been there the
entire time. How could Septimus ask Harry to just blatantly reject Tom after
that?
Harry couldn't do that.
He avoided meeting Septimus's eyes as he slipped his hand into Tom's. Even if
he was a little angry, that didn't mean he liked hurting his friends.
"Harry…" Septimus said, his tone pleading. "Don't you see what he's doing?"
"Sorry, Septimus," Harry said, giving him a small, apologetic smile. "We'll
talk later, okay?"
Before Septimus could do or say anything more, Tom tightly locked his hand
around Harry's and led him out of the hall. Avery and Lestrange followed
closely behind.
"Frederic, Reginald, go back to the common room and check in with Franklin and
Antonin," Tom instructed. "Make sure everything's ready for tonight. I'll be
spending the afternoon with Harry, but I will join you later in the evening."
Avery and Lestrange nodded and then disappeared down the corridor. Harry
furrowed his brows and looked up at Tom.
"What's happening tonight?" he asked curiously.
"Just a meeting," Tom answered, squeezing Harry's hand. "Nothing of
importance."
Harry nodded. He assumed he was talking about one of his Slug Club meetings, so
he didn't question it any further. He and Tom continued walking up to the
seventh floor where they entered the Room of Requirement. Tom led him over to
one of the settees and sat him down on it.
"Do you want to talk about what happened?" he asked softly, brushing some hair
out of Harry's face.
At first, Harry wanted to shake his head 'no' — but this time, he found he
couldn't. For once, he couldn't pretend that it didn't bother him. He'd been
keeping in how truly affected he was by things people had been saying for too
long. Disgusting. Filthy. Pervert. Queer.Wilkins seemed to have been the last
of what Harry could take. He felt a tight squeezing in his chest, as if
everything that'd been stuffed down inside was finally trying to burst out.
Before he had the chance to stop them, burning hot tears gathered in his eyes.
"Am I a pervert, Tom?" Harry asked in a barely audible whisper.
"What?" Tom was clearly confused. "What are you talking about, Harry? Why do
you ask that?"
Harry's cheeks burned in shame. "Just…something people have been saying to me."
"Who?" Tom kneeled in front of Harry. "What have they been saying?"
"Muggle-borns." Harry chewed at the inside of his cheek. "That night they
chased me…they asked me how many other boys I've 'bent over for' and today
Wilkins became disgusted just by my mere touch. They all think I'm just some
filthy pervert. And maybe I am, Tom."
Tom tilted Harry's chin up so he'd look him in the eyes. "Why didn't you tell
me about this before?"
"I didn't want to make it seem like a big deal," Harry said, fighting the urge
to avert his eyes. "And…I was ashamed."
And just like that, the tears started to flow freely. All of the guilt,
disgust, confusion and shame he'd been feeling towards himself came tumbling
out. Before he even fully realized it, he had his arms thrown around Tom and
his face pressed into his neck, his hot tears wetting Tom's immaculate robes.
He didn't care how pathetic and stupid he must look. He didn't care how
vulnerable and exposed this made him. He just wanted Tom to make it better.
Tom wrapped his arms around Harry and pulled him to the ground with him. He
held him in a tight embrace, shielding all of Harry's vulnerabilities from
view. There was something so affectionate yet very possessive about the way Tom
held him that it was somehow comforting. It felt safe and secure.
He wasn't sure how long they actually sat there on the floor like that — it
could have been minutes, it could have been hours — but Harry eventually felt
himself calm down and his tears started to slow.
"You shouldn't feel shame," Tom spoke softly, wiping tears from Harry's cheeks.
"Those people — those muggle-borns — they think differently from how we do. You
mustn't let them hold superiority over you."
"It's not their fault," Harry mumbled, feeling quite drained now. "It's the
world they grew up in. They could change some day, if given the chance."
"We grew up in the same world," Tom countered gently. "Yet, we turned out
differently from muggle-borns."
Harry frowned. "How are we different from muggle-borns?"
"Let's not talk about that any longer," Tom said, brushing his knuckles over
Harry's cheek. "You've had a trying day."
Harry was a little confused, but he didn't think he really had any reason to
try to push the subject. Tom had never expressed resentment or prejudice
towards muggle-borns before, so he couldn't imagine why he would now. He
figured he'd just been reading too much into Tom's words again.
"Come up off the floor and lie with me for a while," Tom said, giving his neck
a soft kiss.
Harry just nodded and allowed Tom to help him to his feet. They walked over to
the bed and crawled onto it together. Instead of lying down, however, they
remained kneeling and staring at each other — Harry with his awkwardness, and
Tom with his unwavering self-assurance.
This was usually the part where they started taking off their clothes. After
the first time, they'd started lying together nude more often. It felt more
intimate and it helped them become more comfortable with each other's bodies.
Harry decided to go first. He started taking off his robes, fumbling with the
garment for what felt like several minutes (he honestly wondered if he'd ever
be able to undress in front of Tom without looking like he didn't know what he
was doing). His blazer, tie, oxford, trousers, pants and shoes all came off
next, leaving him completely nude in front of a still fully dressed Tom.
Harry shifted slightly but didn't move to cover himself. With as often as
they'd been nude around each other, Harry had learned to be a little more
confident with himself (at least around Tom). However, he couldn't deny that he
currently felt rather vulnerable being naked while Tom was still clothed.
"Tom…" Harry mumbled, flushing.
Tom seemed to understand what Harry's discomfort and finally started to disrobe
as well. Soon, they were both kneeling on the bed completely bared before one
another. They wrapped their arms around each other and held their naked bodies
close.
The kiss started out slow. Tom was gently coaxing Harry's mouth open so he
could slip his tongue inside. Harry couldn't help but moan, his own tongue
sliding against Tom's. Somehow, Tom always managed to control the kiss
completely, guiding Harry's mouth in a perfect, fluid rhythm with his own.
Harry didn't mind — it always felt really good.
Tom combed his fingers through Harry's hair and tipped his head back for better
leverage over the kiss. Making a soft noise against Tom's mouth, Harry found
himself becoming increasingly more aroused the longer the kiss went on. He was
embarrassed to feel his cock hardening between their bellies. He couldn't
believe he was getting so turned on by just a kiss! But to his surprise, he
could also feel Tom's erection poking into his hip — he was just as aroused by
this as Harry was.
"I want you," Tom murmured against his mouth.
Harry felt something stir in his stomach at that. A combination of desire and
nervousness, maybe even a little bit of doubt. He still couldn't quite believe
that someone like Tom could ever want someone like him.
Curling his fingers into Tom's hair, Harry looked into his eyes. "I want you
too, Tom."
His words seemed to ignite something in Tom. Harry could see it in his eyes,
but even more powerfully, he could feel it. The desire, the possessiveness,the
need — it invaded him like a flood of hot water in his veins. It was almost
shocking to feel that connection again. It'd been a long time since Harry had
felt Tom's emotions in that way and he'd almost forgotten that it used to
happen all the time. He couldn't even pinpoint when it'd stopped happening and
he realized in that moment that he missed feeling Tom like that.
Overwhelmed with emotions that weren't just his, Harry boldly slammed his mouth
against Tom's. If he hadn't been so focused on trying to kiss Tom senseless, he
probably would have laughed at how surprised the other boy was by this. Tom
recovered quickly, though.
"Sit on my lap," Tom panted softly against Harry's mouth, pulling him closer.
'This is actually happening,' Harry thought in shock as he shakily situated
himself astride the other boy. To say he felt awkward would be an
understatement — Harry hadn't the slightest clue what he was doing. He couldn't
imagine Tom did either. They were both virgins and sex wasn't exactly a subject
Harry had advanced knowledge on. However, Tom looked quite confident and at
ease, so Harry could only assume he had at least some idea of how this worked.
"Do you want to touch me?" Tom spoke into Harry's ear.
At first, Harry had no idea what Tom meant by that; but then he felt Tom's hard
cock pressing against his thigh and it dawned on him. Nervously, he reached
between their bodies and wrapped his hand around Tom's erection.
Harry's and Tom's breath hitched at the same time.
It wasn't as if Harry had never touched an erect penis before — he was no
stranger to masturbation after all — but somehow there was something much more
fascinating about the way Tom's cock fit in his hand. It was thick and hot,
hard and pulsing in his grip like a beautiful heartbeat. Harry decided he'd
never felt anything more lovely.
Carefully, he pulled the foreskin back and circled his thumb over the glans a
couple of times. Hearing Tom inhale sharply, Harry looked up at him. The sight
that greeted him was breath-taking — flushed cheeks and dark eyes hazy with
pleasure.
Harry tightened his grip on Tom's cock and started pumping him slowly. His
movements lacked confidence but he tried to do everything he knew felt good.
Tom placed encouraging kisses on his neck, his breath hot and slightly uneven
against his skin.
"Sit up a little," he instructed, settling his hands on Harry's hips.
Harry had to let go of Tom's cock to do as he was told. Leaning against the
boy, he wrapped his arms around him and raised his hips up slightly. He could
feel Tom's hands rubbing against his back, trailing down towards his arse.
Harry's heart started to beat faster and for a moment, he was afraid. Just
knowing what he was about to do with Tom made him feel ashamed and perverted.
"How many times have you taken it up the arse?"
"How many boys do you bend over for?"
"Filthy queer!"
"Pervert!"
Harry closed his eyes in an attempt to mute those thoughts and rested his head
on Tom's shoulder. There was a slight pressure at his entrance before a slick,
oily finger started pushing its way inside of him. It was a little
uncomfortable but it didn't feel…bad. In fact, he was surprised to discover he
didn't feel perverted or disgusting at all — it was just Tom's finger inside of
him. That was all. He couldn't even remember why he'd been so ashamed and
afraid.
"How does that feel?" Tom asked softly.
"O-okay…" Harry shifted a bit. "Different."
"It'll feel better soon," Tom promised. "Give yourself time to adjust."
Harry just nodded. Even as Tom's finger started moving inside of him, Harry
didn't allow the earlier thoughts to return. He focused only on Tom: the smell
of his hair, the gentle rhythm of his breathing, the slick slide of his finger
inside of him. All of it was somehow grounding and comforting. It reminded
Harry why he loved this boy so much.
Tom wrapped his arm around Harry's waist and held him tightly as he worked in a
second finger. It hurt more now but it still didn't change anything. Harry knew
that Tom would never hurt him and that kept him from panicking. He just
breathed through the discomfort and hugged Tom to him the entire time. After a
while, the sharp burn started fading away as his hole loosened around the
intrusions.
"That's it, just relax," Tom whispered in his ear.
It still stung a little, but it was also starting to feel good. The rhythm of
Tom's fingers was slow and calm, stretching Harry carefully and thoroughly.
Harry soon found himself relaxed against Tom, panting into his neck and moaning
quietly.
"Tom…"
"Does that feel good?" Tom asked, pushing his fingers a little deeper.
"A-ah —y-yes," Harry's breath hitched.
Tom trailed kisses down Harry's neck. "You sound beautiful right now."
Harry was too focused on the wonderful sensations to feel embarrassed over
Tom's words. He tipped his to the side, allowing Tom to start kissing and
sucking at his neck more assertively (he just knew he was going to have marks
in the morning). The fingers in his arse were moving faster now but not so fast
that Harry couldn't handle it. Tom's erection was still trapped between their
bodies and Harry could feel it throbbing against his stomach. Reaching between
them, he grabbed Tom's cock and started stroking him again.
Tom was panting now. He rested his forehead against Harry's and looked directly
into his eyes. It was right then that Harry experienced it again — that intense
feeling of total belonging.As if he and Tom were completely connected. He could
tell that had Tom felt it too.
"Beautiful…lovely…" Tom said between kisses along Harry's face.
The fingers were slowly pulled from his arse and Harry's mouth was captured by
Tom's. Harry had always thought that he could spend eternity kissing Tom and
he'd be fine with it. He didn't even think the idea of kissing itself was that
great — it was just Tom. It was always Tom.
"Lie back now," Tom said, brushing Harry's hair back.
Harry settled back against the pillows and looked up at Tom. He couldn't stop
the slight blush when Tom spread his legs immodestly and gazed down at his
exposed body. Tom's hands were on his knobbly knees and Harry instinctively
tried to move away, but Tom just held him in place.
Harry closed his eyes, horrified that Tom could feel all of his imperfections
so clearly.
When he felt warm, soft lips against one of his knees, Harry's eyes flew open.
He looked up to see Tom was actually kissing his knee. Harry was shocked —
didn't Tom see how ugly they were?
Tom's kisses didn't stop there. Harry felt lips on his thighs, his hipbones,
his stomach, his balls, his cock, his chest — Tom had even sucked on his
fingers and toes (something Harry had to admit felt extremely erotic). By the
time Tom had finished kissing every inch of his body, Harry had forgotten all
about silly things like ugly knees.
"Lift your hips," Tom instructed.
Harry tilted his hips up off the bed and Tom proceeded to place a big, soft
pillow under them (telling Harry it would help him relax easier). After Harry
was properly situated, Tom grabbed his wand and procured some oil onto his
fingers. He rubbed some more onto Harry's arse and then applied a liberal
amount over his own cock.
Harry's heart was trying to pound its way out of his rib cage now. He let his
legs fall open so Tom could settle between them and his arms instantly latched
onto the other boy.
"Just hold on to me," Tom said, nuzzling under Harry's chin.
Tom just slowly rocked his hips against Harry at first. His lube-slicked cock
glided smoothly between Harry's arsecheeks before Tom carefully placed the tip
to his stretched hole and pushed.
When Tom breached him for the first time, it didn't really hurt as much as
Harry had expected it to. The head slipped past his rim relatively easily but
there was still an unfamiliar stretching feeling as Tom continued to push
inside of him. He could actually feel his anal muscles widening as they were
forced to accommodate Tom's girth. It was a little uncomfortable but Harry just
reminded himself to breathe through it.
Once Tom was entirely inside of him, all Harry could do was make a quiet, wide-
eyed "oh". It took him a few moments to fully comprehend the fact that Tom —
the boy he'd spent most of his life hating and vice versa — was inside of him.
If he had the ability to go back in time and tell his past-self this was going
to happen, he'd probably laugh in his own face.
Tom carefully lowered himself onto Harry and stroked his face. "Does it feel
alright?"
Harry nodded. It felt full…really full but it was a wonderful kind of fullness.
Tom's cock was throbbing deep inside of him and his soft balls were pressed up
against Harry's arse. He'd never felt the other boy so close before. It was all
strange and new but Harry found that he loved all of it.
The two shared a lazy kiss while Harry became accustomed to the feeling of Tom
inside of him. Their tongues rolled together languidly while Tom combed his
fingers through Harry's hair. When Harry felt a little more relaxed, he
experimentally rolled his hips against the other boy. This made Tom's breath
hitch and he ground his cock into Harry gently.
Harry wasn't prepared for how good that felt. Tom moving so deeply inside of
him made his toes twitch and, when Tom did it again, Harry actually moaned. He
started rolling his hips more eagerly as Tom continued to grind his cock into
him.
"You feel wonderful," Tom murmured, nuzzling behind Harry's ear.
The sound of Tom's deep voice made Harry shiver. "So do you."
Tom licked at the shell of Harry's ear and then raised himself up on his hands.
Slowly, he drew his hips back, the motion still really tight even with the
copious amounts of lubrication, before sinking back in to his balls. He did it
a few more times, each time pulling out a little farther as he carefully worked
Harry's arse open with his cock. Harry could feel his muscles starting to yield
to the intrusion, no longer clenching around Tom uncomfortably tight.
Raising his legs, Harry wrapped them around Tom's waist. The younger boy
started up a rhythm that was comfortable and easy. The sting from the initial
penetration had mostly faded away and Harry was just left with the wonderful
sensation of Tom moving inside of him. He discovered he quite enjoyed the
feeling of Tom's hips hitting his arse and that fullness that came with the
last couple inches of his cock pushing inside of him.
Harry brought Tom's face down for a kiss. The other boy was panting against his
mouth, puffing hot breath against Harry's lips. Harry wanted to preserve this
image of Tom forever — his flushed cheeks, his messy hair, his kiss-swollen
lips.
He wrapped his arms around Tom and pulled him down. This must have changed the
angle of Tom's thrusts, because it suddenly started feelingreally good. Harry's
entire body shuddered with sudden, intense pleasure. His limbs locked around
Tom so tightly that he was practically squeezing the boy to death. Tom groaned
softly in his ear and Harry realized it was because the muscles in his arse had
tightened up as well.
"Tom…like that…keep going."
Harry could barely speak. His words were coming out as broken moans and
breathless gasps. Tom seemed to understand what he wanted, though — he was
making harder and deeper thrusts against that spot in Harry's body. It felt so
good that Harry forgot to breathe.
Tom was mouthing at his neck, his breath hot and heavy against Harry's skin.
His cock kept punching into that place that felt good and Harry was unable to
do anything except lie there gasping for breath. His own cock was trapped
between their sweaty bodies and the friction from Tom's stomach rubbing against
it had Harry practically aching for release. He could feel the pressure
building up in his stomach and balls.
Tom reached between them, grabbed Harry's cock and started stroking him.
Harry's eyes widened and his back arched off the bed. It was too much. His legs
trembled as the pressure from earlier became unbearable. He wouldn't be able to
hold back any longer even if he wanted to. Harry's whole body tensed up and
held onto Tom helplessly as his orgasm hit him hard. He was coming into Tom's
hand and he could feel the other boy's hips stutter as Harry's arse squeezed
around him.
Harry was still trying to catch his breath as Tom continued to chase after his
own release. It was obvious he was still being careful not to hurt Harry —
whereas most boys probably would have lost control at this point, Tom was
holding himself back. He curled his arms around Harry's head and buried fingers
in his hair as he leaned their foreheads together. His hot breath shuddered
against Harry's mouth, their lips hovering so close they were nearly touching.
Harry didn't have the energy to kiss Tom, so he just stared up at the stunning
boy and cradled his body in his arms and legs.
There was another groan from Tom as he suddenly buried his swollen cock into
Harry to his balls. Harry could feel Tom throbbing inside of him and it
occurred to him that he was coming. He could feel a warm sensation spreading
inside of him and Harry moaned softly.
Tom's thighs quivered and he panted. His cock was still pulsing even as he
carefully lay over Harry. Harry just brushed his fingers through the boy's hair
(which he thought looked almost as wild as his own) and nuzzled his sweaty
neck.
Sex was really messy, Harry realized. As the euphoria died down, he became
aware of the sort of state his body was in— oil covering his arse, skin
drenched with sweat and Tom's saliva still lingering on his lips. That wasn't
to mention the other bodily fluids that started dripping out when Tom pulled
his softening cock out of him.
Harry's body throbbed with emptiness at the loss.
Tom kissed him on the forehead and then the lips. "Do you feel alright?"
"Just a little sore," Harry replied, noticing a slight ache in his arse.
"Do you want me to heal you?" Tom asked, reaching for his wand.
Harry stopped his hand and shook his head. "No, it's really not that bad. I'm
alright. Better than alright, in fact."
Tom regarded him for a moment but still picked up his wand. However, he simply
conjured a basin of water and several wash cloths. Tapping the basin with his
wand, he heated the water up, which was now steaming and smelled vaguely of
lavender. Tom used a charm to levitate the basin next to him and dipped on of
the cloths into it.
"What are you doing?" Harry asked, even though he already had an idea.
"Just lie there," Tom replied. "Lift your hips for me."
The other boy removed the now soiled pillow from beneath Harry's hips and
kneeled between his thighs. He grabbed one of Harry's legs from beneath the
knee and gently lifted it up. Even after literally having Tom inside of him,
Harry still couldn't hold back a blush.
Tom used the damp cloth to carefully start wiping the oil and semen away from
Harry's arse. The warm water felt especially nice on Harry's sore hole and he
noticed some of the pain start to ease. Tom took care to clean away all of the
oil that had dripped down Harry's thighs as well and then used a soft, clean
cloth to dry him afterwards.
The same process was repeated on the rest of Harry's body. Tom didn't seem in a
particular hurry to finish — he was thorough and made sure all of Harry was
paid attention to. It was quite relaxing and Harry thought he might've dozed
off at one point. By the time Tom had finished, Harry was entirely clean and
smelled vaguely of lavender.
Tom kissed him on the forehead and then moved to clean himself up next.
However, Harry sat up and stopped him. He took the cloth from Tom and kneeled
in front of him. Tom had been taking care of him the whole time, and now Harry
wanted to take care of him — even if it was just this one little thing.
He gently cleaned away the oil from Tom's hips and soft cock. In the same
manner as Tom had done, Harry took his time, wanting to make sure his beautiful
boy was well looked after. With another cloth, Harry also cleaned away the
sweat from Tom's handsome face.
The entire time, Tom stared at him. The emotions there were similar to last
time — there was the same possessiveness, desire and even affection — but there
was also something else. Something much more powerful than all of those things
combined.
It made his heart beat wildly against his chest.
After they were both cleaned, Tom used his wand to change the bed linens into
fresh ones. They slid beneath the duvet and tangled their naked bodies
together.
As they lay together, Harry listened to the rapid beating of Tom's heart and
wondered if he was feeling how much Harry loved him, too.
                                     xxxxx
"Is Harry still angry with you, then?"
Tom turned to Frederic. He was sitting at breakfast with only ten minutes left
before the start of lessons. As usual, he had waited outside the hall for
Harry, but when it had become quite clear the boy was not going to show, he had
simply gone in without him. Tom was a bit irritated — Harry had not come back
to the room the previous night, either — but he would deal with that later.
"It would seem so," he replied, taking a drink from his tea.
"What are you going to do about it?" Reginald asked. "You've been far too
lenient with—"
"I will handle it," Tom spoke with finality. "That is all you need to know."
The other boys fell silent. They stood from the table and headed to their first
lesson: double potions with the Gryffindors. Tom would have the opportunity to
speak with Harry there. He knew the boy had a temper, but Tom was confident he
could set things right. He did not spot Harry when he walked into the classroom
at first, but Tom didn't think anything of it, assuming him to be tardy.
Tom sat down and watched the students trickle in. As the last of them took
their seats, Harry still had not arrived. A strange feeling settled in his
stomach — Harry couldn't possibly be so angry with him that he'd skip lessons.
"Professor," Tom interrupted Slughorn's lecture. "Do you know if Harry is ill
today?"
Slughorn faltered, clearly taken aback by Tom's unusual abruptness. "I do not
know, Tom. It would certainly seem so," he said, slightly bewildered. "Now, as
I was saying, Amortentia is a love potion, a very powerful one at that.
However, one must take into consideration that it does not actually —"
Tom tuned the professor out. He was already thinking over all the possible
reasons why Harry wouldn't be in lessons. The most likely being that he was
ill. The second most likely being that he had slept in (the boy could be rather
irresponsible, after all). He supposed another likely scenario could be that
Harry reallywasthat angry with Tom.
He decided he would wait to see if the boy showed up to later lessons before
concerning himself with it.
Professor Slughorn showed them an example of a perfectly brewed Amortentia
potion. It'd smelled like chocolate cake, cinnamon, old books and fresh
summertime dew.
Tom didn't have another lesson with the Gryffindors until mid-afternoon. He
hadn't seen Harry at lunch, and when he arrived to Charms only to find Harry
wasn't there, either, Tom became concerned.
At the end of the lesson, Tom told the others to wait for him in the common
room and then approached one of Harry's Gryffindor friends — Simon. Tom didn't
particularly like Simon, especially after the 'events' of the previous year,
but he was the only one of Harry's friends Tom didn't consider a complete
imbecile.
Simon's expression turned into one of confusion when he saw Tom. "Yes?"
"Have you seen Harry this morning?" Tom questioned, keeping his tone as
pleasant as possible. "Was he in the dorms when you woke up?"
Simon arched a brow at that. "No, I thought he was with you last night."
A very uneasy feeling settled over Tom at that answer. He instantly knew
something wasn't right.
"Could you check Gryffindor Tower again?" Tom asked, knowing Simon would do him
this favor since it involved Harry. "I will stop by the infirmary to see if
he's there."
"Of course," Simon replied, looking worried now. "Do you think he's alright?"
"We will see," Tom said, giving away any emotion. "Please let me know whether
or not you find Harry."
They parted ways: Simon to Gryffindor Tower and Tom to the infirmary. When he
arrived, he found all of the beds empty. He questioned Madam Peppercorn but she
had not seen Harry as a patient for nearly a month ("It's a miracle, I tell
you! That boy is usually in here at least once a week with some ridiculous
Quidditch injury!"). Tom thanked her and exited the hospital wing.
He wasn't going to panic yet. There were still plenty of places Harry could be.
He checked kitchens first, knowing Harry sneaked down there often, and then the
library. When he didn't find him at either of those locations, he made his way
to the seventh floor to check the Room of Requirement. Only, the room looked
like it hadn't been touched all day.
Now Tom was becoming frantic.
'There's still the Astronomy Tower!'
Heart skipping a beat, Tom ran out of the room. Of course Harry would be there.
It was his favorite place in the entire castle. When he reached the entrance to
the tower, he practically sprinted up the spiral staircase. He was gasping for
breath by the time he reached the top.
There was no one there.
Disappointment hit Tom like a brick. He'd truly believed he'd find Harry
standing there, staring up at the sky like always.
A gust of cold wind snapped Tom out of it — he realized he still needed to
search for Harry. His heart was beating fast as he raced back down the
staircase. It was on his way to the dungeons that he ran into Simon.
"Tom!" Simon shouted, hurrying over to him. "I've been looking all over for
you!"
Tom approached the boy urgently. "Have you found Harry?"
"No," Simon shook his head. "I asked the others as well. No one's seen him
tod—"
Tom didn't wait for him to finish. He just took off running again. When he
reached the Slytherin common room, he was pleased to see that his Knights were
already there as instructed. They stood to their feet when he entered,
immediately aware of his distressed state.
"What's going on, Tom?" Frederic was the first to speak.
"Harry's missing," Tom informed promptly. "I want all of you to start a search
for him immediately."
"Missing?" Franklin repeated, clearly not understanding. "What do you mean
'missing'?"
"How can a student go missing in a school?" Reginald added incredulously.
"Do you think I have not covered all other possibilities before coming to such
a conclusion?" Tom snapped, fingers twitching with the urge to curse the
insipid morons. "I want you to search all of the floors, including bathrooms
and empty classrooms. You'll also do a search of the grounds and the Quidditch
pitch. Get others to help you if you need it. Be as inconspicuous as possible —
do not let the teachers know of the situation until we are absolutely certain
Harry is nowhere on the school premises."
His Knights nodded and quickly departed. Once alone, Tom took a deep breath and
closed his eyes. As a last resort, he tried opening his connection with Harry.
He was desperate and it was the only other thing he could of doing to find him.
To his surprise, however, he was met with a wall.
He was left completely baffled by this. It was as if there was some kind of
heavy veil blocking him from reaching Harry.
Tom was furious. He wanted to destroy something. Nonetheless, he knew that a
temper tantrum would achieve nothing. He simply took a seat in one of the
chairs and waited for the others to return.
The search took a few hours. When his Knights walked into the common room, Tom
instantly knew what they were going to tell him. The looks on their faces said
it all.
He still wanted to hear it from them.
"Well?" he prompted.
They spared glances among one another, as if trying to decide who would bear
the bad news. It was the ever-loyal Frederic who stepped forward.
"He was nowhere to be found, Tom," he informed. "We looked everywhere. We even
asked the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs. No one's seen him."
Tom was on his feet and out the door before his Knights could even blink. He
sprinted the entire way to the headmaster's tower. He didn't even remember
saying the password to the Gargoyle; he just jumped onto the moving staircase
and then burst through the door to the office without even knocking.
"Headmaster, this is an emergency!"
Several portraits snorted awake. His outburst caused an immediate commotion
among their occupants as they craned their necks to see what was going on.
Headmaster Dippet stood from his desk, confused and alarmed.
"Mr. Riddle. What do you mean there's an emergency?"
Tom thought his heart was going to break his ribs it was beating so hard.
"It's Harry. He's missing."
Harry's eyes snapped open. His heart was racing and for a moment he couldn't
remember where he was. The dream had been so vivid and real-feeling that it
took him a moment to realize that he wasn't still in it. He lay on his back,
staring up at the ceiling as he tried to catch his breath. The darkness was
disorienting, making his thoughts swirl and clutter.
'I've never had a dream about Tom like that before…'
Harry suddenly sat up. Even though it'd just been a dream, he couldn't shake
the bad feeling it'd left and he wanted to make sure Tom was alright. However,
he was surprised to find Tom was no longer lying beside him. Snatching up his
wand, Harry illuminated the tip and looked around the room. It was quiet and
the only movement came from the shadows made by the light from his wand. He was
completely alone.
'I wonder where Tom is…' he thought with a frown.
The fact that he'd woken up from such a distressing dream, only to find Tom
gone, was worrying. He tried to reassure himself that there was nothing to
worry about, but he didn't completely believe that. There'd been a few
instances where events from past dreams had come true in real life. They were
only small things — such as the peppermints and the chocolate cake — that could
easily be chocked off as Harry subconsciously making them happen, but it was
still sort of eerie.
He momentarily entertained the idea of searching for Tom but he didn't
particularly fancy the thought of wandering around past curfew with a sore
arse. Not to mention Tom wouldn't like it (even if that'd never stopped Harry
before).
Lying back down, Harry dimmed the glow from his wand and stared it for a while.
He'd never liked total darkness. It reminded him of being in small spaces:
suffocating, disorienting, confining. That was another reason he liked the
stars — they poked holes through the darkness.
Rolling over, Harry placed his illuminated wand on Tom's side of the bed and
sighed. He fell back into an uneasy sleep, waiting for Tom.
When he woke up again a little while later, he saw that Tom had returned and
now was asleep next to him. Harry's wand had been moved to the bedside table
next to him, still glowing softly in the darkness. Quietly, Harry grabbed it
and put out the light.
He didn't need it when Tom was there.
Chapter End Notes
     Woo, boy. A lot going on in this chapter. It was over 9,000 words. I
     worked really hard on it, though. Especially the sex scene, because I
     wanted it to be very detailed, but I also wanted it to maintain a
     certain tone. Trust me when I say my process for writing it was:
     write a paragraph, delete paragraph, have existential crisis, rewrite
     paragraph and then repeat for each paragraph at least five times.
     Like fuck (I feel bad for sfk, I complained to her about it the whole
     time, I think). I was actually debating if I wanted it to be detailed
     or not but I decided I didn't want to go half-way with it. Anyway,
     hope you guys enjoyed this chapter. I'd appreciate some
     encouragement. I've been really lagging lately.
***** Chapter 27 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Harry woke up to the feeling of lips on his face.
"Tomstoppit," he groaned sleepily.
His words were left unheeded. Before Harry could truly comprehend what'd
happened, he was suddenly rolled onto his back and his mouth was sealed by
another. Without breaking the kiss, Tom grabbed his thighs and lifted them
around his waist. Harry just tightened his legs and drew the other boy in
closer to him.
Their bodies fitted together perfectly. Tom's hips were pressed snugly against
his arse and Harry moaned quietly. Even though Tom's cock was soft, Harry still
loved the feeling of it.
"Good morning," Tom murmured against his lips.
Harry opened his eyes and stared up at Tom. "Morning."
The early morning sunlight streamed through the windows, accentuating Tom's
face. Harry would have never thought Tom to be one complemented by sunlight —
he belonged with the darkness and the stars — but in that moment, he looked
like he could illuminate the world.
"Say you'll always be mine," Tom demanded quietly of him.
Harry paused. At first, he couldn't figure out why those words sounded so
strange to him. But then it struck him — he'd heard them before. Suddenly the
sunlight, the soft sheets, Tom lying there with him…this had happened before.
'Always, Tom. I'll always be yours.'
At first, Harry hadn't realized he'd echoed the words aloud, but then Tom
started whispering praises — "Beautiful", "mine", "forever" — as he kissed
along Harry's chest and stomach. When he felt Tom's lips trail down to his
inner thighs, Harry started squirming. It was so sensitive there!
Tom bit down softly.
Harry's eyes widened. "Tom!"
Tom just ignored him and lifted Harry's thighs, sucking on that spot. All of
the muscles in Harry's legs quivered and tensed up — it felt even better than
when Tom did this to his neck. Harry's toes curled and he made strange little
noises every time Tom bit into his skin. It was never so hard that it hurt, but
it was just hard it enough that it somehow always felt really good.
After making several marks, Tom kissed at each one and then tickled his fingers
up Harry's thighs.
"Ah! Tom! — no!—stop!" Harry exclaimed, his legs flailing. "That really
tickles!"
Tom caught Harry's foot before it could kick him and gave it a soft kiss. Harry
was watching him, slightly suspicious; but Tom didn't resume his tickling. He
just rested Harry's legs over his shoulders and pulled his hips into his lap.
The position was very intimate (Harry could feel Tom's half-hard cock pressed
against his arse) but it was somehow not sexual in the slightest. It was
comfortable and close.
Tom slowly rubbed his hands up and down Harry's legs. The touch was gentle but
it was also heavy and warm. It made Harry forget that he was naked — with Tom,
he was never truly naked. Harry didn't even try to move away when Tom's hands
came to his knees. He still hated his knees — still thought they were too bony,
too oddly shaped — but somehow, he trusted Tom with that.
Reaching out, Harry grabbed Tom's hands and locked their fingers together. He
gave the other boy a tug, legs falling off Tom's shoulders as he pulled him
down. The action had taken Tom slightly by surprise but he smiled and kissed
Harry. First on the lips and then on the forehead.
Tom then rolled them so they were lying on their sides, facing each other.
Harry knew that he could spend the entire day exactly like this — just gazing
at Tom's beautiful face.
But something else still weighed on his mind.
"Tom?" Harry broke the silence.
"Hm?" was Tom's response.
"Can I ask you something?"
"What is it?" Tom brushed some hair from Harry's face.
Harry paused, knowing his question would sound quite strange.
"Do you ever refer to your friends as 'Knights'?"
Tom blinked at him, his expression perfectly confused. "No, of course not.
Where did you get such an idea, Harry?"
"Nowhere," Harry replied, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter."
He hated lying to Tom, but his gut instinct told him not to say anything — at
least for the time being. It was relieving that Tom hadn't known anything about
the so-called 'Knights', allowing a small possibility Harry was merely being
paranoid, but it was still alarming that Tom had spoken wordsidentical to his
dream. There was no possible way Harry could have subconsciously made that
happen.
Tom obviously wasn't happy with Harry's answer. "Harry, are you keeping things
from me again?" he asked, sitting up.
Harry raised a brow and sat up as well. "Are you? Where did you go last night,
Tom?"
Tom looked taken aback, as if he hadn't expected Harry to respond in such a
way.
"As I'd told you, I had a meeting to attend," he explained calmly. "I wouldn't
have left you otherwise."
"But why were you gone for so long?" Harry pressed for more information. "The
meeting couldn't have lasted longer than a couple of hours."
"I had prefect duties afterwards," Tom replied, laying his hand on Harry's
cheek. "Surely, you didn't think I would be doing anything else?"
Upon realizing how suspicious and accusatory he sounded, Harry immediately fell
silent in embarrassment.
"No, of course not," he said apologetically. "It was just strange waking up to
you gone. I was worried."
"I hadn't meant to be gone so long." Tom nuzzled into Harry's cheek. "I had
missed you."
Harry sighed and leaned in closer. "I had missed you, too."
They wrapped their arms around each other. Harry laid his head on Tom's
shoulder and he felt Tom do the same to him. Sitting with Tom like that was
relaxing and Harry nearly drifted back off to sleep, but Tom wouldn't allow it.
He gently rubbed Harry's back to rouse him.
"We need to get ready for lessons soon, Harry."
"Do we have to?" Harry mumbled. "I just want to stay like this all day."
Tom stroked the back of Harry's hair. "We may spend the entireevening like
this, if you'd like."
Harry thought about it. It wasn'texactly what he'd wanted but it was better
than nothing, he supposed.
"Promise?"
"I promise," Tom smiled, kissing Harry's face. "Now get dressed."
Reluctantly, Harry untangled himself from Tom and stood from the bed. He
noticed there were fresh marks peppering his thighs and there were probably
just as many on his neck. 'I need to remember to wear a scarf this time,'he
thought as he grabbed his trousers. The ache in his arse was slightly worse
than it had been the night before. It wasn't so horrible that he was going to
ask Tom to heal him, but it did make general movement a bit uncomfortable.
"You'll be sore for a day or so," Tom said, watching Harry. "Are you certain
you don't want me to heal you?"
Harry shook his head as he buttoned his trousers. "No, it's not necessary.
Really."
If he was perfectly honest, he rather liked the feeling. It reminded him of how
it'd felt to be with Tom in such an intimate way.
The two of them finished dressing. Tom gave Harry his scarf to wear (Harry had
a feeling Tom liked seeing him wearing Slytherin colors) and they exited the
room together. As they made their way down to the Great Hall, Harry noticed the
corridors were buzzing with gossip:
"Yes, last night, that's right."
"Found in the bathroom…"
"…Completely petrified…"
Harry's heart skipped a beat at that last part. 'Completely petrified?'That
sounded exactly like what'd happened to Jill Robertson.
"What do you think happened, Tom?" Harry asked, a bad feeling settling in his
stomach.
"I wouldn't know." Tom appeared just as confused as Harry. "Perhaps we should
ask someone."
Harry nodded, letting go of Tom's hand and walking up to a group of Hufflepuffs
standing outside the Great Hall.
"Excuse me," Harry said, catching their attention. "Could you tell me what's
happening?"
One of the Hufflepuffs turned to him. "Didn't you hear?"
"Hear about what?" Harry asked, furrowing his brows.
"Jackson Hunter was found petrified in the boy's bathroom this morning," the
girl informed him. "He's been taken to the hospital wing."
"What?" Harry's eyes went wide in horror. "You mean like what happened to
Jill?"
The girl nodded. "That's what they're saying," she said grimly. "The teachers
are really worried. They don't know who's behind the attacks."
Harry was in shock. His stomach practically churned with that information —
that made two students who'd been attacked in the same exact way. Even though
Hunter had been horrible to Harry, that didn't mean he deserved something like
that to happen to him.
"That's not all," the girl continued. "All of school's chickens and roosters
had been slaughtered last night."
"Why would someone kill the chickens and roosters?" Harry asked, bewildered.
"No one knows." The girl shook her head. "It's really quite eerie."
'Eerie' was an understatement. Harry thanked the girl and walked back over to
Tom, still trying to process everything he'd been told.
"Another student's been attacked," Harry said, swallowing a lump in his throat.
"I don't understand who would do such a thing."
"Neither do I. Perhaps we will learn more about it later," Tom said, taking
Harry's hand. "Come, let's go inside."
"Harry! Wait a minute!"
At the voice, Harry turned to see Septimus approaching him. His immediate
reaction was dread — he wasn't ready to face what'd happened the day before.
"Septimus, I can't talk right—"
"Headmaster Dippet wishes to speak with you," Septimus cut him off. "I was
instructed to bring you straight to him."
Harry blinked in confusion. "Why? Am I in trouble?"
"The headmaster will inform you of everything," Septimus said tersely. "Come
with me."
It was obvious that the older boy was doing his best to completely ignore Tom's
presence. His jaw was firmly set and his gaze was fixated solely on Harry. The
tension in the air was so thick that Harry could actually feel it. It was more
than a little uncomfortable.
Harry kept a firm hold on Tom's hand as he started to follow after Septimus,
but Septimus stopped them.
"Just Harry. Headmaster's orders."
"Tom can't come?" Harry said, stomach sinking.
"No, he cannot," Septimus replied, turning away. "Come, Harry. The headmaster
is waiting."
Tom squeezed Harry's hand reassuringly. "I'll see you in lessons."
Harry was a little nervous at the prospect of not having Tom with him. The last
time Harry had been sent to the headmaster's office, Tom had been the only
reason he'd gotten out of trouble. He didn't know what would happen without him
there.
The walk with Septimus up to the headmaster's office was quite awkward. Harry
honestly couldn't tell if Septimus was angry at him or the situation in
general. Either way, Septimus wouldn't even look at him.
"I didn't mean for things to end up like this, Septimus," Harry said, desperate
to rectify this.
"I know you didn't," Septimus responded stiffly, "but hedid."
Harry's jaw clenched. "What do you mean by that?"
"You know Tom has been trying to separate us since we first became friends."
Septimus finally turned to him. Harry didn't miss the way his gaze lingered on
the Slytherin scarf around his neck. "Or have you conveniently forgotten that?"
"He wouldn't do that now," Harry said, voice rising slightly. "You're the one
trying to get in between me and Tom!"
"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" Septimus exclaimed in exasperation. "Are you really so
deluded? Has he messed with your head that much?"
"What is your problem, Septimus?" Harry stopped dead in the corridor. "Why are
you doing this? I really tried to understand your side of things but I honestly
can't anymore. You should've seen by now that Tom treats me with nothing but
respect. I know he was awful to you, but are you really willing to sabotage my
relationship over a grudge?"
Septimus stared at him in pure shock. "Is that what you really think is
happening?"
"What else could it be?" Harry crossed his arms. "Why did you disappear for so
long, Septimus?"
"Because I'm scared for you," Septimus shot back. "Because I hate seeing my
best friend get manipulated and deceived. What was I supposed to do? Just stand
at your side as the happy best friend and pretend I didn't see that you're in
an abusive relationship?"
"Stop accusing Tom of abusing me! Why do you keep saying that?" Harry yelled,
trembling with rage. "He's never laid a hand on me!"
"He doesn't have to." Septimus stepped closer to Harry. "He knows exactly how
to get you to do what he wants without lifting a finger against you."
"Shut up,Septimus." Harry's fists were shaking at his sides now. "You're
wrong."
"The most ridiculous thing about all of this is you knowthis," Septimus
continued, ignoring Harry. "You damn well know it, Harry! You used to tell me
about it all the time — how he manipulates and controls everyone around him
with his lies and deceit — yet you've completely blinded yourself to the fact
that he's doing the same thing to you."
"Stop it," Harry said hoarsely, his heart pounding loudly in his ears. "You
don't know what you're talking about. Tom would never do that to me."
"Just admit it, Harry," Septimus pressed on. "Quit playing dumb and open your
eyes. He's a no-good, lying, deceitful—"
"I SAID STOP IT!"
Harry roughly grabbed Septimus by the front of his robes and shoved him up
against the wall as hard as he could. Ringing silence filled the next several
moments. Harry was breathing heavily as he and Septimus stared at each other.
Anger melted away into a mixture of shock and disbelief. It was as if their
friendship had deteriorated right before their eyes in that one split-second.
Slowly, Harry backed away and ran down the corridor. He didn't stop even when
he heard Septimus calling after him. His first instinct was to go to Tom — Tom
could fix this, make this somehow better — but then he remembered he was
supposed to see the headmaster. Harry stopped running and slammed his hand
against a wall in frustration.
"God damn it!"
The last thing he wanted to do was talk to the headmaster. Not after what'd
just happened. Not when he was so angry and upset. Regardless, he forced
himself to walk the rest of the way to the headmaster's office on his own. When
he came to the statue of the gargoyle, he was faced with a new predicament — he
didn't know the password.
'How do I get this stupid thing to open?' he thought in frustration.
Almost as if reading his thoughts, the gargoyle suddenly sprang open. Harry
jumped back in surprise when Dumbledore unexpectedly came into view.
"Harry, there you are," he greeted jovially. "And what a lovely scarf you're
wearing as well!"
Harry flushed slightly. He'd almost forgotten he had on Tom's obviously
Slytherin scarf. "Thank you, sir."
"Ah, but where is Mr. Weasley?" Dumbledore inquired.
Harry averted his eyes. "Something…came up."
"I see," Dumbledore said, as if he understood exactly what Harry meant by that.
"Well, if you'll just follow me. Headmaster Dippet is waiting for you."
Harry followed Dumbledore up to the headmaster's office. It was just the same
as last time, with its many portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses
fast asleep in their chairs. Sometimes, Harry wondered if portraits actually
needed to sleep — or if they could actually sleep at all.
"Mr. Whitley," Headmaster Dippet spoke from behind his desk. "Please have a
seat. Where is Mr. Weasley? I thought I'd sent him to fetch you."
Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Mr. Weasley had to run off to take care of some
other business."
"Of course, of course." Dippet nodded in understanding. "He's a busy lad. Now,
Mr. Whitley, I'm certain you've already figured out why I've called you here
this morning."
"Err…" Harry glanced between Dumbledore and Dippet. "Is this about the
attacks?"
"I'm afraid so, my boy," Dippet said gravely. "We can't ignore the concerning
similarities between the attacks on Mr. Hunter and that of Miss Robertson—"
"I had nothing to do with what happened to Jill!" Harry interrupted
defensively. "I already told you, I'd just found her like that!"
Dippet held his hand up to silence Harry. "Yes, I remember what you told us,"
he said. "However, surely you understand why we must question you regarding
these new events."
Harry was sorely tempted to say that, no, he didn't understand at all but he
bit his tongue. It wasn't exactly the best time to get smart with his
professors.
"You think I had something to do with what happened to Hunter?" Harry stated
more than questioned. It was quite obvious that was exactly what they thought.
"Not necessarily," Dumbledore supplied calmly. "It is just very important we
get all of the details, Harry. At the moment, you're the only person who's been
present with a victim at the time they were found."
"I don't really have anything to tell you, honestly," Harry said, trying to
keep himself calm. "I had nothing to do with it."
"What was your relationship with Mr. Hunter?" Headmaster Dippet inquired. "Did
you two ever have any problems? I know disciplinary action has been taken with
Mr. Hunter in the past for instances of bullying."
Harry's mouth dropped open. "I—uh—n-no—" he stuttered and then paused, glancing
over to Dumbledore. The man was giving him a rather piercing stare that made
Harry uncomfortable. He could feel himself getting hot under the pressure. "I
mean—yes, okay—Hunter has given me issues in the past over my…my
um…preferences. But it was taken care of! He hasn't bothered me in a while! I
would never hurt him over something like that, anyway!"
"I see." Dippet leaned forward. "When you say it was 'taken care of' what do
you mean by that?"
"Tom…he found out about the bullying and he gave them detention," Harry
explained, hoping the answer would satisfy the headmaster.
"Just detention?" Dippet repeated curiously. "Why such a light punishment?
Proper protocol would have been to send Mr. Hunter to myself or his head of
house."
"I don't know," Harry replied, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers. "It
wasn't like he'd beaten me up or anything."
'Even though he'd tried,' he added in his thoughts. But the professors didn't
need to know that detail.
"I'll certainly have to speak with Mr. Riddle about that," Headmaster Dippet
said, sitting back in his chair. "What about the voice you claimed to have
heard the night of Miss Robertson's attack? Have you heard it since?"
Harry blinked. "Oh, that—" He paused, furrowing his brows in thought. "I
haven't, actually."
He'd almost completely forgotten about the voice until that moment. 
"Interesting," Dippet said, folding his fingers together. "One more question,
Mr. Whitley, and then you may leave — you were in the Gryffindor Tower the
entire night last night, is that correct?"
"Yes, of course," Harry blurted out, perhaps a bit too hastily. It was a lie,
of course — he couldn't very well tell the professors where he'd actually been.
There was a long moment where Dippet just regarded him and Harry felt himself
start to panic. 'This is it. He knows I'm lying. Oh god, I'll be expelled and
sent to Azkaban for attempted murder.' He practically held his breath waiting
for the verdict. 
"Well, there seems to be nothing more to discuss here," Dumbledore broke the
silence cheerfully. "Perhaps we should let Harry run off to lessons now,
Headmaster. We don't want him to be tardy."
Harry looked up. Somehow, he had the impression that Dumbledore knewhe'd lied.
He just couldn't figure out why Dumbledore would help him cover up that fact.
"Right, of course," Dippet sighed and stood up. "I suppose that is all for now,
Mr. Whitley. You may leave."
"Thank you, sirs," Harry said, relief flooding him as he practically leaped out
of his seat.
He wasted no time in leaving the office. Just as he was stepping off the moving
staircase, he was surprised to find Simon standing there.
"Simon?" Harry blinked in confusion. "What are you doing here?"
"Septimus told me what'd happened," Simon replied somewhat sheepishly. "I
wanted to see if you were alright."
Harry felt his mood darken instantly. "Oh. Right."
"Do you…want to talk about it?" Simon asked in concern.
Sighing, Harry started walking. "I don't think Septimus and I can be friends
anymore."
Simon looked surprised at his words. "What? Certainly you don't mean that,
Harry. Septimus is your best mate!"
"It's not as if I want things to be like this." Harry frowned. "Septimus
doesn't understand my relationship with Tom. It's causing too much friction."
"You know Septimus isn't the type to hold grudges, don't you?" Simon said.
"He's not doing this only out of hatred for Tom. I think he's really just
worried about you."
"I'd thought so at first as well," Harry said, shaking his head, "but now I'm
not so certain. It's been long enough for him to see that Tom isn't hurting
me."
"Harry…" Simon glanced at him hesitantly. "Listen, I don't agree with
everything Septimus is saying…but he does have some fair points…"
"What do you mean by that?" Harry rounded on him. "Will you tell me how
horrible Tom is for me as well?"
Simon held his hands up. "No, of course not," he said hurriedly. "It just seems
that…ever since you started your relationship with him…you haven't been around
as much. Walter and Eugene have been asking about you. They feel as if they
never see you outside of classes anymore."
"That's ridiculous!" Harry snapped in agitation. "I spend plenty of time with
all of you! Besides, it's natural that I'd be with Tom more often — he's
myboyfriend. Furthermore, I'd really appreciate it if all of you would stop
accusing Tom of abusing me or manipulating me or whatever it is you're trying
to say. I think I'd know it if that was happening, alright?"
"Okay, Harry, okay," Simon conceded anxiously. "I didn't mean anything by it.
I'm sorry."
Harry took a couple of deep breaths to slow the furious beating of his heart.
Simon remained silent, obviously not daring to say anything more on the
subject. As they walked, Harry reached into his robes and pulled out the pouch
of peppermints Tom had bought him for Christmas. He had developed somewhat of a
habit of eating one whenever he became stressed or upset — somehow, the
peppery, sweet taste always managed to calm him down.
"Our next lesson doesn't start for another half-hour," Simon said after a
while. "What do you want to do until then?"
Harry thought over the question. He was about to suggest they head to the
common room when another idea suddenly occurred to him—
"Do you know how to get to the Divination classroom, Simon?"
"Uh, yes, of course," Simon replied, looking slightly perplexed. "Why?"
"Will you take me there?" Harry turned to him. "I want to speak with Professor
Dark."
Simon was still obviously confused but he nodded. "Alright. This way."
They started making their way to the North Tower. Harry had never been to the
Divination classroom before, as he had no interest in taking the subject.
Professor Nira claimed it to be 'silly' and a 'waste of time' to attempt to
read the future in the stars ("Wizards should study the stars for useful
things, not to predict whether or not they're going to stub their toe that
day!").
After climbing a seemingly never ending spiral staircase, they reached a
landing where the door to the Divination classroom was located. Fortunately for
them, a class was ending just as they'd arrived. The students were filing down
a silver ladder that led up to the classroom and, as soon as the last had
descended, Harry and Simon quickly climbed up.
The classroom was different from any other classroom Harry had ever seen. The
first thing he noticed was howdark it was in there — there were heavy drapes
covering the windows and the only light came from the dozens of lit candles
situated around the room. Traditional desks were replaced by small, circular
tables that had squashy pillows instead of chairs to sit on. The shelves were
filled with various items, ranging from dusty old books to tarot cards and
crystal balls. What caught Harry's attention the most, however, were the
Astrology charts hanging on the walls. He didn't know a thing about astrology —
it didn't have anything in common with Astronomy except for the Zodiac — but he
found anything to do with the stars at least somewhat fascinating.
"I had foreseen I would have some new visitors today."
Both Simon and Harry turned at the voice. Professor Dark was an eccentric
looking man — he was very tall and thin, with greying-black hair and bright
golden eyes. He was dressed in dark blue robes that shimmered when he moved and
there was a purple crystal hanging around his neck. He also wore several heavy-
looking rings on his fingers and had two silver moon charms dangling from his
ears. Harry had never encountered him personally before, but he'd heard stories
about him from others. Most (even some of the professors) considered him a bit
weird and took neither him nor his subject very seriously.
"Uh, I hope we're not interrupting, Professor," Harry greeted hesitantly. "I
just needed to ask—"
"You have questions you want answered!" Professor Dark finished for him. "Of
course, of course! Many young people such as yourself come to me with questions
regarding their future. Come, let us have a seat!"
Professor Dark was quite energetic, Harry noticed. He and Simon were herded
over to one of the small tables, where they each took a seat on a pillow.
"Tell me, gentlemen, when are your birthdays?" Professor Dark started off by
asking.
Harry blinked. "Our birthdays?" he repeated in confusion. "What do you need to
know that for?"
"Birthdays can reveal much about a person!" Professor Dark explained. "When I
ask someone to introduce themselves, I always ask for their birthdays first. I
feel it tells me more about them than their names ever could."
"Oh…right." Harry pretended to understand. "Err…mine is the 31st of October."
"A Scorpio! Wonderful!" Professor Dark clapped his hands together. "I find
Scorpios to be very interesting people, indeed. Brave and passionate — it is
difficult to find a truer friend."
"That sounds like Harry, alright," Simon said with a grin. "Especially the
'passionate' part. I've never met anyone with a more impressive temper."
"Oh, shut up, Simon." Harry shoved the other boy on the shoulder. "Let's hear
about your sign, then."
Simon just snickered. "Alright. My birthday is the 20th of February."
Professor Dark's eyes lit up at that. "A Pisces!" he exclaimed excitedly.
"Astrological soulmates! I'd had a feeling! You two must be very close —
sweethearts, I'm assuming?"
Harry's eyes widened while Simon nearly choked.
"W-what?" Simon sputtered out, his cheeks going red.
"The stars don't lie!" Professor Dark stated confidently. "I sensed it the
moment you two walked into my room. There is a strong force pulling you
together; a bond created by fate."
Simon buried his tomato-red face into his hands. "Uhhh…Harry and I aren't…no…"
"There is no need to be embarrassed, dear boy." Professor Dark patted him on
the shoulder. "Finding one's soulmate is something to be celebrated and—"
Simon made a noise of despair and Harry had to hold back a laugh.
"What Simon's trying to say is I'm…already with someone else," Harry clarified
to the professor. "Simon's just a good friend."
Professor Dark looked surprised by that. "Are you quite certain? It's not often
I am wrong about these things!"
"I'm afraid so." Harry smiled apologetically.
Professor Dark seemed severely disappointed by that revelation. Harry would
have found the situation rather funny if it wasn't for how mortified Simon
obviously was. The poor boy looked like he was trying to melt into the ground
and disappear — something Harry found that rather interesting. While Simon
wasn't loud or brash like Walter, he'd never been one to be bashful either.
"Of course, a discipline such as this can never be one-hundred percent
accurate," Dark conceded with a sigh. "False readings do happen, unfortunately.
Ah, well — down to business! What is it you gentlemen have come for today?"
Harry turned back the professor. "I'd like to know about dreams."
From the corner of his eyes, he noticed Simon give him a curious look. The
other boy knew enough about Harry's dreams to realize what this was about.
Harry just kept his attention focused on Professor Dark, however.
"Ah, yes, dreams. A very useful tool for deciphering the future," Professor
Dark answered with a nod. "That particular branch of divination is known as
Oneiromancy. What is it that you'd like to know about it?"
"Do dreams really ever come true?" Harry asked eagerly. "Is it really possible
to dream about the future?"
"Yes, of course it's possible, dear child!" Professor Dark exclaimed
enthusiastically. "A proficient diviner is able to analyze their dreams for
omens and warnings of things to come."
Harry leaned forward in interest. "How does someone learn to analyze their
dreams?"
"It's no easy task," Professor Dark replied. "One does not simply learn the art
of divination overnight. However, there are tools that may help you get
started."
Harry watched as the professor stood from the table and walked over to one of
his many shelves. He scanned the worn, dusty spines of the books for several
moments before pulling one out and returning to their table.
"I recommend reading this," Professor Dark said, handing Harry the book. "It
contains everything you need to know about dreams and Oneiromancy."
Harry looked the book over. It was very old and tattered with yellowing, faded
pages. It was titled: 'Unlocking the Future: Divining Your Dreams'.
"I also suggest you start keeping a dream journal," Dark continued. "After you
wake up, write down everything you can remember and then use the book to help
you analyze the details."
"I'll do that, thank you," Harry nodded, slipping the book into his satchel.
"If you don't mind me asking, what have the dreams been about?" Professor Dark
asked with interest.
Harry shifted in his seat. "They're silly, really," he said, shrugging.
"…Showing up to class naked and being chased by a hippogriff. Things of that
sort."
Next to him, Simon made a noise that sounded like a mix between a cough and a
laugh. Harry shot him a look and the other boy fell silent (though it looked
like he was struggling to keep a straight face).
"Ah, dreams in which you are being chased can indicate many things — sometimes,
it's as simple as underlying anxiety and stress," Professor Dark informed him.
"Other times, it can be a warning sign of something much more sinister and
dangerous — such as an attacker or a tragic event."
"Just avoid going around any hippogriffs for a while." Simon winked at Harry.
"Also, be extra careful to put clothes on in the mornings."
Harry glared at him. "Thank you,Simon, I'll definitely remember that," he said,
standing up from the table. "Anyway, professor, we really must be going now.
Thank you again for the book and the advice."
"Leaving so soon?" Professor Dark looked a tad disappointed. "Ah, well, do try
to stop by again some time! Perhaps we can venture into tea-leaf reading!"
"That sounds…um…great," Harry said as enthusiastically as possible (which
wasn't very). "Can't wait."
"You have much potential, I can tell…Harry, was it?" Professor Dark set his
hands on Harry's shoulders. "You should consider coming to my weekly Divination
workshops. We've barely scratched the surface of all there is to discover about
the art of Divination!"
"I'll keep that in mind, Professor," Harry responded with forced sincerity. "I
just have so many other things to do right now...I don't know if I'll be able
to fit it in. I'll definitely see what I can do, though."
By now, Simon was practically turning red in the face from how hard he was
trying not to laugh. Harry resisted the urge to hit him.
"Do not hesitate to come back should you need further help," Professor Dark
said as he walked them to the door. "Until we meet again, dear friends!"
"Right, thank you, Professor."
Harry quickly climbed down the ladder, Simon in tow. The instant they were out
of ear shot, Simon burst out into laughter.
"Merlin, you should've seen your face when he talked about taking his
workshop!" he said between gasps for breath. "And what was all that dream stuff
about — hippogriffs? Going to class nude?"
"Well, I couldn't very well tell him about the real dreams, could I?" Harry
defended himself, crossing his arms. "So, I just made something up."
At that, Simon turned slightly more serious. "Do you really think Divination
can help you with your dreams?"
"I don't know, maybe." Harry shrugged. "It's worth a try, I suppose. Most of
this stuff seems quite woolly, if you ask me."
"Yeah, like all that nonsense about us being soulmates?" Simon laughed again,
though it sounded rather forced this time. "I couldn't believe he'd said that!
It's completely absurd!"
Harry glanced over to Simon curiously. The other boy was blushing again and
wouldn't make direct eye-contact with him. Realization hit Harry like a ton of
bricks — Simon was attracted to him. Harry had suspected it once before, but
had never put much thought into it. Now, it was abundantly clear. Simon's
reaction back in the Divination classroom was proof enough.
He was at a loss for what to do. Harry was certain mentioning anything would be
quite embarrassing for Simon. In fact, he wasn't entirely sure the other boy
was fully aware of his feelings himself.Regardless, Harry had to make sure
there weren't any misunderstandings between them — he was with Tom and that
wasn't going to change.
"Yes…well…everyone's always said Professor Dark's a bit odd," Harry said. "I
don't believe in any of that horoscope stuff, anyway. Astrological soulmates?
Fate written in the stars? It all sounds silly to me."
"I agree." Simon rubbed the back of his neck. "Really silly."
Harry glanced out the window at the position of the sun. It was already past
mid-morning. He was surprised at how much time he'd spent talking with
Professor Dark.
"It looks like we're late for Transfiguration," Harry mentioned, trying to
change the subject to something less awkward. "I think I'll skip it today. It's
already half-over, anyway."
In all honesty, he didn't much feel like sitting through lessons. Everything
that'd happened that morning — the attack on Hunter, the fight with Septimus,
and the talk with Professor Dark — still weighed heavy on his mind. He doubted
he could cram much more into his brain even if he'd tried. He would think up an
excuse for missing lessons later.
"I'll stay with you," Simon offered with a smile. "Never did like
Transfiguration that much."
They found an empty bench to sit at. The hard stone was anything but
comfortable against Harry's aching bottom. He attempted to (rather awkwardly)
lean most of his weight on his hip, but all that managed to do was catch
Simon's attention.
"Are you alright, Harry?" he asked with concern. "You're sitting kind of
funny."
Harry flushed. "Yeah, I'm just a little…um…sore."
It was obvious that Simon understood what Harry meant — he practically spun on
the bench so he was facing Harry, eyes wide.
"Wait…did you and Tom…?"
Deciding there was no point in hiding it, Harry just nodded. "Yes…last night."
"Wow, I can't believe it." Simon was staring at Harry in shock. "What was it
like?"
"Oh…um…" Harry felt a little embarrassed at the prospect of explaining it. "It
was strange at first…but then it was…nice…reallynice."
Simon looked more than a little interested at that. "It didn't hurt then? I
always thought it would hurt to…do that."
"It did a little…" Harry shifted in his sea in an attempt to get comfortable.
"But not that much. It probably depends on how well you're…um…prepared and how
relaxed you are."
Now it was Simon's turn to blush. "I don't think I could ever do that," he
said. "If I were with another boy, I think I'd prefer to be—well, I suppose if
you really wanted to—I mean if they really wanted to—obviously I didn't mean
youyou…just in general—oh, Merlin."
Simon's cheeks were bright red now. Normally, Harry would have laughed at such
a spectacular blunder, but considering the circumstances, he just pretended he
hadn't noticed.
"Just don't tell Walter about this, alright?" Harry told him. "You know how he
is. He'd bother me about it for days."
Simon nodded. "You're probably right about that," he agreed, still blushing
from embarrassment. "Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me."
Harry smiled at Simon. At first, he'd worried Simon's attraction might make
their friendship rather awkward. However, he was relieved to discover nothing
had really changed between them — he still felt perfectly comfortable around
Simon. He was still his best friend.
"Let's find the others," Harry said, standing up. "Transfiguration should be
almost over with by now."
They gathered up their things and started heading towards the Transfiguration
classroom. The class had already ended by time they arrived and they met up
with Eugene and Walter in the corridor.
"Well, look who it is!" Walter teased upon spotting Harry. "I was beginning to
think you didn't like us anymore, Harry."
"What's there to like?" Harry retorted jokingly.
Walter grinned. "How about the fact that I'm handsome, athletic, smart, funny—"
Harry and Simon both snorted at the same time.
"I'm surprised you can move around with that big fat head of yours," Harry
said, arching a brow. "You might want to deflate it a bit before our next
Quidditch match or your broom won't be able to get off the ground."
"Speaking of which." Walter nudged Harry on the shoulder. "We have Quidditch
practice tomorrow — I already let you off the hook for missing on Monday, so
don't forget."
"I won't, I promise," Harry reassured him. "I told you last time I was with Tom
and became distracted. It won't happen again."
"I swear, it's like you two are attached at the hip." Walter shook his head. "I
think this is the first time I've seen you apart in weeks."
Harry rolled his eyes. "That's not true. We spent plenty of time apart."
Simon and Walter shared a glance but neither one of them seemed willing to
argue with Harry.
"By the way…we um…heard what happened with Septimus," Eugene said, timidly
changing the subject. "…How are you feeling?"
"I'm just fine," Harry lied. "I'm honestly not bothered at all."
Of course, he was anything but fine — and he cared far more than he wanted to
admit. However, he kept all of that hidden behind a mask of indifference.
"Well…Septimus isn't doing so fine," Walter said pointedly. "He's actually
quite upset about what'd happened — maybe if you just talked—"
"No," Harry cut him off sharply. "I won't talk to Septimus until he apologizes
for the things he said about Tom."
A rather awkward silence fell over the group after that. Harry could tell that
the others were anxious and uncertain how to approach the situation. After all,
the position they were in was quite a difficult one — being caught in between
two friends fighting. Harry wasn't sorry, though. Septimus was the one in the
wrong, so he needed to come to Harry.
Simon coughed to break the tension. "So…who wants to go to the library?" he
suggested lightly. "I need to do some research for my History of Magic essay."
"Yeah, alright," Walter agreed with a shrug. "I should probably do the same."
They all started to head towards the library, but Harry was stopped when
someone caught him around the elbow. Startled, he spun around and came face-to-
face with Tom.
"Tom!" Harry gasped. "You scared me!"
"Why weren't you in lessons?" Tom questioned, frowning.
Glancing over his shoulder, Harry noticed that his friends had also stopped and
were watching them now.
"I, uh, had to talk to a professor about an assignment," he replied. "I'd lost
track of time."
It wasn't a complete lie. He had talked to a professor and he really had lost
track of time. Harry just kept out the real reason he'd done so. Nonetheless,
it was difficult meeting Tom's eyes — he'd never been a very good liar and it
wasn't as if he enjoyed keeping things from Tom.
"And did Simon also need to talk with this professor?" Tom asked. "I noticed he
was absent from class as well."
"Oh, he'd met up with me after I spoke with the headmaster," Harry answered
(which also wasn't a lie). "He'd decided to accompany me."
"I see," Tom said softly. It sounded like heknew Harry wasn't being entirely
truthful. "In that case, do try to be more attentive in the future. Now, come
with me."
"Hold up!" Walter hurriedly stepped in. "Harry was coming with us to the
library."
"I apologize," Tom responded, keeping a firm hold on Harry's arm, "but I would
like to spend some time with Harry, if you don't mind,"
"Harry is always with you," Simon argued. "We wanted to spend some time with
him, too."
Tom's gaze flicked over to Simon. "You were with him the entire morning, were
you not?"
"Yes, but—"
"How about we all just sit together?" Harry cut in before an argument could
break out. "I don't see why it always has to be one or the other."
There was a pause and then Tom smiled down at him. "That's a wonderful idea."
Harry was relieved. He hadn't been certain if Tom would agree to the idea or
not; it was rare for Tom to spend time around Harry's friends. In fact, Harry
couldn't think of an instance when that'd ever happened — he was usually the
one who sat with Tom's friends.
The five of them walked down to the library together, but as soon as they
arrived, Tom started leading Harry away from the group.
"Tom, what are you doing?" Harry asked, confused. "I thought we were sitting
with my friends?"
"I see Frederic and the others over there," Tom said, gesturing to a table
where the Slytherins were gathered. "I only wish to speak with them for a
moment, if that's alright?"
"Oh…yes, of course…" Harry hesitantly agreed.
He allowed Tom to lead him over to the Slytherins. His friends sent him
questioning looks, but Harry just told them he'd be right back. Once at the
table, Tom pulled out a chair and guided Harry to sit down.
"Ah, I see you found the little scoundrel," Avery said, smirking at Harry.
"You'd had Tom quite worried, going missing like that."
A sickening feeling hit Harry in the stomach. He was horribly reminded of his
dream.
"I hadn't meant to," he said apologetically. "I'd only been gone for a couple
of hours. I didn't think it would matter."
Tom sat down next to Harry and gently gripped his chin.
"You can't fault me for worrying. You must remember that the school isn't safe
right now," Tom reminded him. "With the recent attacks…I'd feared the worst."
Harry hadn't even considered that. Of course Tom would've worried about him —
he'd probably thought Harry been attacked like Hunter and Jill. That only made
Harry feel even worse.
"You're right. I'm sorry," Harry said, overcome with guilt. "I suppose I just
don't think sometimes."
Avery snorted. "That's not a lie."
Tom silenced Avery with a look and turned his attention back to Harry.
"You're here with me now — that's all that matters." He caressed Harry's cheek.
"Just try not to be so careless in the future. You must promise me to never
skip lessons again and if you're going somewhere, I want you to first let me
know where and whom with. That way, I won't worry about you so much."
Harry just nodded his head. Any other time he might've argued such a request;
but at the moment, he only wanted to ensure the events of his dream never came
true. It was the least he could do for Tom.
Tom offered him a rewarding smile. "I have the Transfiguration assignment you
missed," he said. "You may also copy the notes I took."
"Can we sit with my friends now?" Harry asked, thinking Tom had forgotten.
"I'd rather stay here," responded Tom. "I need to discuss a few things with
Frederic."
Harry glanced over to his friends. He hated that he was skipping out on them
again, but Harry would always put Tom first. Promising himself he'd sit with
them next time, Harry took the notes from Tom and went to work. This seemed to
please Tom — he kissed Harry's forehead and combed his fingers through his hair
in a soothing, almost praising manner.
They sat like that for a while, with Tom talking to Avery and stroking Harry's
hair as Harry copied over the notes. They were interrupted only when someone
suddenly let out a sudden, shrill shriek. Startled, Harry jumped and dropped
his quill, ink splattering all over his notes.
"What wasthat?"
Avery sighed. "It seems Presley and his idiot friends are causing trouble
again."
At the sound of laughter, Harry's attention was drawn to a group of Slytherin
fourth years: Presley Parkinson and his gang. Across from them, four Ravenclaw
girls were fearfully scrambling away from what appeared to be a medium-sized
garden snake slithering around on their table. It didn't take a genius to
figure out that Parkinson had been the one to conjure it.
Rolling his eyes, Harry stood up and walked over to the Ravenclaws' table. The
girls watched in fear as Harry held his hand out to the snake.
*Excuse me — I don't mean to bother but you're really frightening these girls.
Do you think you could come with me?*
The snake raised its head towards him. *You're able to talk to me?*
*Yes,*Harry replied with a nod. *I'll take you somewhere safe, I promise.*
The snake slowly slid over to him and curled up into Harry's outstretched hand.
Harry smiled and turned to the girls, expecting to see relief on their faces.
To his surprise, however, he was greeted with the complete opposite — they
looked even moreterrified than before.
Looking around, Harry saw that the entire library had fallen silent and was now
staring at him. Their expressions ranged from appalled to downright terrified.
Even his own friends were wide eyed and completely white in the face.
"What—?"
Harry was cut off when someone grabbed him by the shoulders and rushed him
towards the door.
"We need to leave, Harry," Tom urgently said into his ear.
"Tom—what?" Harry was bewildered. He didn't understand what was happening! "Why
is everyone staring at me like that?"
"I'll explain in a minute," Tom answered, pulling him out of the library. "We
need to get somewhere private first."
"Harry!"
"Harry! Wait!"
Harry looked over his shoulder to see his friends trying to chase after him,
but their path became blocked by Tom's friends.
"Keep walking," Tom said, keeping a firm hold on Harry's arm. "You can talk to
them later."
Harry struggled to keep up with Tom's quick stride. He was lead back to the
Room of Requirement where, once inside, Tom looked to Harry with a strange
mixture of fascination, worry and disbelief.
"You're a Parselmouth," he stated more than questioned.
Harry blinked at him in incomprehension. "A what?"
"A Parselmouth," Tom repeated more clearly. "You're able to talk to snakes."
"Oh, right." Harry nodded. "Yes, I can. I know that you can too."
That took Tom by surprise. "How do you know that?" he asked.
"That day you set that snake on Amy," Harry explained. "I'd had a dream that
you were talking to it — that's how I knew it was there."
"This is admittedly…quite unexpected," Tom said. "Why didn't you tell me
sooner?"
"Honestly, I'd sort of forgotten about it," Harry replied, glancing down at the
snake he was still holding. "This is the first time I've talked to a snake
since that day. Besides, I didn't think it was worth mentioning — surely it's
quite common among wizards?"
*No, Harry,* Tom said. *Speaking Parseltongue is a very rare ability — I'd
thought I was the only one until now.*
Hearing Tom talk like that startled Harry. The few times Harry had spoken
Parseltongue, he'd not been consciously aware of the fact he was speaking in a
different language. Yet, that time he was actually able to pick up the soft
hisses in Tom's words. They sounded strangely fluid and silky — almost
seductive — coming from him.
"Is that why everyone was staring at me?" Harry asked, thinking back to the
rather negative reaction he'd received in the library.
"There is a stigma surrounding those who can speak Parseltongue," Tom explained
and then paused. "…It is often seen as the mark of being a dark wizard."
A feeling of dread settled over Harry at that. "Wait…does that mean everyone
will think I'm evil?"
"You chose the most inopportune time to expose your gift," Tom said with a
sigh. "The school is already in a state of panic with the recent attacks. Now
that it has been revealed that you're a Parselmouth…it's uncertain what the
reaction will be."
"What am I to do, Tom?" Harry started to panic. "The headmaster already
suspects me. What if I really am blamed for the attacks?"
"You won't be," Tom assured in a calming voice, cupping Harry's face. "You've
done nothing wrong. There's no evidence against you and they cannot simply
convict you because you're a Parselmouth. Even the Ministry wouldn't do
something so hasty and foolish."
Harry still wasn't completely convinced; he started to pace nervously. "Just
when I thought things couldn't get worse — this is horrible, Tom."
*No.*Tom pulled Harry back to him. *This isn't horrible. It's wonderful.*
Harry looked at Tom in confusion. "How? How is this a good thing? Everyone will
think—"
*Don't worry what they'll think,* Tom said. *They don't comprehend the
magnificence of the gift we possess. We're different from them. We're special.*
"Special?" Harry repeated questioningly.
Tom brushed his hand down Harry's cheek. *We're the only two Parselmouths left
in the world,* he said.*Our connection — why we're drawn together — it makes
sense now. You and I are meant to carry on this legacy together. We're meant
for greater things.*
Harry sat on the bed and looked down at the snake in his hands. Legacy? Greater
things? His mind was swirling with the things Tom was saying. None of it made
sense. If anything, being a Parselmouth sounded like a horrible curse to Harry.
He was now in an even worse position than before.
Tom must've picked up on Harry's train of thought, because he down next to him
and brushed some hair from his face.
*I won't let anything happen to you,*he said softly. *I'll look after you.*
If Tom had beenanyone else, Harry wouldn't have believed them. But, coming from
Tom, those words put him at ease. His entire life, Harry had consciously and
subconsciously looked to Tom for guidance and security. He was the stronger of
the two of them. The smarter one. The more confident one. Harry trusted Tom
more than anyone.
*Will you say something in Parseltongue?*Tom nuzzled close to Harry's ear. *I
want to hear you.*
At first, Harry was hesitant. Speaking Parseltongue had already gotten him into
enough trouble for one day. If it really was a trait associated with dark
wizards, then Harry wanted nothing to do with it. Yet, he knew he could never
refuse Tom.
Harry attempted to say something in Parseltongue, but, every time he tried, he
strangely found that he couldn't. His words merely came out in English.
"I don't know how," Harry said, furrowing his brows.
"Look at the snake," Tom instructed gently. "It'll help."
Confused, Harry turned his attention down to the snake.
*How is that meant to help?*
It took Harry a few seconds to realize that his words hadn't come out in
English that time, but rather in perfect, fluent Parseltongue. Tom's eyes lit
up with amazement and excitement.
*Perfect…* he whispered, kissing along Harry's face. *Again. Say something else
for me.*
Tom sounded completely enamored. It was the first time Harry had ever seen Tom
like this — so unrestrained and...happy. It made Harry's stomach ache (in a
good way) and he wanted to give everything to make that happiness permanent.
Setting the snake down, Harry cupped Tom's face between his hands.
*Kiss me, Tom,* he murmured.
Tom didn't hesitate to comply. He eagerly pressed their mouths together and
took Harry's hands into his own, slotting their fingers together tightly. Even
after the kiss had ended, Tom continued to whisper Parseltongue into Harry's
ear — speaking words of adoration and fondness — while Harry did his best to
respond in kind. The most wonderful part — they were in the only ones in the
entire world who could understand what was being said. It was their own little
secret.
Harry realized Parseltongue was neither dark nor ugly. It was just another way
the two of them fitted together perfectly.
Chapter End Notes
     This is a chapter I'm really not that happy with. I know I say that a
     lot, but like...this one in particular...there's so many scenes I
     think could have been written better but I have no idea how to do so.
     I bet a lot of you are probably very unhappy with the way Tom's and
     Harry's relationship is going. I know, personally, I got VERY
     uncomfortable writing the scene where Tom was so obviously and
     shamelessly manipulating Harry. I'm also aware Harry seems very
     spineless and compliant right now, but I'm writing it that way on
     purpose. It's very necessary for how I want things to go in this
     story. Just bear with me, there's a point to all of this. Anyway, I'm
     so sorry this took literally a month to get out. School started in
     January, so I've been really busy. Here's a nice long chapter (9,388
     words to be exact) to make up for it! Thanks so much for sticking
     with me.
***** Chapter 28 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
"What do you think your animagus form would be?" Harry asked as he lay in bed
with Tom. "If you were able to do it, that is."
The sun hadn't even risen yet. The two of them had woken up hours too early, if
only to have a little more time together before the day began. Even if it was a
little sappy to admit, these were some of Harry's most favorite moments with
Tom — lying together during the early hours of the morning, just talking. It
never really mattered about what.
Tom gave him a curious look. "What makes you ask?"
"It's interesting to think about," Harry shrugged slightly. "A person's
animagus form sort of represents who they are, doesn't it?"
"Hm, well, I don't know." Tom gently tucked a strand of Harry' hair behind his
ear. "What would yours be?"
Harry was thoughtful for a moment. "I think it would be a bird," he finally
answered.
"A bird?" Tom repeated with intrigue. "Why is that?"
"Because I love the sky," Harry said. "And I love to fly. Birds can fly
anywhere they want."
"Yes, I suppose that's quite fitting," Tom said, affectionately brushing his
fingers through Harry's hair. "Just don't fly too far away."
"Don't worry," Harry chuckled, lacing his fingers with Tom's. "I would always
come back to you."
Tom smiled and pulled Harry closer. His hands were tightly locked with Harry's
— as if he truly worried he might fly away and never come back. Harry knew that
would never happen. He would always choose to be forever grounded to the Earth
with Tom than to fly high in the sky without him.
"Let's just stay in bed today," Harry sighed. "I don't want to go to lessons."
"You say that every day," Tom replied, slightly amused.
"I know, but this time I really mean it."
Tom brushed his knuckles down Harry's cheek. "You know we can't do that."
Groaning, Harry pulled the blankets over his head. "I had a feeling you'd say
that," he mumbled. He knew Tom was right, but that didn't mean he had to like
it.
Harry felt the blankets rustle and he opened his eyes to see that Tom had
joined him underneath. They were lying face-to-face, their warm breath
colliding in the small space between their lips.
"Are you afraid?" Tom asked softly.
"A little…" Harry confessed a bit reluctantly. "I just want to be normal, Tom.
First I was 'the queer' and now this? I don't know how to handle things like
this — I'm not level-headed and confident like you."
It was a little embarrassing to admit that he was scared, but it somehow felt
good to just let it out. Harry was learning, little by little, to trust Tom
with his insecurities — no matter how shameful they seemed. Tom could have
easily judged Harry when he'd broken down crying in front of him the other day,
but he hadn't. He'd just been there.
Tom cupped Harry's face. *There is nothing to fear. I'll be right there with
you.*
Somehow, that was enough for Harry — to have that reassurance that he wouldn't
be alone. He leaned his forehead against Tom's and placed a hand on his cheek.
His chest actually hurtwith how much affection he had for this boy. Sometimes
it felt like his body couldn't physically contain all of it — he was almost
ready to burst with how much he loved, needed, wanted Tom.
"Can we…" Harry could feel his cheeks flushing. "What I mean is…I want…to try
it again. What we did…"
He wondered if he could've sounded more awkward in his request. He never knew
the proper way to word these types of things. Nonetheless, Tom didn't seem to
mind. The taller boy simply rolled atop Harry in one graceful move and caged
him in with his arms.
*Are you sure?*Tom asked, staring down at him.
Harry had never been more sure of anything. The weight of Tom's body, combined
with the memories of last time, had him aching to feel that wonderful fullness
once again.
He didn't feel nervous or shy when Tom started removing his pyjamas. Normally,
Harry preferred to undress himself — it made him feel more in control and less
vulnerable — but this time he let Tom do it. He didn't even have the urge to
cover himself up once he was fully exposed. If anything, baring himself to Tom
like this felt right.
Tom removed his own clothing next. He lay over Harry, comfortably slotting
their naked bodies together. Harry thought it felt like they'd been carved
specifically for one another.
*Lovely,* Tom whispered, wrapping his hand around Harry's half-hard cock.
Harry's cock twitched in Tom's grip. His hand was wonderfully warm and tight,
moving slowly and languidly until Harry was fully hard. Harry could feel Tom's
cock firmly pressed against his thigh, equally as hard. He reached between them
and gripped Tom in return, marveling at the thick, heavy weight in his hand.
Leaning up, Harry pressed his lips against Tom's. Their tongues rolled together
messily as Harry tried to match Tom's pace pumping his cock. He could already
feel heat coiling in his stomach, the muscles in his abdomen tense and tight.
"Tom…" he groaned against the other boy's mouth.
Tom took his hand off Harry's cock and kissed at his neck affectionately.
"Turn over," he said, gripping Harry by the hips.
"What? Why?" Harry furrowed his brows. "I want to be able to see you."
"I think this way might be more comfortable for you," Tom explained, gently
rubbing Harry's hips. 
With Tom's guidance, he allowed himself to be turned over onto his stomach.
Just like last time, Tom placed two soft pillows under Harry's hips and another
one underneath his head for comfort. Once Harry was settled, Tom took his
glasses off and set them aside.
"Just relax," he whispered.
Harry took a deep breath and closed his eyes, resting his head on the pillow.
Even though he wasn't a virgin anymore, he was still slightly nervous. The
preparation had been the most uncomfortable part.
Tom's hands settled on Harry's arsecheeks and started kneading out the tension
in his muscles. It was a bit bizarre, getting a massage on his arse, but Harry
found that it felt surprisingly nice. Tom's hands were delightfully warm as
they rubbed down the backs of his thighs and legs, all the way to his feet. Tom
didn't stop until every part of Harry's body had been worked into complete
relaxation.
Carefully, Tom's fingers, slick with copious amounts of oil, began prodding at
his opening. The first finger pushed in and Harry's body accepted it without
resistance. It easily slid in all the way to the knuckle.
"That's it," Tom said between kisses on Harry's shoulder blades. "You're doing
wonderfully."
It still felt strange, having something inside of there, but it didn't hurt at
all. Tom was rubbing his spare hand over Harry's back, helping him stay relaxed
while he worked in a second finger. There was some slight pressure as he was
stretched wider, but Harry found it more tolerable than the first time. He just
focused on matching his breathing with the rhythm of Tom's fingers moving in
and out of him.
Tom patiently set to the task of working Harry open. He went slow and gentle,
allowing Harry as much time as needed to grow accustomed to the intrusion
(which still took a lot longer than Harry would've liked). Tom then slowly
pulled his fingers out and settled down on top of him.
Physically, Harry and Tom were not much different in size (Tom couldn't have
been more than three inches taller and almost equally as thin) but in that
moment, Tom feltlarge. He exuded pure control and dominance, giving the
impression that he was much bigger than he really was.
Harry wasn't intimidated, though. He searched for Tom's hands and gripped them
tight, pulling him as close as possible.
Tom stretched out over him, firm chest pressed against Harry's back and hard
cock pillowed between his arsecheeks. He rested his head down on Harry's back
and rocked his hips against him, slowly gliding his cock through the lube on
Harry's arse. The repetitious motion was oddly relaxing — Tom's cock was warm
against him and his chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm against Harry's
back.
When Tom pressed his cock to his opening, Harry breathed in deeply and clutched
at Tom's hands tightly. Even though it was still slightly uncomfortable, it
wasn't as bad as the first time. Harry's body opened up much easier to Tom's
cock, allowing the boy to slide in until his hips came to a full rest against
Harry's arse.
It was different like this, Harry realized, but Tom had been right about it
being more comfortable. The pillows minimized the strain of holding the
position, keeping Harry propped up so his muscles could stay relaxed. The new
angle was also wonderful — Tom felt even bigger like this, his girth fully
pressed up against all the right spots.
They stayed like for a few moments, once more allowing Harry time to adjust.
Harry thought he could lay exactly like that forever — with Tom's body resting
over him and cock deep inside of him, connecting them in the most intimate way
possible.
Tom kissed at Harry's neck and started moving in short, deep thrusts. The
feeling was accompanied by a mild burn, but it was eclipsed by how wonderful
everything else felt. Harry was encased by the warmth of Tom's body, the other
boy's heavier weight pushing him farther into the soft bed. Harry closed his
eyes and sighed in contentment, enjoying the feeling having Tom so close to
him.
*Does that feel good?*Tom whispered into his ear, slowly sinking his cock back
in.
Harry managed a nod. The pace was slow and comfortable, but the stimulation was
almost constant. His toes curled into the blankets and his body quivered
underneath Tom.
*What does it feel like for you?*Harry asked curiously. He wanted to make sure
this felt just as good for Tom as it did for him.
*Warm…tight,* Tom murmured, rolling his hips against Harry. *You take my cock
perfectly.*
Tom's words surprised Harry. The other boy was normally so proper and polished
with how he spoke — he'd never even so much as uttered a swear-word in his
life. To hear him speak in such a free and unrestrained manner was unexpectedly
arousing.
Tom adjusted Harry's hips for a better angle, which allowed him to push in even
deeper. He was now moving at a steady pace, his breath coming out as soft pants
in Harry's ear. Harry wished he could see him — he felt strangely possessive
over the thought of Tom flushed and breathless. No one else should ever be able
to experience him in this way.
"Please—" Harry said breathlessly. "Please—let me kiss you."
Tom's hips slowed and he leaned down over Harry. Their faces were only
centimeters apart now and Harry took a moment to admire the boy. Even without
his glasses, he could still see how absolutely stunning he was.
Harry leaned up and pressed their lips together. The angle was a bit awkward —
their teeth clacked noisily and their tongues rolled together in a sloppy
rhythm — but it was still somehow the most perfect kiss of Harry's life.
Tom's lips continued down to Harry's shoulders, leaving heated kisses on the
sweat-dampened skin. His cock was still moving in and out of Harry, the feeling
slick with oil and almost unbearably full. Yet, it still wasn't enough. Perhaps
it was pure greed, but Harry didn't think he could ever have enough of Tom.
He pushed himself back against the other boy. "Tom—"
*Tell me what you want,* Tom said, nipping at Harry's ear.
Harry pressed his face in the pillow, reaching for Tom's hands again. *You. I
need you—please, Tom…*
Tom's hands found Harry's and linked them together. The other boy's thrusts
became more forceful, his hips smacking loudly against Harry's arse every time
he pushed back in. It was almost too much — Harry's arse was stinging and he
was gripping Tom's hands so hard that his fingers were turning numb — but he
didn't want Tom to stop. He wanted this to last forever.
However, there was already familiar heat rapidly gathering in his groin and
stomach. Harry had to let go of Tom's hands so he could reach beneath himself
and start stroking his cock. Finding a rhythm was difficult — he could barely
hold himself up against the force of Tom's thrusts, his thighs trembling from
the effort. The only reason he hadn't collapsed yet was Tom's hands holding him
securely in place.
Harry tried rocking back against Tom, attempting to close the non-existent
space between them. His cock was throbbing heavily in his hand, painfully hard
and aching for release. He could tell that Tom was close as well; his breathing
was erratic and his fingers were gripping too-tightly at Harry's waist.
Harry bit into his lip as he stroked himself desperately. The pressure
continued to build until it was almost unbearable. His balls drew tight, his
cock swelled, and only moments later he was suddenly coming into his hand. He
groaned into the pillow, clawing at the bedsheets as all of his muscles
quivered and spasmed uncontrollably. His arse tightened almost painfully around
Tom, squeezing the other boy's cock until it became almost impossible for him
to move.
That was all it took to bring Tom over the edge with him. He pushed Harry down
into the bed, pinning him flat under his heavier weight as he buried his cock
deep inside him. Harry could feel Tom's cock twitching and pulsing as he came,
the sensation still a bit strange but somehow lovely and soothing against the
stretching burn.
Tom panted heavily into Harry's ear, his chest heaving and his body trembling.
Harry was still trapped beneath him, but he didn't mind — he would keep Tom
there forever if he could. Tom laid his hands over Harry's, lacing their
fingers together tightly.
For the longest time, neither dared to move from where they lay. They simply
stayed like that, sweaty and breathless, hearts racing as they watched the sun
rise together.
                                     xxxxx
"Look, that's him."
"Is it true that he's a Parselmouth?"
"I saw him to talk to the snake myself! It was creepy!"
"He's probably the one who attacked Jill and Jackson."
"Isn't he that queer? — it's obvious he was already deranged to begin with."
Gritting his teeth, Harry forced himself to keep walking. It'd been like this
the entire morning — with people whispering about him everywhere he went. He
couldn't even go to the bathroom without being followed by suspicious stares.
And now, he didn't even have Tom there to help him deal with it. The other boy
had gone to his Ancient Runes class while Harry was left to go to
Transfiguration on his own.
"Move aside—bloody idiots—you heard me, I said move it! Don't you people have
anything better to do than stand around like gossiping sheep?"
Harry turned around. Walter was quite unceremoniously shoving his way through
the crowd, Simon and Eugene following closely behind. It suddenly occurred to
Harry that he hadn't talked to any of his friends that day — there was no
telling what they thought about him being a Parselmouth. Almost nervously, he
stopped and waited for them to catch up.
"You'd think that you were about to start petrifying students right here with
the way these dunderheads are behaving!" Walter exclaimed in exasperation.
"That's because they're all morons," Simon added with annoyance. "It's obvious
no one at this school knows how to think for themselves."
Harry raised his brows curiously. "So…you don't believe I'm the one attacking
the students, then?"
"You?" Walter snorted. "Harry, that's the most ridiculous thing I've ever
heard!"
Eugene nodded in agreement. "I can't see you ever hurting anyone."
"Unless you count hurting our ear drums when you're angry," Walter teased with
a wink.
Harry just laughed, too relieved to be offended by the remark. His worst fear
had been that his friends would turn on him like Richard had — he wasn't sure
he could handle another betrayal like that.
"But, blimey Harry, why didn't you tell us you were a Parselmouth?" Simon asked
in awe. "That seems like the type of thing that would come up in conversation,
don't you think?"
Walter snorted. "Oh, right, that's a great conversation starter: 'Hi, I'm
Harry. My hobbies include Quidditch, Astronomy, snogging Tom Riddle, and did
you know that I can talk to bloody snakes?'."
"Alright, you have a point there," Simon admitted sheepishly. "Still, it seems
like something that should've come up at some point."
"I honestly hadn't thought about it," Harry replied truthfully. "It isn't as if
I talk to snakes on a daily basis. I hadn't even known it was a trait
associated with dark wizards until Tom told me."
"It's not a trait associated withjust dark wizards," Walter said, arching a
brow. "Don't you know…?"
"Know what?" Harry asked in confusion.
Simon leaned in closer. "That Salazar Slytherin himselfwas a Parselmouth," he
said quietly. "It's thought that Parselmouths are descended from Slytherin."
Harry was shocked. How had Tom failed to mention that bit of important
information? He was certain Tom must've known — the boy had read the library at
least three times over by now.
"How couldI be descended from Slytherin?" Harry said in disbelief. "I'm a
Gryffindor! I—"
A sudden, jarring realization hit Harry — what if he wasn't a true Gryffindor?
The Sorting Hat had initially wanted to put him into Slytherin, and if he
hadn't adamantly refused, it most likely would have. The possibility thathe
could be a descendant of Slytherin had suddenly become much more real.
"—it can't be true, can it?" Harry finished with uncertainty.
Walter shrugged. "Slytherin lived a really long time ago — who knows?"
"Don't worry, Harry." Simon laid a hand on Harry's shoulder. "We don't care if
you're Slytherin's great-great-great-great grandson or what have you — you'll
always be our mate."
Harry smiled at Simon. "Thanks."
Together, the four of them walked into the Transfiguration classroom. As they
sat at their table, Harry didn't fail to notice the way the rest of the class
was looking at him — they all wore expressions of hatred, disdain and
suspicion. Some even went so far as to get up and move to tables farther away
from him.
"Can't we sit somewhere else?" Harry heard someone whisper. "I don't want to be
anywhere near the freakthat attacked Jill."
It'd come from a couple of Ravenclaws sitting at the table ahead of him. To
make matters even worse, he saw that Richard was with them as well. Harry felt
his face grow hot from anger and humiliation. Being called a 'freak' had hit
him particularly strongly — it was no different from being called a queer. It
was just another way of saying he was abnormal, strange…different.
"You can sit anywhere you like," Richard retorted, rather unexpectedly. "I'll
be remaining here, thanks."
Harry stared in surprise. Given the circumstances, he'd honestly expected
Richard to agree with the suggestion wholeheartedly. For a single, brief
moment, Harry felt a spark of hope — maybe there was a small chance Richard
still cared about him as a friend.
But, as always, Richard didn't even acknowledge Harry's existence.
Harry couldn't stop the sting of disappointment.
"Good morning and welcome to another wonderful lesson in Transfiguration!"
Dumbledore announced, catching the classroom's attention. "Today, we'll be
working on something quite exciting — turning owls into opera glasses! If
everyone will please come up and collect an owl, we'll get started."
The rest of the lesson went by quite uneventfully. Harry was one of the first
to successfully cast the spell, managing to transform his owl into a pair of
pearl-white opera glasses. He'd even given them an intricate floral design and
golden trim.
"Excellent work, indeed!" Dumbledore picked up Harry's glasses. "A most
wonderfully convenient spell, if I do say so myself. There is nothing more
cumbersome than finding oneself at the theater without a pair of opera glasses.
Now, all you need to do is keep an owl on hand!"
Simon and Walter snickered next to Harry. If Dumbledore had heard them, he
didn't let it show. He continued on with his inspection of the rest of the
class's work. Both Simon and Walter had perfectly transfigured, but less
intricate, opera glasses in front of them. Eugene, rather unsurprisingly,
hadn't even come close to performing the spell correctly.
"Let's see what you have here, Mr. Bell — ah."
Eugene's binoculars had a pair of tawny owl wings sticking out of them. The
binoculars were flapping around in the air and even hooting. When Eugene made a
leap to catch them, the binoculars made a screeching noise and flew off to the
other side of the room. Harry, Walter and Simon all struggled to contain their
laughter.
"It wouldn't be very practical to have your glasses flying off, now would it?"
Dumbledore chuckled. "However, I must admit, the plumage does add a fashionable
touch."
"S-sorry, Professor," Eugene stuttered in embarrassment. "I'll catch it right
away!"
"No need, my boy." Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. He took out his wand and,
with a single wave, returned the binoculars to their original state and sent
the owl back to its cage. "I do suggest practicing that spell a little more,
though, Mr. Bell — it'll be on your OWLs and the examiners might not appreciate
the binoculars screeching at them."
"Yes, sir," Eugene nodded meekly, sitting back down.
"On that note, today's lesson has ended," Dumbledore announced cheerfully.
"Everyone, please turn in your binoculars before you leave — Harry, will you
remain behind for a moment?"
Somewhat confused, Harry obediently sat back down at his desk, waiting as the
rest of the class filed out of the room. When the last student was gone,
Dumbledore shut the door with a wave of his wand.
"Is something wrong, Professor?" Harry asked with uncertainty.
Dumbledore walked over to Harry and took a seat next to him. The image was
almost comical — a wise, old wizard like Dumbledore sitting in a desk normally
meant for students. Somehow, it made the situation less nerve-wracking.
"No, everything is perfectly alright, Harry," Dumbledore responded, folding his
hands together. "I merely wish to speak with you about what had happened
yesterday."
Harry swallowed. "I figured as much," he said a bit nervously. "Has Headmaster
Dippet heard about it as well?"
"He has indeed." Dumbledore nodded. "However, I'd spoken with him and he agreed
that this won't be taken into account during the investigation of the attacks."
"He did?" Harry said in surprise.
"We cannot control the qualities we are born with," Dumbledore said with a
small smile. "To accuse someone of wrong-doing based purely on an ability they
didn't choose to have seems quite unfair, wouldn't you agree?"
"Well, yes but…" Harry paused. "What about everyone else? They all think I'm
some sort of dark wizard or the descendant of Slytherin."
"Do you think you're either of those things, Harry?" Dumbledore asked, looking
at him over the top of his glasses.
"I know I'd never hurt anyone," Harry answered without hesitation. "Not even a
bully like Hunter. He didn't deserve that to happen to him."
Dumbledore seemed pleased by his answer. "That's what makes you different from
others your age," he said. "Your capacity for love and compassion is strong.
You have a good heart — I'd sensed it the moment I'd met you."
Harry blinked at him. "You had?"
"Indeed I had, Harry. You can't hide what's in here." Dumbledore gently tapped
Harry on the chest, right over his heart. "That is what will always shine
through."
"I suppose…" Harry furrowed his brows thoughtfully. "So, you believe I didn't
attack those students, then?"
"No, Harry, I don't believe you attacked Jackson or Jill," Dumbledore responded
with certainty. "Nonetheless, I must caution you to be wiser with your actions
from here on out — perhaps refrain from further nightly wanderings with Mr.
Riddle for a while."
"Oh, so you did know about that," Harry said, face flushing considerably.
"I—uh—we just—"
Dumbledore just chuckled and held his hand up. "I need not know the details,
Harry," he said. "I'm no stranger to the recklessness of being young and in
love. Considering the circumstances, however, it would be in your best interest
not to be caught roaming the halls in the dead of night."
"Yes, sir," Harry said with a nod.
He didn't particularly like the idea of not being able to sleep with Tom at
night, but he knew Dumbledore had a point. The last thing he needed was for
Headmaster Dippet to have another reason to suspect him.
"Professor…may I ask you a question?" Harry spoke after a moment.
"Of course, Harry," Dumbledore said, twiddling his thumbs. "I would not be much
of a professor if I didn't allow my students to ask me questions."
"Right…uh…that day you came to the orphanage…" Harry began. "Tom asked you if
it was normal to speak to snakes…what did you tell him?"
Dumbledore paused momentarily. "Yes, I remember that conversation quite well,"
he finally said. "I'd been quite surprised when Tom had mentioned his ability.
However, I'd simply told him that it was not uncommon among wizards."
"But…that's not true, is it?" Harry questioned in confusion. "Tom told me that
Parselmouths are very rare among wizards."
"I wasn't entirely honest, I admit," Dumbledore said. "I hadn't thought it the
best time to explain to Tom what his ability might mean in the wizarding world.
It'd seemed too much for a twelve-year-old child to take in. I had known that,
in time, he — being the determined and precocious boy that he is — would have
eventually figured it out on his own. Until then, I'd merely hope to give him
the best chance of normalcy here at Hogwarts."
Strangely, Harry actually understood. After all, he was experiencing first-hand
what it meant to be a Parselmouth in the wizarding world — nothing about his
life at Hogwarts could be considered normal anymore. He imagined that
Dumbledore had only wanted to spare Tom the same fate.
As if reading Harry's thoughts, Dumbledore continued, "I know things seem quite
difficult right now, Harry. Especially when the world seems to be against you,"
he said. "Just remember: even when things seem to be at their darkest, there is
always light to be found. No situation is hopeless."
Dumbledore's words made Harry think of the stars, shining brightly against a
pitch-dark sky. He also thought of Tom — beautiful like a star, keeping his
otherwise bleak world aglow. Even if everything else left him, Harry knew he
would always have Tom and the stars.
"Thank you, sir," he said appreciatively.
"Now, off you trot." Dumbledore patted him on the shoulder, eyes twinkling.
"I'm sure your friends are waiting for you."
Harry nodded and gathered up his things. He was feeling slightly better and not
quite so afraid of facing the rest of the school again. Upon exiting the
classroom, he saw that the others had indeed waited for him.
"What did you get in trouble for this time?" Walter accosted him with a grin.
Eugene whacked Walter on the shoulder. "What Walter meant to ask is, what did
Professor Dumbledore want?"
"Nothing too serious, I hope?" Simon inquired.
Harry shook his head. "He just wanted to check in with me and ask a couple of
questions."
"Oh, good." Walter sighed in relief. "I was worried you'd gotten detention and
wouldn't be able to make it to Quidditch practice."
Simon rolled his eyes. "Good to know you care about the important things."
"Quidditch is important," Walter retorted passionately. "We'll never be ready
for the match against the Hufflepuffs if Harry keeps missing practice!"
"I'd missed one practice, Walter," Harry said exasperatedly. "I'll be there.
Relax."
"Besides, Harry is the best Seeker in the whole school," Simon said. "He
doesn't even need practice to be good."
Eugene nodded enthusiastically. "Remember the last much against Hufflepuff?
When Harry caught the Snitch in two minutes?"
"You're not helping!" Walter sighed in frustration. "How can I have a team if
some of the members aren't even present?"
"I won't miss anymore practices, Walter. I promise," Harry stated again. "Stop
fretting."
"I'll fret as much as needed." Walter poked Harry in the chest. "If we lose
against Hufflepuff, I'm kicking you off the team for good. I don't think I
could bear the shame."
"Could you be any more dramatic?" Simon snorted. "It's just a game."
"Just a—?" Walter looked positively offended. "You obviously don't understand
Quidditch!"
"I understand it," Simon said. "I'm just not an obsessed maniac."
"If you think he's bad now, you should see him when we're on the field," Harry
teased. "It's downright terrifying."
"You better watch what you say, Harry," Walter threatened. "I could have you do
laps for that remark."
"I was only joking," Harry chuckled. "You're nowhere near as bad as our last
captain was — remember when he made us do drills in that thunderstorm?"
"Don't remind me." Walter seemingly winced at the memory. "It took me nearly a
week to get dry!"
Eugene abruptly cleared his throat. "If you're all done bickering over
Quidditch now, we really should start heading to class before we're late."
"As if Professor Binns would even notice," Simon said jokingly. "I don't think
he's even aware of where he is half the time."
"That's true," Walter snickered. "I usually fit in a much-needed nap during his
lectures."
"Only he could make subjects like Giant wars and Goblin rebellions sound like
the dullest thing to happen in history," Harry added with a grimace.
"Speaking of which — did any of you do the homework?" Eugene asked, looking
rather embarrassed. "I couldn't understand a thing about it."
"I finished mine," Harry said. "It's probably no good but I'll let you take a
look at it if you'd—"
"WHITLEY!"
Harry didn't even get a chance to turn around before he was suddenly and
roughly shoved from behind. He stumbled forward and hit the ground, earning a
collective gasp from the others in the corridor. Quickly scrambling back to his
feet, Harry turned to face his attacker. It was Conrad Gibson and Nathaniel
Baker — Hunter's friends.
"What the hell did you do to Jackson?" Gibson spat, advancing on Harry
aggressively.
"Whoa!" Simon quickly jumped between Harry and Gibson. "Back off! Just calm
down, alright?"
"Don't tell me to calm down!" Gibson growled. "That…that freak did something
Jackson!"
Baker nervously pulled on Gibson's arm. "Maybe…maybe we should just leave it,"
he whispered urgently. "What if he comes for you next?"
"Let himtry!" Gibson yelled, shaking Baker off of him. "I'm not afraid of a
damn, disgusting que—"
Gibson didn't get to finish his sentence — Simon punched him in the face. Hard.
Harry could only stare in shock — he'd never expected Simon to do something
like that. There was now a steady stream of blood dripping from Gibson's nose
where Simon had hit him. The entire corridor had fallen silent, waiting with
bated breath to see what would happen next. It was hardly a surprise when
Gibson let out an enraged roar and jumped onto Simon, sending both of them
tumbling to the ground. Everyone scrambled to get out of the way as the two
boys struggled with each other.
Harry immediately sprang into action and tried to pull Gibson off of Simon.
"Get off him!"
Walter, Eugene and Baker were quick to join into the fray. An all-out brawl
ensued in which there was nothing but chaos and confusion. Harry's glasses had
been knocked off at some point, and he had blood gushing from a split-lip
Gibson had given him. His ears were ringing from adrenaline, making it almost
impossible to hear anything besides the furious pumping of his own heart. He
could just barely make out the cheering from the crowd and there was a loud
cracking sound that he was quite sure belonged to someone getting their nose
broken.
"THAT IS QUITE ENOUGH!"
They were suddenly thrown away from each other by an invisible force. Harry
landed several feet away from the others, somewhat dazed — when he attempted to
move his arms, he realized there were invisible binds holding him in place. He
could only watch as the blurry forms of Professor Merrythought and Septimus
came rushing towards them, wands drawn.
"What in Merlin's name do you six think you're doing?" Professor Merrythought
practically screeched at them. "Fighting in the halls — I would have expected
much better from fifth years! Especially you, Mr. Greene. You are meant to set
an example!"
Simon had the decency to look ashamed of his actions, a light blush coloring
his cheeks. Harry only hoped that this incident wouldn't result in Simon losing
his prefect's badge.
"It was him! He punched me in the face, Professor!" Gibson yelled, blood still
flowing freely from his nose.
"Only because you'd attacked Harry first!" Simon shot back heatedly.
"ENOUGH!"
Everyone immediately fell silent. Professor Merrythought was absolutely livid —
despite her namesake, she looked anything but merry at the moment.
"You will go to hospital wing to be healed by Madam Peppercorn," Merrythought
informed in a deadly serious tone. "And then all of you willpromptly report to
Headmaster Dippet's office to await further punishment."
"Yes, Professor," everyone muttered simultaneously.
Harry took a moment to silently gauge the state of his friends. It was
difficult to see properly without his glasses, but he could tell that Eugene
had apparently been the one to get his nose broken — it was bent at a strange
angle and blood was flowing copiously down his face. Simon and Walter were each
sporting some rather mean looking bruises, which were already rapidly turning a
dark-purple color. Harry, himself, still had blood dribbling from his lip and
his cheek was stinging from a nasty hit he'd taken.
"Mr. Weasley, please escort these boys to the infirmary." Professor
Merrythought tersely waved her wand to release the binds. "I will be speaking
with Headmaster Dippet to inform him of the situation."
Septimus nodded. "Come with me," he instructed Harry and the others brusquely.
Everyone grudgingly got to their feet and followed after Septimus. Harry tried
to catch Septimus's eyes as they walked, but the other boy seemed intent on
avoiding looking at him. Considering the circumstances, Harry had expected
that, but that didn't stop it from hurting just a little.
"Here, Harry."
Harry looked over to Simon and saw that he was handing him his glasses. He took
them gratefully and slipped them back on, blinking a couple of times as his
vision cleared. The lenses were slightly cracked, but he could fix that later.
"Thanks," he said.
"Sorry for starting this mess," Simon said quietly, his cheeks pink with
embarrassment. "I shouldn't have reacted like that."
"It wasn't you — it was Gibson's fault," Harry shook his head. "Thanks for
standing up for me."
Simon smiled shyly and nodded.
"What on Earth happened!" Madam Peppercorn exclaimed as they were herded into
the infirmary.
"These boys had been caught fighting each other," Septimus reported. "They need
healing."
"Children these days! Absolutely no regard for the rules!" Madam Peppercorn
sighed, throwing her hands up in exasperation. "Very well. Have a seat,
gentlemen, and we'll see about fixing you up."
Harry sat down on a bed, using the sleeve of his robe to staunch the flow of
blood from his lip. Madam Peppercorn started with Eugene, considering he was in
the worst shape out of all of them. It only took her a second to reset the
fracture and heal Eugene's broken nose. Eugene looked slightly tearful as he
rubbed his nose and thanked the matron.
One by one, the rest of them were attended to. By the time Madam Peppercorn had
finished, there wasn't a single cut or bruise to be seen. The only sign they'd
even been in a fight in a first place was the blood spattered all over their
clothes.
"I think that should just about do it," Peppercorn announced, nodding in
satisfaction. "They're all yours now, Mr. Weasley."
"Thank you, madam," Septimus said. "I'll be taking them to the headmaster now."
Madam Peppercorn bustled off, mumbling under-breath about delinquent, reckless
students. Just as they were getting ready to leave, the doors to the infirmary
suddenly opened up. It was Tom and he was looking quite serious as he briskly
strode into the infirmary. Harry's heart skipped a beat — despite knowing that
Tom wouldn't be pleased with the situation, he was still happy to see him.
"Mr. Riddle," Septimus addressed Tom with clear annoyance. "I must escort these
boys to the Headmaster's office. Now is not the time—"
"I'm certain you can spare just a few moments," Tom cut him off coolly.
Septimus's cheeks turned pink with barely suppressed anger. Tom either didn't
notice or didn't care — he simply walked right up to Harry and crouched down in
front of him. His gaze immediately went to the large blood stain on the front
of Harry's uniform.
"Let me see," he said, taking Harry gently by the chin.
Harry attempted to wriggle away. "I'm fine, Tom," he insisted. "Really. Madam
Peppercorn—"
"Let mesee, Harry," Tom repeated sternly, tightening his grip.
Harry fell silent. He'd been wrong in his earlier assumption — Tom wasn't just
unhappy with the situation, he was angry. Satisfied with Harry's more compliant
behavior, Tom loosened his grip and tipped Harry's chin up. He inspected him
closely for several moments, taking in every last detail about Harry's physical
state. Once Tom seemed satisfied that there wasn't any injury, he released him.
"Your glasses are cracked," Tom observed. "Let me have them."
Obediently, Harry took off his glasses and placed them in Tom's outstretched
hand. It only took the other boy a couple of seconds to repair the cracks in
the lenses. He then handed them back to Harry and grabbed hold of his wrist.
"Come with me," he commanded. "We're leaving."
Harry blinked. "Wait, wha—"
"Excuse me, Riddle, what do you think you're doing?" Septimus cut in angrily.
"I was tasked with bringing these boys to the headmaster. Harry will remain
here with me."
Tom didn't even acknowledge Septimus's words. With a surprising amount of
strength, he pulled Harry to his feet and began leading him out of the
infirmary. The grip he had on Harry's wrist was so tight that it actually began
tohurt.
"Tom! What are—let me go—you're hurting me!"
In his panic, Harry managed to yank his arm free. He hurriedly backed away,
eyes wide and heart pounding with adrenaline. For the first time in his life,
Harry was actually afraid of Tom.
Tom's expression immediately softened and he took a step towards Harry. Once
again, Harry's heart skipped a beat — but for a different reason this time.
"Harry…I'm sorry," Tom said, reaching out to him. "I was just worried — I'd let
my emotions get the better of me."
Harry didn't back away this time, but he wasn't as comforted by the idea of
Tom's touch as he normally would be.
"You know that I'd never intentionally hurt you, don't you?" Tom murmured,
taking hold of Harry's wrist more gently.
Now that the initial panic was fading, Harry was able to recognize the
sincerity in Tom's words. Tom hadnever hurt him before and it wasn't as if
Harry had been badly hurt this time. One small incident hardly meant anything.
"Harry?"
Septimus had approached them now. His face was white and his eyes were filled
with concern.
"It's nothing, Septimus," Harry told him. "Everything's settled now."
That answer obviously wasn't what Septimus had wanted to hear; he appeared both
frustrated and disappointed with Harry.
"Be that as it may." Septimus's voice sounded strained. "You need to stay with
me. I was given specific instructions to bring you to the headmaster myself."
"That's understandable," Tom calmly answered for Harry. "However, I'd like to
come along as well — if that isn't a problem, of course."
It didn't take a genius to see that Septimus hadseveral problems with that
request. The look he was giving Tom was nothing short of hatred and disdain. It
didn't help that the tone in which Tom had spoken was the slightest bit goading
— as if he knew that Septimus had no choice but to allow it.
Septimus just gave Tom one last loathsome glare before turning and storming out
of the infirmary. With a sigh, Harry took Tom's hand and followed after,
ignoring the dull ache in his wrist.
                                     xxxxx
Headmaster Dippet was not impressed.
"I am very disappointed in all of you," he scolded in a severe tone. "Fighting
and violence is never, under any circumstances, allowed on school grounds."
The six boys all stood in front of the headmaster's desk, their heads lowered
in shame. In the background stood Dumbledore and Professor Beery, the
Hufflepuff head-of-house. Dumbledore did not appear at all his normal, merry
self — he was graver than Harry had ever seen him and the infamous twinkle in
his eyes was gone. Harry had expected a stern telling-off from the headmaster,
but being on the receiving end of Dumbledore's disappointment was somehow much
worse.
"Do you boys even understand the severity of your actions?" Dippet said,
bringing Harry's attention back to him. "Situations such as these are not taken
lightly here at Hogwarts — each of you could face expulsion."
Harry's stomach went cold. He couldn't be expelled! The idea of having to
permanently return to the orphanage was worse than any other possible
punishment. He'd sooner receive a month's worth of Pringle's canings over that.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, Harry managed a 'yes, sir,' along with the
others.
"However," Dippet continued on. "Considering the current circumstances, that
will not be necessary today."
Despite his relief, Harry found himself more interested in what Headmaster
Dippet had meant by the 'current circumstances'. The best explanation Harry
could come up with was the attacks on Hunter and Jill. If that was the case,
the only reason the headmaster hadn't expelled him was because he wanted to
keep an eye on him.
"Consider this your only warning, gentlemen," Dippet said in a sharp tone. "If
any of you are caught engaging in such behavior again, I will not be so lenient
next time."
They all nodded, "Yes, sir."
"Good." Dippet sat back in his chair. "Now, I will leave it up to your heads-
of-houses to decide on a suitable punishment."
Dumbledore was the first to speak. "I believe a month's worth of detention and
two-hundred points from Gryffindor should suffice,"
Harry's eyes widened slightly. Two-hundred points? That was basically all the
points Gryffindor had acquired so far — he couldn't imagine how their house-
mates were going to react when they saw their hourglass back to zero. Of
course, he knew that it was a far better punishment than being expelled, so he
kept his mouth shut.
"Yes, the same will go for you two," Beery nodded, looking at Gibson and Baker.
"I hope this will be a lesson for all of you."
Harry silently glanced over to Gibson and Baker. They didn't appear the least
bit remorseful or ashamed of their actions. Somehow, Harry just knew that this
wouldn't be their last run in with each other.
He just hoped he was wrong about that.
Chapter End Notes
     Oh, fuck me. This chapter very nearly did me in. It's actually
     shorter than it's supposed to be; I'd had about four thousand more
     words to this, but I'd cut them out because I just wanted to get this
     damn chapter up. But yeah, that's why this one seems a little choppy
     and abrupt in places — it's because I'd cut out a lot of stuff and
     there were several other scenes that were supposed to be here. I must
     say that I did enjoy writing the scenes with Dumbledore. I always
     like writing him.
     In other news, I spent the last couple days reading over a fanfiction
     I'd posted in fucking 2007 — dear lord, I've never laughed so hard at
     my own writing. Anyone else look back on stuff you did as a teenager
     and just cringe?
***** Chapter 29 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
"That was close!" Walter exclaimed as he, Eugene, Simon and Harry stepped out
of the headmaster's office.
"Too close," Simon readily agreed, nodding. "I thought we were done for."
"Just wait until I get my hands on those no-good Hufflepuffs," Walter growled,
punching his fist into his hand. "They'll wish they'd been expelled."
"And what? Get us expelled for sure next time?" Eugene interjected with a
frown. "I'd rather not get into any more fights, if it's all the same to you."
"As much as I hate to admit it, but Eugene's right," Simon said with a sigh.
"We shouldn't start any more trouble with the Hufflepuffs. It'll only make
Harry's situation worse."
Walter still didn't look convinced. "So, what are we supposed to do? Let the
Hufflepuffs bully Harry whenever they please?"
"Of course not," Simon replied, shaking his head. "It's just — getting
ourselves expelled won't solve anything, will it?"
"I suppose…" Walter muttered reluctantly. "It just frustrates me that they keep
getting away with how they treat Harry."
"I don't exactly like it either, you know," Simon retorted with slight
annoyance, "but what else can we do?"
"Listen, stop worrying about it," Harry finally decided to speak up. "I don't
want you getting into any more trouble for me. I can handle it."
Walter rolled his eyes heavily at that. "Of course. Because you've been
handling it so well up to this point, haven't you?"
Harry flinched slightly. "Well—I—"
"Just drop it, Walter," Simon said, coming to Harry's aid. "Besides — who knows
— maybe the Hufflepuffs won't bother Harry anymore after today. The headmaster
sounded quite serious."
"That old coot?" Walter snorted incredulously. "He probably won't do a thing
about it!"
"Walter..." Simon said with a rather stern look.
"Alright, alright." Walter held up his hands in defeat. "I won't start anything
with the Hufflepuffs, I promise."
"Thank you." Simon nodded in approval. "Now, let's get out of here before the
headmaster changes his mind and comes after us."
With that, the four of them stepped onto the rotating staircase. The entire way
down, Harry was thinking over the conversation they'd just had. While he was
grateful for Simon's help, he inwardly knew that he'd been wrong — it'd been
made quite clear that the Hufflepuffs had no intention of leaving Harry alone.
He just hoped that it was a matter he'd be able to handle on his own next time.
When the staircase came to a stop and Harry stepped off, the first thing he saw
was Tom, who appeared to be waiting for him. The other boy didn't waste a
moment before holding out his hand and promptly saying, "Come with me, Harry."
Harry barely hesitated before moving towards Tom, his body almost automatically
reacting to his command. However, he didn't get very far when he found himself
abruptly stopped by a hand on his shoulder. It turned out to be Simon, who was
frowning quite deeply at in Tom's direction.
"Wait a moment, Harry," he said. "Wouldn't you rather come back to Gryffindor
Tower with us?"
Harry wasn't given a chance to answer. "Harry needs to be with me right now,
Simon," Tom spoke for him. "I'm sure you understand that."
Surprisingly, Simon didn't back down. "I was just wondering what Harry would
like to do," he pressed on, keeping his hand on Harry's shoulder. "You didn't
really ask, did you?"
Silence fell throughout the corridor. The bold, almost critical nature of
Simon's statement had caused the atmosphere to go completely tense — everyone
was waiting with bated breath to see what would happen next. Tom, however,
didn't seem particularly threatened by Simon's words; in fact, he looked almost
interested by the turn of events.
"Your concern is appreciated, Simon," Tom replied, keeping his tone friendly.
"However, I'm afraid it is sorely misplaced. Harry is perfectly willing to come
with me — he will tell you so himself."
All eyes turned on Harry now. He felt extremely uncomfortable being put on the
spot like that. It reminded him of the same old tug-of-war games he used to
endure with Septimus and he was annoyed it was happening again. The last thing
he wanted was more rifts to be created between his friends and his boyfriend.
However, he'd already known from the start that he'd side with Tom, no matter
what.
"I—uh—yeah," Harry said a bit awkwardly. "I should go with Tom right now."
His answer had pleased Tom, at least. A small smile appeared on the other boy's
face and he took Harry's hand, curling their fingers together. Simon, on the
other hand, was obviously disappointed by Harry's decision — but he seemed to
accept it.
"Sure, Harry, if that's what you want," Simon said with a weak smile, taking a
step back. "Just one favor, though—could you maybe help me with my Astronomy
project later?"
Harry, relieved that everything had calmed down, just nodded. "Would tonight
after detention be alright?"
"Oh, of course, that'd be perfect!" Simon smiled broadly, his mood obviously
lifting again. "Thanks, Harry."
"Great," Harry said, returning the smile. "I'll see you tonight, then."
"See you tonight," Simon said, waving to Harry before turning and walking away.
"And don't forget practice!" Walter made sure to remind before disappearing
with the others.
"I'll be there!"
With that, Harry and Tom were left alone in the corridor. Harry could only
wonder what would happen now — he had no idea if Tom was still as upset as he
was back in the infirmary. It was highly probable that the other boy would at
least give Harry a lecture of some kind. However — surprisingly — all Tom did
was reach out and wipe away a bit of crusted blood from the corner of Harry's
lip. Madam Peppercorn had healed him perfectly, but hadn't done much in the way
of cleaning him up.
"You're quite a mess," Tom said, his tone soft. "Come with me."
Before Harry had a chance to respond, he was grabbed by the wrist and lead
away. Tom's grip was gentle, almost feather-light — as if he was over-
compensating for what'd occurred in the hospital wing earlier that day. It was
a strangely endearing action, one that made Harry fall in love with Tom just a
little bit more.
Harry was taken to the prefect's bathroom, a place he hadn't been since that
embarrassingly drunken night on his birthday. He was almost startled to realize
that only two months had passed since then — he would've thought it'd been
years. So much had changed in such a short amount of time. Harry didn't even
feel like the same person any more.
Harry was left to wait as Tom went over to the showers and turned them on.
Steam slowly began to fill the bathroom, fogging up the mirrors and Harry's
glasses. Carefully, he took them off and put them in his pocket. Once the
temperature was set, Tom turned back to Harry.
"Come, let's get you out of those clothes," he said.
"It's just a bit of blood," Harry argued weakly. "There's no need to fuss."
Tom just ignored the protest and began removing Harry's robes and blazer.
"It'll help you relax, too."
While it was a nice sentiment, Harry didn't agree. How could he possibly relax
at a time like this? He might've avoided being expelled for the time being, but
with the headmaster constantly breathing down his neck, he knew it was only a
matter of time. He was facing some serious trouble if the real culprit behind
the attacks wasn't caught soon — and that wasn't even taking into consideration
everything else going on. Sometimes it felt like Tom was the only stable thing
left in his life.
Calmly, Tom unbuttoned Harry's shirt and then helped him step out of his
trousers. While Harry no longer felt the urge to shy away, he didn't think he'd
ever truly get used to being nude in front of Tom. There was something very
personal about baring himself so completely to someone else — someone he loved.
It was an intense, yet vulnerable feeling to have that much trust in someone.
Releasing a slow breath, Harry stepped into the shower and closed his eyes. The
warm water beat down on his tired body and, despite his earlier doubts, he felt
himself slowly start to relax. It could honestly be annoying how often Tom was
right about things. Opening his eyes, Harry saw that Tom was now undressed as
well. The other boy stood there, completely naked and still looking like he
owned the world. Harry didn't think he'd ever get used to seeing Tom nude,
either — it was painfully unfair for someone to be that beautiful.
Tom joined Harry in the shower and grabbed a washcloth. Gripping Harry by the
chin, he carefully began cleaning away the remnants of dried blood on his face.
"Do you want to tell me about what'd happened?" Tom asked, still gently wiping
at Harry's face.
It was obvious that Tom was no longer angry, but Harry still had difficulty
ridding himself of the image of him losing control as he had in the infirmary.
It reminded him of their childhood days, when Tom had been cruel and mean — the
only difference being, Harry had actually been frightened of Tom this time.
Setting the washcloth down, Tom picked up a bottle of shampoo and poured a
small amount into his hands. He began working his fingers through Harry's hair,
thoroughly lathering the wild locks.
"Hm?" Tom urged softly.
Startled out of his thoughts, Harry took a breath and began relaying what'd
happened with Hufflepuffs. He told Tom everything — from Gibson pushing him, to
Simon punching Gibson, to his own involvement in the brawl. By the time he was
finished, Harry was half-expecting Tom to be upset or angry again. However, the
other boy was neither.
"I see," Tom said in his characteristically calm manner, still massaging his
fingers into Harry's scalp. "Close your eyes for me."
Harry did as he was told, allowing Tom to begin rinsing out his hair. As the
water trailed down his face, Harry couldn't help but notice a different kind of
wetness brimming in his eyes. It took him a moment to realize that they were
tears. He'd been crying an awful lot lately, he idly noted to himself. If he'd
been with anyone other than Tom, he might've felt horribly embarrassed.
A few moments later, the shower was shut off. Tom grabbed a towel and began
drying Harry off, starting from his hair and working all the way down to his
toes. Harry sometimes felt a bit silly when Tom did things like that for him,
but it was obvious that Tom seemed to want and even take pleasure in doing
them. If it made Tom happy, then Harry had no problems with allowing it.
"Does that feel better?" Tom murmured, wrapping the towel around Harry.
Harry nodded. Physically, he did feel a little better, but emotionally he was a
complete mess. He was angry and frustrated, but above of all, he was scared. He
felt like everyone around him was abandoning him — whether it was because he
was a homosexual or a Parselmouth — and the number of people he considered
friends continued to dwindle at a rapid pace. He was helpless to fix what was
happening.
Reaching out, Tom brushed away a stray tear from Harry's cheek. "Just remember
what I told you yesterday," he whispered into his ear.
Harry didn't verbally respond, but instead leaned against Tom and took whatever
comfort he could from the other boy. He didn't know how long they stood there
like that, listening to the hollow 'drip, drip, drip' of water against tile,
but it must have been a while. Their skin had completely dried and the steam
from the shower had long since evaporated. It also occurred to Harry that Tom
was still quite nude — he hadn't even bothered to cover himself with a towel.
'Ever the modest one,' Harry thought fondly.
A chill settled over the bathroom, forcing the two to finally separate so they
could start getting dressed. As Harry was pulling on his robes (freshly cleaned
thanks to a charm cast by Tom) he was still thinking over everything that'd
happened that day and it occurred to him that there was still something very
important he needed to ask Tom. The excitement of the day had nearly made him
forget what his friends had told him earlier.
"Tom?"
"Yes?"
"Why didn't you tell me that Parselmouths are descendants of Slytherin?" he
asked, trying to keep his tone from sounding accusatory.
Tom had obviously not expected the question. The other boy paused in the middle
of buttoning his shirt to look at Harry. Yet, despite being caught off guard,
his expression didn't give away any particular emotion.
"I see someone told you about that."
"Why didn't you tell me?" Harry repeated his question.
Tom calmly finished buttoning his shirt before answering. "I'd thought it'd be
upsetting to you," he stated simply. "I didn't think it was pertinent for you
to know right away."
"Well, I'd prefer to decide for myself what is and isn't upsetting to me,"
Harry said, frowning. "I'd deserved to know."
"You're right," Tom acquiesced with a nod. "You did."
Harry, who'd honestly been geared up for an argument, hadn't expected Tom to so
readily admit that he'd been wrong. As a result, his anger instantly drained
away, leaving behind only a feeling of tiredness and confusion. With a heavy
sigh, Harry took a seat on the bench.
"Is it really possible for us to be descendants of Slytherin?" he asked.
"It's possible," Tom said quietly.
Harry groaned and pressed his face into his hands. "Great. That's just what I
need right now."
Tom sat beside Harry and brushed a strand of damp hair from his face. "This
isn't necessarily a bad thing, Harry," he said softly.
"How would this not be a bad thing, exactly?" Harry asked, shooting Tom a
dubious look.
"Salazar Slytherin was one of the greatest wizards to have ever lived," Tom
answered, and Harry didn't miss the slight eagerness in his tone as he spoke.
"That kind of power in our blood could mean great things for us."
Harry paused. If Tom had been anyone else, Harry would have been a lot more
bothered by the things he was saying. Certainly, Tom had a history of bullying,
but Harry highly doubted Tom would ever agree with anything downright evil. The
idea seemed almost absurd to him.
"Err, I don't know, Tom, that's not something I really care about — why would
having that kind of power matter, anyway?"
"We could do anything," Tom said, still brushing his fingers through Harry's
hair. "Anything we wanted."
"I suppose, but—wait—" Harry stopped abruptly, eyes widening as a horrifying
thought occurred to him. "If we're both descendants of Slytherin, would that
mean we're related?"
Tom appeared faintly amused by the question. "If we were, it would most likely
be distantly."
"Oh…right…" Harry bit at his lip in thought. "If only we could know more about
our parents. If they were magical, they would've attended Hogwarts — obviously
since Whitley isn't my real surname, I wouldn't be able to trace it but maybe
Riddle is—"
"Riddle is a muggle surname," Tom interrupted rather plainly. "My father was a
muggle."
"Oh." Harry blinked in surprise. "How did you find that out?"
"He wasn't in the school records," Tom responded. "Nor had I found any evidence
that he'd ever stepped foot in this castle."
It took Harry a moment to truly register that information. "And your mother…?"
"She was a witch," Tom stated tonelessly. "A pure-blood."
Harry furrowed his brows. "Why didn't you tell me before…?" he asked, a bit
confused. "It sounds like you've known for a while."
As soon as the question left his mouth, Harry realized he already knew the
answer. The subject of Tom's parents had always been a touchy one — the other
boy rarely spoke of them, save for a few short, blunt statements. He hid behind
a façade of emotionless, toneless indifference, but it was obvious to Harry
that Tom truly hated his parents.
"It seemed like such a trivial thing to bring up," was all Tom said.
Harry decided to leave it at that.
It took them only a few moments to gather up the rest of their things and head
out of the bathroom. Harry had started heading back towards Gryffindor Tower,
but Tom stopped him.
"Stay with me," the boy said, holding firmly onto Harry's wrist.
Harry hesitated uncertainly. "I really should get back…I have practice soon,
and then detention later."
"You would leave now?" Tom frowned, still holding onto Harry's wrist. "It'd
only be for a little while."
Tom's words made Harry feel horribly guilty. He was being thoughtless and
selfish — how could he run off now, when Tom obviously needed him? Tom had
always been there for Harry, and now it was Harry's turn to do the same for
Tom.
"No, I won't leave," Harry answered, slipping his hand into Tom's. "I still
have some time before practice anyway."
Tom smiled and Harry found himself smiling back — he knew he would never desire
anything more than Tom's happiness. Together, they went back to the Room of
Requirement, where they shed their robes and quietly climbed into the bed.
Harry lay behind Tom and slipped his arms around the boy, pressing his face
into his back. Minutes ticked by in comfortable quietness, until Harry found
himself speaking:
"I hate them too."
"Who?" Tom asked quietly, even though his tone suggested he already knew the
answer.
Harry breathed out. "My parents."
The words left a bitter taste in Harry's mouth. It was something he'd always
known on a subconscious level, but had never before admitted out loud — until
now. Somehow, it'd felt important that he say it; that Tom knew that they
shared a similar pain.
Tom took Harry's hand and laced their fingers together tightly. It was all that
was needed to assure each other that they weren't alone — that even when others
had abandoned them, even when the entire world had forgotten them, they were
together, always.
Nothing more needed to be said after that.
Chapter End Notes
     I'm very sorry this chapter took so long to get out. Lots of things
     have been happening over the last few months (I won't go into
     details, but life got crazy). I also won't lie, I've been feeling
     very self-conscious about this story and not really wanting to update
     out of anxiety. Anyway, this is actually not the full chapter. There
     was about 5 thousand more words to this but there's a giant scene in
     the second half that I need to rewrite and it's taking me a really
     long time to figure out how to do that. I've been getting a lot of
     messages and comments lately asking me if I'm going to update, so I
     thought 'fuck it' and decided to just cut the chapter in half and
     post what I actually have edited and finished. It's probably the
     shortest chapter I've posted in a while, but at least it's something.
     So I guess this is technically part 1 of the actual chapter, haha.
     I'm not happy at all with this, but hopefully you guys like it.
     Again, sorry for taking so long and thank you for your patience.
     (Also my birthday is on the 22nd, so happy birthday to me!)
***** Chapter 30 *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
When Harry awoke hours later, the sun had gone down and the sky outside the
window was pitch-black — a good indicator of how late it was. With a jolt of
panic, Harry jerked up in bed and fumbled around for his wand, checking the
time. It was close to nine, which meant he'd most certainly missed practice.
"Damn it!" Harry cursed as he threw the blankets off. "Walter is going to kill
me!"
Scrambling out of bed, he hurriedly gathered up his things and pulled his robes
on. He knew he needed to find Walter and explain what had happened. Not only
that, but he really needed to get back to Gryffindor Tower before curfew — the
last thing he needed was to be caught out after hours. Not with the headmaster
currently breathing down his neck over every little thing.
"Why don't you just stay here for the night?"
The voice startled Harry out of his panic. He turned around to see Tom sitting
quite relaxed in one of the armchairs near the fire. There was a book in the
other boy's hand, indicating that he'd been awake for quite some time. In his
haste, Harry hadn't even noticed him there.
"Why didn't you wake me, Tom?" Harry said, grabbing up his bag. "You knew I had
practice!"
"I thought you could use the extra sleep," Tom responded, calmly turning a page
in his book. "It didn't seem important enough to wake you for."
"Not impor-?" Harry repeated, flabbergasted. "Tom! You know exactly how
important Quidditch is to me! I can't believe you let me miss practice!"
"There is no need for that tone, Harry," Tom said, setting his book down and
holding his hand out. "Here, come sit with me for a while. You'll forget all
about this once you've calmed down."
"I don't want to sit down and I don't want to forget about it!" Harry snapped,
struggling to contain himself. "I need to find Walter and explain things before
he kicks me off the team!"
"It's just a game, Harry — a silly, brutish game," Tom said, sounding not at
all bothered or apologetic. "It's about time you found something more
productive to do."
For a moment, Harry could only stare at Tom with stunned disbelief. There were
few things in Harry's life that brought him as much joy and happiness as
Quidditch did; there were few things that he took as much pride in. And
Tom knew that. The fact that he'd even suggest Harry quit was beyond
unbelievable.
"I can't believe you'd—this is—ugh!" Harry threw his hands up in frustration.
"You know what, I don't have time to deal with this right now."
Not bothering to wait for Tom to respond, Harry angrily stormed out of the
room, resisting the urge to slam the door behind him as he did. As quickly as
he could, he made his way back to Gryffindor Tower, trying along the way to
come up with a good explanation for missing practice. Perhaps Walter wouldn't
be too upset with him, he tried to reason with himself. It wasn't as if he'd
done it on purpose — certainly Walter would understand that.
"So, what's your excuse this time?"
Harry had barely walked through the portrait hole when he was greeted by
Walter's heated words. Any hope he'd had for forgiveness flew right out the
window — Walter wasn't just angry, he was livid.
"Walter—don't—"
Surprisingly, the protest had come from Richard, who was holding onto Walter's
shoulder in an attempt to keep him back.
"Let go!" Walter said, shaking Richard off. "I want to know what he has to
say this time."
Completely taken off guard by Walter's anger, Harry was left fumbling for an
apology. "Walter, look, I'm so, so sorry, I just—"
"Sorry! Sorry he says!" Walter scoffed, throwing his hands into the air.
"That's all you ever say anymore! Don't you take this seriously at all?"
"Of course I do!" Harry said hurriedly. "I was just with Tom and I lost track
of time and—"
"Why am I not surprised?" Walter interjected with a humorless laugh.
"Of course you were with Tom! You're never with anyone but Tom!"
Harry swallowed heavily, heart beating fast. "I really didn't mean to—"
"Oh, and let's not forget you that you didn't even show up to detention,
Harry!" Walter continued over him, sounding more and more irritated by the
second. "We had to lie and say you were too sick. You nearly got the rest of us
into even more trouble!"
Harry felt his stomach clench with guilt and shame. How could he have forgotten
about detention of all things? He knew he had a bad habit of being reckless,
but he'd never been so irresponsible as to miss detention before. It was made
worse by the fact that his own carelessness had nearly gotten his friends into
worse trouble.
"Walter, don't you think you're being a bit unreasonable—"
"Stay out of this, Eugene!" Walter snapped, rounding on the poor boy. "This has
nothing to do with you."
Eugene sank back into the couch, his face turning bright red. Harry was at a
loss for words. He'd never seen Walter like this before. His good-natured
friend was always the first to laugh and always the first to find humor in a
situation. Now, he was angry and, worst of all, upset — and it was Harry's
fault.
"Listen, Walter," Harry searched for the words to make this right. "I really am
sorry. I promise I'll—"
"Save it, Harry," Walter cut him off shortly. "I'm sick of hearing your
promises — they clearly don't mean a thing. Just make sure you show up for the
game on Saturday or you're off the team."
Walter didn't even wait for Harry to respond. He just turned away and walked
right up to the dormitories. For a moment, Richard stood there looking at
Harry, appearing as if he wanted to say something as well — but in the end, he
simply followed after Walter. Harry was left standing there, mouth parted
wordlessly. He was so shell-shocked by what'd just happened that it took a few
moments before he could actually move again.
"Harry?" Eugene said anxiously from beside him.
"I'm—" Harry had to swallow to unstick his throat. "I'm alright, Eugene."
"I'm sure Walter will come around soon," Eugene offered in a small voice. "He
probably didn't mean what he said."
Harry nodded, though he'd barely heard a word Eugene had said. "You're probably
right," he said a bit numbly. "Where's Simon?"
"Over by the bookcase," Eugene answered, pointing across the room.
For the first time, Harry noticed that Simon had been in the room the entire
time. The boy was hunched over a small table in the far corner of the common
room, face set with intense concentration as he appeared to be working on
something. It was then that a terrible realization dawned on Harry — he'd
completely forgotten his promise to help Simon with his Astronomy project.
"Oh, no…"
Harry hurried across the room to Simon, feeling more horrible by the minute.
"I'm so sorry, Simon!" Harry said. "I completely forgot — here maybe I can—"
Harry grabbed a quill and a chart, desperately hoping to salvage the situation
somehow. He didn't care if he had to do the entire assignment himself, he just
wanted to make this right. However, to his surprise, Simon merely brushed him
off.
"Don't bother, Harry," he said in an unusually brusque tone. "I'm heading to
bed anyway."
Simon grabbed the chart back and then snapped his book shut. He didn't say
another word to Harry as he got up and walked off to the dormitories. Harry
stood there for a few moments, his chest feeling tight and hot. First Richard.
Then Septimus. Had he messed things up with Walter and Simon as well? Would he
have any friends left by the end of the term?
"Harry?" Eugene said from behind him. "Are…are you coming to bed too?"
Harry blinked a few times. It took him a minute to even realize that Eugene had
asked him a question. He turned to face the other boy and gave him a small,
weak smile.
"In a minute, Eugene," he said, his voice sounding strange and thick even to
his own ears. "I'll be up soon."
Eugene gave him a slightly worried look but nodded. Harry waited until the
other boy ascended the stairs to the dormitory before releasing a shaky breath.
He wanted nothing more than to go to Tom —his anger with the other boy seemed
irrelevant now and all Harry wanted was to be with someone who didn't hate his
guts.
Running his fingers through his hair, Harry looked down and noticed Simon had
left his assignment on the table. He picked up a couple of charts and looked
them over. He noticed they weren't labeled correctly and some of the
constellations were in the wrong spots. The diagrams of Saturn and Neptune were
also incomplete and lacking detail.
Sitting down in the chair Simon had formerly been occupying, Harry inked up a
quill and carefully started making a few corrections on the star maps. It
didn't take long and, when that was done, he set about completing the diagrams
for Simon. It helped a little to focus on something familiar — something safe.
Astronomy was the only constant thing, besides Tom, that Harry truly had.
Everything else seemed to be hurtling away from him as if being sucked into a
great black hole.
When he was finished with the charts (which honestly looked even nicer than
Harry's own), Harry moved onto Simon's essay. He felt himself smile slightly
when he saw that his friend had only written a single sentence so far.
"The Jovian planets are the largest in our Solar System and they are so named
because they are like Jupiter — these planets consist of Jupiter (the largest),
Saturn, Uranus and Neptune."
It was a good start, Harry supposed, but it could definitely use some work.
Stretching his fingers, Harry dipped his quill in the inkwell once more and
then set to work. His hand moved fluidly across the page without pausing,
filling up the parchment with everything he knew about the Jovian planets. When
he finally finished hours later, the essay was nearly three feet long. He made
sure to read it over in case he'd forgotten anything, before rolling it up and
carefully tucking it away with the rest of Simon's things.
Harry rubbed his eyes, which were feeling very scratchy and heavy. He'd worked
on that essay a lot longer than he'd intended, considering it was now almost
one in the morning. He tiredly dragged himself up to the dorms, only bothering
with shedding his robes and shoes before dropping into his bed. Despite his
tiredness, he didn't fall asleep right away — his stomach was still in knots
and he felt terrible about what'd happened. He'd never thought that his own bed
could feel so foreign or that his own dormmates — the very people he called his
best friends — could feel like such strangers.
It was a very long, lonely night.
Chapter End Notes
     I really have no good excuse for why this took me so long to get out.
     Basically, school has been ruling my life. I had major surgery last
     month, though, which means I'm unable to return to school this
     semester due to recovery and now that I have nothing else to do, I
     decided to try to pick this story back up. I apologize for how short
     this chapter is; it was originally part of the last chapter, but I'd
     cut it out because there were a few scenes I wanted to fix.
     I really want to thank all of my readers for sticking with me despite
     my slow updates. Despite everything, I've been continuing to receive
     so much amazing support and encouragement. It honestly means the
     world to me, because I've been feeling very insecure and doubtful
     about both this story and my writing lately. I really appreciate all
     of you more than you know.
     Anyway, I'll be trying my best to go through all of the comments and
     reply to each one of them over time. I'm sorry I've been so absent,
     and I thank those of you who are still here with me.
     I hope you enjoy this chapter.
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