Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10385439.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Harry_Potter/Tom_Riddle, Harry_Potter/Voldemort
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Tom_Riddle_|_Voldemort, Tom_Riddle, Tom_Riddle_Sr.,
      Theodore_Nott, Draco_Malfoy
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe, Alternate_Universe_-_Fairy_Tale, Underage_Sex, Age
      Difference, Emotional_Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological_Abuse,
      Possessive_Behavior, Unhealthy_Relationships, Mildly_Dubious_Consent,
      Attempted_Rape/Non-Con, Dysfunctional_Family, Blood, Mystery, Ambiguous/
      Open_Ending, Dark, Blood_As_Lube
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-03-20 Completed: 2017-03-25 Chapters: 2/2 Words: 10433
****** Little Bits ******
by lordmarvoloriddle
Summary
     Inspired by Cinderella. Only there's no prince and surely no one is
     singing about their feelings and Harry's life could be a lot worse
     than having three step-brothers and a father who didn't liked him.
     He's going to be proven right.
Notes
See the end of the work for notes
***** Chapter 1 *****
Harry moved to Thomas Riddle Sr.’s house in Little Hangleton when he was ten,
three years after his father had died in the war. Exactly five months later in
their new home, his mother perished from lung sickness while Harry played
outside in the garden, all by himself.
Somehow his tears refused to fall. Even during the funeral in the local
cemetery. His eyes were dry, the same as the hot desert his mother used to read
him stories about late at night. Just the two of them, huddled in the big bed
within the chamber Thomas Riddle gifted him. The same man’s hand now rested on
his shoulder as his mother’s casket was slowly let down by four men into the
black hole in the ground. His adoptive brothers, all older than Harry, sat on
the other side of their father in silence.
The brown haired twelve-year-old was named Theodore, and most of the time he
was set on ignoring Harry’s existence. He made it clear Harry was not welcomed
in their house, least of all into his life, and never once had they played
together despite their close age. But out of the three of them, Harry liked
Theodore the best. He was not mean to him. 
The second eldest brother was different, and not only in appearance. His name
was Draco and he had pale blonde hair with grey eyes, and he was cruel to
Harry. He had once thrown the toy soldier his new father had given him from the
top of the stairs, breaking its fragile neck and limbs. Harry had sobbed into
his mother’s embrace late into the night until his hiccups died down and she
promised Thomas Sr. wouldn’t get mad at him.
The eldest of the three was named Tom, the real son of their adoptive father
and sixteen this winter. He was the coldest of them all. Although he looked
like one would picture Prince Charming, he never smiled at Harry. Not even
once. He was very tall and his hair and eyes were black. The only conversation
they had was a muffled ‘Sorry’ whispered in the hallway when Harry bumped into
him by accident while running away from Draco. ‘No bother’ was the only reply.
Harry couldn’t decide if he liked Tom or not.
“Freak! Your mother died and you wouldn’t even cry!” piped Draco after most of
the people had left the grave site.
Theodore looked strangely at Harry, putting a little distance between them at
his brother’s harsh words. Harry did not say a thing as he dragged his feet
towards the edge of the forest, hearing Draco shout after him. He refused to
stop, even for a while, until he reached a small clearing and all but collapsed
onto his knees. Forehead tightly pressed against the ground, Harry sobbed,
hands covering his mouth.
He wanted his mother. He wanted his father. He was all alone in the world now,
not a single person to care for him anymore in a house full of strangers who
didn’t love him. It was cold outside but Harry couldn’t bring himself to stand
and go to the place he needed to call home from now on. Not without his mother.
His tears left hot trails over his frozen cheeks as he bit his lip to keep from
crying out.
“Is weeping all you can do?”
Harry would recognize that voice anywhere. From the few times he had heard it,
Harry had memorized the tone. The way he articulated specific words and the way
he made them pretty. Harry gazed up to see Tom standing over him, looking down
at him. Really, really looking at him. The trees threw dark shadows over his
handsome face as he crouched down to his eye level.
“You see,” Tom started in a quiet voice, as if they were sharing secrets. “When
I’m hurting like you are now, I like to make others hurt even worse.”
Are you also hurting? Harry wondered. Somehow, it was unimaginable.
He did not know what to stay, how to respond to something like that without
making a fool out of himself. Or if he should do so in the first place. Harry
quietly observed Tom as the boy got out a sharp-looking dagger from his coat
pocket, its blade gleaming in the poor light outside. Harry must have let out a
sound because his adoptive brother grabbed hold of his hand and pulled him
toward himself rather violently so that Harry almost stumbled.
Tom’s face was so close to Harry’s own that he was able to count the older
boy’s eyelashes if he wanted to. Tom’s lips were slightly parted and wet as he
watched Harry.
“Are you scared?” his older brother asked, bringing the knife closer to Harry’s
face and almost grazing his cheek with the tip. “Of this knife or of losing
your mother?”
And just like that, without waiting for an answer of some kind, he opened
Harry’s left palm almost tenderly and slashed it in one clean cut.
Harry gasped in pain, fresh tears forming in his swollen eyes and hand
trembling in Tom’s own. Still, he was not released and had to witness his blood
painting the silver blade. His palm hurt and itched, pulsing with pain before
he brought it to his lap when the taller boy let go with a hard squeeze.
For the first time, something akin to a smile graced Tom’s lips as he stood up
and looked down at Harry’s quivering form.
“Be the worst you can be, Harry Potter. That’s my lesson for you. Remember it
well.”
Tom turned swiftly on his heels and left, his long black coat waving behind
like a cloak. Harry watched him disappear behind the trees, clutching his
bleeding hand closer to his chest and wishing for his mother to come fetch him
already. It was getting dark.
 
 
Despite perceiving himself as not a particularly loving person, Tom Riddle Sr.
did pride himself on being a just and honorable man. He gave all his sons the
privacy he believed every man needed, just as he expected them to respect his
own. Even in their childhood, he did not wander into their chambers without
permission. So the sight of Harry’s face and body twisted into several indecent
positions from the paintings in Theodore’s room left him petrified when he
decided to pay the boy a visit regarding his studies.
The door had been half opened but Theodore wasn’t there. Thomas’ hands trembled
as he stepped further into the room and towards the only covered painting in
the center. He had no doubt that it was Harry, yet Thomas was almost afraid of
exposing it. Afraid of what was underneath. His fingers gripped the material,
knuckles white, before dragging it down in one swift movement.
Harry’s nude body, legs spread wide, met his eyes and made him avert his gaze
in shame and outrage. He expected this from Draco, but from Theodore? Thomas
knocked the portrait down in a fit of anger when a sudden gasp behind him made
him turn around. The brown-haired boy was standing there, a plate in his hand
and panic written all over his red face. For the first time in years, Thomas
had the strangest urge to strike him. To discover what in the devil’s name was
wrong with him. But he just managed to control himself, clenching his fists in
anger.
“I won’t lower myself to speak with you about this, but I want this garbage,”
Thomas gestured to the other portraits. “Burned. Thrown away. Harry is not only
your younger brother, but a boy as well. It’s unnatural to lust after a boy
such as yourself… A sin brought to God,” he preached. “But you’re still my son,
so we’ll forget about this. But if you so much as glance in Harry’s direction
the wrong way, I’ll be forced to take drastic measures. Do you understand?”
There were tears running down Theodore’s cheeks. But he ended up nodding,
bowing his head in shame. “Yes father. I…I understand,” he stuttered.
Thomas let out a disappointed sigh as he passed him, moving to the door. “And
another thing,” he stopped to add. “Take care not to be seen when you get rid
of this disgrace. I won’t have our family’s reputation tainted over your
unnatural desires.”
He did not bother to wait for Theodore’s answer, slamming the door shut behind
him.
 
 
Harry was sixteen when he noticed Draco looking at him in that way. The way he
had seen older men from the village look at girls right before they got their
hands underneath their skirts. The blonde had even went as far as to apologize
for the way he had treated Harry in the past. An apology which Harry accepted
out of politeness more than anything else. He tried not to think too much about
what the older boy wanted or expected from him now. Yet Draco’s whims were
nothing new, so why would this one be anything different?
Harry quickly gathered his books and went inside before closing the door behind
him. Draco had been in the garden, right by the pond and playing with the dog
their father had gifted him for his birthday earlier that year. Harry saw him
looking his way and decided it was wiser to head in. He was on his way towards
the kitchen after returning the books back to his room when he heard the piano.
Harry stopped, listening to the haunting notes of the slow melody. Giving in,
he followed the sound down to the guest room where Tom was skillfully pressing
the keys of the piano with his back facing him.
Harry stood in the doorway looking at him. Tom wasn’t even using the music
sheets, yet those long fingers of his didn’t miss a single note. Harry was sure
of it. As if he had sensed him, Tom ceased his movements and turned in his
seat. 
“I wasn’t aware you played so well,” Harry said, initiating a conversation for
the first time in a while.
In all those years, they had kept their distance as much as possible. This had
proven to be quite easy considering his older brother had been away at
university in London. Harry still had the scar Tom gifted him, a silent
reminder of how vicious the man before his eyes could be. Tom had become even
more handsome, all sharp cheekbones and hollow cheeks. And despite his better
thinking, Harry’s heart beat faster just by looking at him.
Wrong, all wrong.
“Something I learned last year.”
Typical of Tom, to learn to play the piano just like that. But Harry wasn’t
surprised. His older brother had always been this way; brilliant at anything he
put his mind to doing. Harry was notjealous. Not in the slightest.
“Would you like to try?”
Harry stared at him while Tom did the same. For a second he thought the man was
mocking him, yet he was just waiting for him to make a decision. Tom’s dark
eyes watched closely as Harry came to sit next to him on the bench, aware of
how close they were. Almost brushing against one another if they would move
even an inch.
“Let me see your hands,” Tom ordered.
Raising an eyebrow, Harry did as he was told and presented them to his brother
for inspection. Tom touched them, just holding them in his own before he turned
them over with his palms up. His thumb traced over Harry’s lightning bolt scar,
sending tingles all over Harry’s body. When Tom’s gaze met his, Harry hoped his
cheeks weren’t red or something as embarrassing as that. At least he wasn’t
trembling.
“You have small hands, but your fingers are long enough for playing the piano,”
Tom announced, giving them one last look before placing their joined hands over
the keys.
The surface felt strange under Harry’s fingertips as he waited for his older
brother’s instructions, conscious of Tom’s palm over his. Harry had never had
contact with the piano before. He did not know how to play. No one did, so most
of the time the massive instrument was used as decorative furniture and nothing
else.
“Each key has a specific sound,” Tom said, and pressed one of his fingers to
demonstrate. Then another two, creating a slight tone. They sounded different;
high and low, and then low again. “And now you combine them to create something
else”.
To Harry’s surprise, his hands did not shake as Tom’s fingers skillfully guided
his own over the keys. He was aware he would need a lot more than this to learn
how to play, but for now Harry enjoyed the feeling of it. He enjoyed Tom’s
company beside him; the way his older brother showed he could also be kind.
“Excuse me. Dinner is served.”
Tom let go of Harry’s hands as if burned while both of them turned to gaze at
Mary, their maid. Her blonde head was bowed, not meeting their eyes. If Mary
was surprised by them being in each other’s company, she hid it well.
“Mister Riddle is waiting for you in the living room,” she explained, and
quickly excused herself after stealing a longing gaze at Tom when she thought
the man wasn’t looking. It was no secret Mary fancied him ever since they were
little. Most of the servants did.
Harry stood and gazed down at his brother who had turned his attention back to
the piano as if the object held the entire mysteries of human kind.
“Thank you for this.”
“It was nothing special,” Tom argued in flat voice.
Maybe for him it wasn’t, but for Harry… It was the first time in a while that
someone had done something nice for him without a hidden reason or expecting
anything else in return.
“I disagree, but if that’s what you think…” Harry waited, but Tom made no move
to hurry up for dinner or to get up. “Aren’t you coming?”
Black eyes met his. “Go first. I’ll be right behind you.”
Harry nodded and turned his back to him. He hurried to the living room, feet
padding against the wooden floor to where everyone waited. His step-father
raised an elegant eyebrow at the sight of him.
“I apologize for being late,” Harry excused himself.
“That’s Tom’s place,” Draco spoke when Harry moved to sit down next to Theodore
whose eyes did not leave his plate.
Harry blinked, grinding his teeth. He had no other choice but to take the place
next to the blonde boy. Their father leaned back in his chair, watching the
exchange. Tom chose that precise moment to arrive, not bothering to excuse
himself and simply strolling to the only vacant place at the table. Riddle Sr.
threw him a disapproving glance. Everyone knew Tom was his least favorite
child, despite being blood of his blood. Yet Harry couldn’t begin to imagine
why. His older brother was handsome, smart, and well-mannered. Polite. But none
of these things made their father like him any better. Not even the fact that
they greatly looked alike; All dark hair and sharp features.
“I have an announcement to make now that we’re all settled,” Mr. Riddle began,
slightly turning towards Harry. “After much consideration and thought, I came
to the conclusion that a marriage will be beneficial to our family.”
He was still looking at Harry. Only at Harry. He put down his fork, conscious
of everyone’s eyes on him. It made a small sound at the contact with the plate.
“I’ve decided Harry will be married to the only daughter of the Weasley
family,” he announced. “As soon as possible. No need in delaying it more than
necessary.”
“That’s stupid,” Draco cried out almost immediately, outrage written all over
his pale face. “Why on earth would you give Harry to that good-for-nothing
stupid girl? To that family?”
“Your brother is not a thing to be given, Draco,” scoffed Mr. Riddle. “This
marriage is a beneficial thing for Harry. His part of the fortune will be
handed to him, and he and the girl will have a happy life. I’ll make sure of
that.”
Away from here remained unsaid, yet all of them understood.
“Funny how you did not bother to ask for Harry’s opinion on the matter,”
pondered Tom, and dramatically took a sip of his wine. “It’s not as if you’re
deciding his future or something…”
Mr. Riddle threw him a nasty look, not bothering to respond. His eyes were set
on Harry.
Harry knew he had no say in this. This was not his home and this was not his
father. Harry appreciated Tom standing up for him but the matter had already
been settled. Knowing Mr. Riddle, the man had already spoken with the Weasleys.
There was nothing to be done.
Harry politely thanked him for the food and left for his room. There, Harry
didn’t need to be perfect.
 
 
“Came here to celebrate?”
The question caught Harry off guard from where he sat on the porch of the lake
house not too far from the manor. He moved his gaze from the frozen water to
Tom, dressed in black from head to toe. His brother’s shiny boots stopped right
next to him but he remained on his feet.
He just had to maintain his power over everyone else, didn’t he?
“Not really,” Harry answered honestly.
The other boy may not be the nicest person he knew but Harry didn’t felt the
need to pretend in his presence. Not that Tom wouldn’t know if he did so, but
that was an entirely different matter.
The old floor creaked as Tom moved his weight from one foot to another.
Curiosity got the best of him and Harry once again looked up to find his older
brother staring at him with hard eyes. There was no trace of familiarity or
understanding in his gaze. Harry may as well be studying a wall. So he could
only sit and wait.
“You’re going to leave this place,” Tom announced. “Have a new, merrier life.
Yet you have as much happiness as Cinderella when she found out she couldn’t
attend the ball.”
He smiled while Harry frowned at the silly comparison, cold air blowing Tom’s
perfectly styled hair into his eyes. He was sure his own was nothing but a
mess. It was December and it was freezing outside, colder than it had been in
years. Ever since he remembered being in Little Hangleton. Night was almost
upon them but neither he nor Tom gave any signs of wanting to head back to the
house. Even if Harry’s limbs were stiff from sitting out here for so long.
“Lucky me,” Harry echoed, gazing briefly at the frozen lake.
Tom did not take the bait. Smart of him.
After a while, just to have a distraction, Harry sighed and pushed himself
forward with his hands to place his dangling legs on the ice, testing its
resistance. It held him just fine and Harry stood before taking a few steps
ahead and turning back to Tom. The older boy had his hands in the pockets of
his coat, looking just like a painting. There was no expression on his face
that betrayed his opinion of Harry’s childish behaviour.
Then Tom smiled, but it wasn’t a pretty smile. Too sharp, too much teeth, to be
genuine. Like a cat before feasting on its much weaker pray. And Harry knew Tom
wanted him to see it, otherwise he would have just pretended like he normally
did. Harry found himself taking a step back. The ice started to creak under him
with a muffled sound that he almost did not hear over his own breathing. Tom
was still smiling as he extended a hand to him, coming closer but not stepping
over the edge. There was a long moment when they just stood there listening to
the ice. Then seeing no other option, Harry gripped the hand and let Tom haul
him up, right against his chest.
Harry’s face was on level with his older brother’s neck. One hand was still
holding his, surprisingly warm, while the other settled on his waist. Harry’s
left palm, the one with the scar, rested on the shoulder of Tom’s expensive
coat. Harry’s nostrils filled with what could only be Tom’s scent. The smell of
books or parchment maybe, and something else Harry had no name for. Not quite
sweet but something close to it. He inhaled one more time, waiting to be pushed
away. He wasn’t.
“Thank you,” Harry breathed, and moved back himself when he felt things were
getting strange.
Tom’s hand gripped him a little harder, almost painfully, before he allowed
Harry to retreat from the cage of his arms. He wasn’t smiling anymore but his
eyes were intense and focused on his face as if he had won something of great
importance. It made him even more intimidating.
“Is there anything else?” Harry asked, hoping the answer will be a negative
one. He wasn’t in the mood to play any of Tom’s games now.
“No.”
“Well, I’ll be going then.”
Harry expected a remark or protest but got just a nod of Tom’s head. Not
wasting any time, Harry left and when he was almost at the main house, he
looked back. It was dark but he could swear Tom was still following him with
his gaze.
Why? He could only guess.
 
 
“Harry?”
Harry raised his head at the question. It was Nott. And he was actually
speaking to him, calling him by his name and all that.
“Yes?”
The other boy appeared out of the blue in front of him at the top of the
staircase, like a ghost suddenly materializing out of nowhere. Though Harry had
been too busy trying to find a way out of this soon-to-be marriage to pay much
attention to his surroundings lately. They had barely managed not to collide
with one another.
“Can I talk to you for a minute?” Nott was having a hard time looking him
directly in the eye.
“Of course,” Harry answered almost immediately.
Harry let Nott lead them to his own room where he closed the door behind them.
There was a bed, a big wardrobe, and a desk in the corner filled with so many
books that they were almost tumbling down. But Harry’s attention was caught by
something else. He stopped in the middle of the room, staring at the blank
canvas placed on a high stool. Did Nott paint?
Harry wasted no time in asking his step-brother just that.
“Well,” Nott began, sounding unsure of himself for some reason. “This is part
of the reason why I wanted to speak with you.” He took a deep breath as if
preparing himself to say something that sounded like a matter of life and
death. “Would you let me paint you? Only if you want to, of course.”
Harry blinked, not being able to stop the urge to smile. It was such a trivial
request that he wanted to laugh. Considering everything that was happening to
him these days, someone wanting to paint him was the most normal occurrence.
“Of course,” Harry said, and grinned at his brother. “Where would you like me
to sit and in what position?”
Maybe it was because of the light, but Nott appeared to be blushing. The other
boy did not speak, as if he hadn’t expected his offer to be accepted in the
first place. But after some time his eyes finally settled on his desk and his
mouth opened and closed a few times without any sound.
“The desk,” Nott let out, nodding his head at it. “What about the desk?”
Harry moved to it and transferred a few books over to the bed, enough to have a
place good enough to sit. Nott’s voice stopped him as he made to move on top.
“No... don’t sit on it… How about lying down on your back? It’s much more
pleasing to the eye.”
Harry shrugged. “Why not?” He stood aside and waited for Nott to arrange the
place as he saw fit. Only two piles of books were left, one on either side of
the desk. One to lean his head on and the other for his legs, Harry was told.
The position was surprisingly comfortable, almost like lying on a bed. Harry
sat there, looking in Nott’s direction as the boy’s brush moved over the canvas
repetitively and with amazing precision. His brows where furrowed in
concentration and he was biting his lip. In Harry’s opinion, he looked rather
funny. Something about this was funny. Amusement in this house was not a common
occurrence, but a pleasant one when it did happen.
An hour or so went by and Harry was starting to get bored. Nott wasn’t talking
to him and he did not want to bother the other by starting a conversation;
Maybe Nott liked his silence while painting.
Again and again Harry’s mind flew through different approaches to the
unfortunate situation he was in. But he still had no solid plan. Even if he
went begging to his step-father on his hands and knees, Harry was convinced it
would be futile. And running away from home wasn’t an option. What was he was
going to do after that? Live on the streets? The only thing left in Harry’s
mind was to politely ask for Tom’s help. And hope that the other wouldn’t laugh
at him and send him away. Besides, who knew what the man would desire for this
‘small’ favor? Either way, it was a questionable move.
Harry sighed when Nott proudly announced he could finally move. “Can I see it?”
he curiously asked, stepping closer as he bounced on his feet.
“Ummm, not yet,” Nott said, and placed a white piece of cloth over the
painting, obscuring it from his view. “I’ll show it to you when it’s ready. I
promise.”
“Oh,” Harry said. “I’ll leave you to it then.”
Nott grinned and accompanied him to the door, trailing closely behind him.
“Thank you,” he said. “For putting up with this. I know it can be quite
bothersome to just lie like that.”
“No bother. We’re family, after all.”
They exchanged good-byes and despite his better judgment, Harry’s traitorous
feet took him straight to Tom’s doorstep. He knocked twice and waited,
listening for footsteps on the other side. Harry considered leaving when the
door was yanked open and Tom looked down at him. He did not appear surprised by
Harry’s presence, despite it being the first time he had done something like
this.
There was not a single question as he was let inside.
The room was clean, too clean. The kind of clean only empty houses could be.
Books were around but in the shelves decorating two of the four walls, not
scattered around like in Nott’s chamber. Besides that, there was nothing
particularly eye-catching. Maybe the gold pendant with an “S” lying on the
round wooden table. Almost without thinking, Harry’s finger made to graze over
its surface when Tom cleared his throat and Harry moved his attention back to
him.
Tom was comfortably dressed in black cotton pants and a white shirt. The upper
buttons were undone. He was incredibly handsome, Harry could not help but
notice. One had to be blind not to.
“What brings you to my doorstep?”
No offer to sit down. Harry assumed Tom wanted this to be as quick as possible.
Very well then. It suited him just fine.
“I want you to stop the wedding.”
It wasn’t a matter of being able to, because it would have been an offense to
Tom’s person even suggesting that. Of course he could do it. He was Tom Riddle
after all.
“You know,” Tom confided in a low voice, advancing towards Harry. “I was
wondering how long it would take for you to come to me…”
Harry made a face at the arrogance in the words. But he did not move back, even
when Tom rudely invaded his personal space.
“Out of curiosity, how would you propose to do it?” Tom pressed, curiosity
palpable in his voice.
He was staring down at Harry like that. Like Draco.
“Why would you even want my advice?” Harry asked him. “You always do as you
please anyway.”
Tom tilted his head, looking at him. His breath tickled Harry’s face and vice
versa. They were standing way too close.
“True, but it’s always nice hearing a plan notably worse than your own.”
Harry wanted to punch him. Instead, he took a deep breath and counted to ten
before speaking again. All this time Tom did not move back but neither did he
inch closer. It was a dangerous situation, a part of Harry wisely decided. Tom
wanted to stay right there, just to see what was going to happen.
“Well. What do you want in return?”
Tom’s black eyes lit up like a Christmas tree and Harry dreaded what would come
out of the other’s mouth.
“What about your soul?” Tom inquired.
Harry stared at him, surppressing the need to burst out laughing straight in
his face. Was his older brother joking at a time like this? He couldn’t tell.
“This isn’t funny,” Harry protested. “What’s the real price?”
“No, it’s not,” echoed Tom, and his hand rose to let his fingers trail over
Harry’s forehead, tracing the smooth skin there in a strange motion. As if he
was drawing some kind of shape.
Harry’s breath caught in his throat as the touch sent shivers down his whole
body. He could have shaken the hand off, he wasn’t bound, but he didn’t. He let
himself be…petted. That was the word. Like a cat or something. All this time,
his heart was fluttering inside his chest.
“I’ll do it. I’ll stop your wedding,” Tom promised, leaning down. His mouth was
dangerously close to Harry’s lips. Was this normal? It couldn’t be. “As for the
price, we’ll settle this later on.”
Harry nodded, gulping, disappointed when the fingers left his forehead and he
was left alone. Tom took as step back, slightly grinning.
“Umm,” Harry started. “Thank you. And just to be clear, I want to know the
price as soon as possible.”
“That’s the second time you’re thanking me, Harry. Don’t let it become a habit.
And rest assured, your wedding’s not happening. We’ll talk about the other
thing later.”
It was all Harry needed to hear. Keeping his head held high, he took his leave
without another word and hurried to the door. Tom did not call after him.
Could it really be that easy?
 
 
Ginevra Weasley –Ginny –grinned at him, her red hair framing her face like a
curtain. In a strange way, she reminded Harry of his mother. He awkwardly
smiled back, returning his gaze to his still full glass of wine.
The two of them sat at the top of the long table, the Riddles and the many
members of the Weasley family on either side of them. Guests were placed
directly in front of them, gawking at every facial expression Harry struggled
to hide. He was feeling sick and the food wasn’t even there yet. Everything was
a fuss, the countless conversations and the feeling of eyes set on him, waiting
for him to do something. Ginny was right next to him, all red smiles and kind
words directed at him. Harry tried to be pleasant enough company, although his
answers were more like half-spoken sentences. She didn’t seem to mind.
He could not imagine being married and living away from here. With this unknown
girl who had been infatuated with Harry after just their first meeting. Which
was their engagement ceremony, but more like a party than anything else.
Harry wanted to stab something with his spoon.
“Aren’t you thirsty?” Ginny asked, her expression curious. “Your cup is
untouched.”
“No. I’m good.”
And that was all. Almost without willing to, Harry’s eyes glued to Tom’s form
as he came to them and offered his congratulations to the couple. Harry wasn’t
concentrating on his empty words but on his face, trying to see underneath this
mask of pleasantries. He was not able to. It was almost as if this Tom and the
one who talked to him while alone were an entirely different person. Ginny
thanked him on behalf of both of them and Harry was grateful for it.
Tom hadn’t done a single thing to help him and now here he was. Getting engaged
to this stranger while the other passively watched it unfold from the
sidelines. Harry kind of hated him for offering false hope. Why hadn’t he said
no in the first place? Why all this lying? Not that it mattered now. Everything
was being set in motion.
Meanwhile, Draco seemed in a good mood and winked at Harry when he caught his
gaze. Harry averted his eyes immediately.
The food was served not too long after and when Mary placed the plates in front
of him and Ginny, Harry found his appetite had gone entirely. But after his
step-father gave a small speech about the importance of marriage, Harry could
only bring the spoon to his lips and eat his chicken soup in silence, utterly
resigned over his fate.
Running away from home didn’t seem so stupid now.
Not three gulps later, someone close by was coughing rather violently. At first
Harry did not pay it any mind until people were standing up all of a sudden and
he looked up in curiosity.
Draco was all but throwing up right in his plate and someone screamed at the
sight. Harry was petrified and stared at the sticky blackness coming out of
Draco’s wide, stretched-open mouth. Some of the disgusting content stained the
white tablecloth. Their father had barely managed to howl for a doctor when,
just like that, the blonde head of Harry’s adoptive brother fell onto the plate
with a loud crack and smashed it to pieces. Some of the women were still
yelling in the background.
Harry could only watch, glad he hadn’t eaten much that evening. Nott was openly
weeping and Tom calmly put a hand on Draco’s neck, searching for a pulse. The
boy was dead, Harry knew as much without even setting hands on him. Draco’s
face was turned away from him and Harry was rather glad for it. The dead body’s
neck was black enough.
People were leaving and moving to the door, even Ginny with her family. Not a
single word of goodbye was spoken. Mr. Riddle was cradling Draco’s bloodied
head to his chest and Harry caught Tom’s hard gaze staring at the pair. How did
he feel? Watching his father care more about a stranger than for his own child.
He could only wonder. As if feeling his eyes on him, Tom turned to Harry and
elegantly moved through the few people left until they were face to face. The
blood on the tip of his fingertips did not go unnoticed by Harry.
“So,” his older brother commented as if discussing the weather outside. As if
there wasn’t a body a few meters away from them. “You got your wish, Harry. The
wedding’s canceled.”
Harry opened his mouth. A question, the only rational question, on the tip of
his tongue and jabbing at his mind. But Harry remained quiet, unable to form
the words. As if he didn’t already know the answer. And he did. Tom’s
expression was one of open anticipation, waiting for something to be said.
Waiting for the question on Harry’s slightly opened mouth.
Instead Harry shook his head and settled for watching Tom as the servants drew
closer, appearing out of place in this morbid atmosphere. Harry sat there and
witnessed Tom give them all kinds of instructions. They threw Harry pitying
glances, silently presenting their condolences over his dead brother and
possibly ruined engagement.
Harry supposed he ought to be feeling something, but now he only wanted to do
one thing. He wanted to go and sleep. Maybe then it would all be fine. No
wedding and no dead brother to think about.
Tom didn’t allow him to leave for a long time.
 
***** Chapter 2 *****
Harry forced a smile at Marta and the other four nameless girls as he bid them
a hurried goodbye. Mary had been taken by the police officers in the village
without much fuss after Draco’s…death, forcing them to acquire new workers.
The day after tomorrow would be Christmas day and without any apparent reason
Tom had decided to send all the servants home. He was the one in charge of
everything now, their step-father isolating himself in his room while Nott did
the same only a few doors away. It was a peculiar arrangement.
“I left you enough food for the holidays, but will you be able to handle
everything by yourself? Not to mention mister Riddle’s health…”
It was snowing heavily and all the girls were well dressed in fur, Harry even
more so. Though he did not want them to leave, Harry schooled his face in what
he hoped was an encouraging expression before answering.
“He’s grieving now but he’ll be fine with time. Do not worry, we’ll manage.
Happy Christmas.”
Harry watched them go through the courtyard with dread until a black carriage
stopped in front of the house and Tom came out in his long dark coat. He gave
them a charming smile and said something which made the girls giggle and shyly
bring their hands to their mouths. Harry sat by himself in front of the house,
snowflakes gathering in his hair and waiting for his older brother to finish
his flattery.
Tom had been away in London to ‘deal with things’ as he kindly informed Harry
two weeks ago. Harry wasn’t interested enough to ask any more questions. He
wasn’t happy about Draco’s death, felt more than a little guilty for it, but
there was no denying it was better now at home. He could do whatever he wanted
anytime he wanted. His step-father was going through a hard time if Nott was to
be believed, and Tom hadn’t placed any restrictions on Harry. For the first
time in his life, Harry tasted freedom. Bitter maybe, but it was still freedom.
And there was no wedding too. He supposed that even if the Weasleys had
insisted on the matter, Tom would have settled things quietly and neatly.
“Hello, Harry,” his older brother greeted as he slowly came up the stairs to
the manor. The corners of his mouth were lifted. He was obviously in a good
mood. “You shouldn’t be outside in this weather. I’d hate for you to catch a
cold. Come inside.”
One gloved hand settled onto Harry’s shoulder and…was he afraid of Tom? He
ought to be, and yet he wasn’t, despite the fact that he knew what the man was
capable of and what he had done. Still, as his wickedness hadn’t been directed
at Harry, there was no reason for him to fear his step-brother. It just made
him a little warier than before.
“You don’t care very much for your father, do you?” Harry asked all of a
sudden.
Tom stopped walking but his hand was still clenched on Harry.
“That’s an understatement, don’t you think?” the man retorted, and gently
tugged Harry to him, straight into his cold embrace. “But do not worry; I’m
going to take very good care of you. I always do this with things that belong
to me.” The cold material of the glove made goosebumps rise on Harry’s skin as
it settled on his nape. As if he wasn’t cold enough.
They entered the house, leaving their coats at the door before moving to the
fireplace in the living room. Everything was so quiet, Harry once again
noticed, as he warmed his hands in front of the fire. He had thought this
atmosphere would change after the funeral but it was even worse. As if it was a
haunted house. And maybe it was. Draco died here, his mother died here and who
knew how many others…
“You didn’t ask me about my trip,” he heard Tom say from behind him.
It sounded like an accusation.
Harry turned, keeping his back to the fire and trying to chase away the chill
in his bones. He was still trembling as he shook his head, refusing Tom’s
silent offer to pour him a glass of wine. The other was already drinking his.
“Neither did you ask me about what happened here,” Harry bit back. Not that
many things had happened.
That was an accusation.
Tom smirked, playing with the liquid in his glass and twirling it with his
fingers. Shadows danced across his face, giving him an abnormal expression.
Like someone had used melted wax to try reconstruct his face back together
without any luck.
“Fine, Harry,” Tom sighed. “How were things here?”
“Boring. How was your trip?”
“Boring.”
Harry studied him. Tom definitely knew Harry knew about Draco. It seemed stupid
to ask him about it, especially while in the house. Nott or his step-father may
hear. Instead Harry chose the safest question.
“Was that the price?”
Tom actually laughed, reminding Harry of a child though it was the most
inappropriate comparison of all. Tom hadn’t behaved like a child even when he
used to be one. He settled down after a time, his broad shoulders still shaking
with mirth.
“Of course not,” Tom denied, a disappointed tone in his voice. “I would have
thought you knew me better than this.”
Harry sighed, looking him in the eye. “Apparently not.”
Without warning, Tom advanced toward him and offered his glass of wine. Maybe
it was some kind of test, or maybe it didn’t mean anything in particular, but
Harry gave no thought to the consequences and accepted. He gulped down the
remaining bitter liquid, all the while steadily holding Tom’s dark eyes. It was
making him want to fidget and hide away from the intruding gaze. Instead Harry
sat there, watching his older brother and proving them both he could do it.
“If you want to see your portrait, you should come to my room,” Tom whispered
for his ears only.
Harry’s mouth went dry. “Why is it in your room?” He did not bother asking how
the man knew of its existence.
“I took it,” Tom responded as if it were the most natural thing in the entire
world.
“Just like that?”
“Just like that. Nott didn’t have anything to say against it, and even if he
did, you know I can be very persuasive…”
Harry had a hard time believing Nott would willingly give up his work. But did
he really care on whose wall his portrait hung on? Yes. Yes, he cared. Or
better said, Harry only cared if it was Tom’s wall. It made him imagine
shameless things, the sort of things he shouldn’t think of. Like Tom’s eyes
travelling all over the painted picture, over his face, over his exposed neck
and indecent position. He imagined his older brother laying down in bed and
looking at him and only him. Tom had no other paintings in his room after all.
Harry couldn’t help licking his lips and dark eyes immediately followed the
movement. Like a bird of prey.
“Come here, Harry,” Tom commanded.
Come where? Harry wanted to ask. You’re already here, in my space.
And then Tom reached for him, pulling him against his hard body. The glass in
Harry’s hand went shattering to the floor. He’ll have to deal with the broken
pieces himself later. Because without any sort of warning, lips were pressed
over and against his own while hands kept him in place, as if Tom was afraid
Harry was going to run away into the night. Wrong, how very wrong. His hands
came up over his older brother’s neck like a necklace or a noose, wrapping
tightly around it. Harry’s legs slightly left the floor as Tom raised him up
for better access to his parted lips.
The feeling of a foreign tongue beside his own in his mouth was a strange yet
pleasant sensation, as if he was sharing something that shouldn’t be shared in
the first place. And the hands travelling up and down his back made him want to
do this all over again, until they decided it was enough to settle this fire
within. But he needed to breathe.
Harry was the first to break the silence. “What now?”
“How about you come up to see your portrait?”
Harry nodded, trying not to stare too much at Tom’s wet lips. His step-brother
caught his gaze and grinned like the conspirator he was.
“As long as you wait for me to clean up,” Harry offered, hands still around the
taller one’s neck.
Tom did, and watched Harry with sparkling eyes and a wicked smile. Harry was
sure he looked just the same.
 
 
His lower body hurt. Harry’s entire body hurt and ached in all the right
places. But it was a pleasant kind of ache, one that reminded him of Tom inside
him, doing things to Harry that he couldn’t even describe aloud. Whispering
filthy words into his ear and telling Harry how he belonged to him and only
him.
Every inch of you, body and soul….
It didn’t bother Harry. He hadn’t felt like property to be used and then thrown
around as the owner saw fit. No, he felt loved and wanted. Even if Tom hadn’t
said either of those words. He didn’t need to. Harry had seen everything; in
his face and in his eyes as Tom pinned him down against the mattress. There had
been so much yearning in the two of them that it had left Harry breathless. Tom
wanted him, Harry was sure of it. And that was all. Everything else was just
unimportant details to be managed in time.
Harry’s eyes rested once again on his portrait hanging on the wall across from
Tom’s bed. The man was sleeping now, one hand stretched over the other side of
the bed where Harry had rested not too long ago.
Harry was thirsty and there was no water in Tom’s room. Managing to dress
himself in silence in just his shirt and trousers, Harry closed the door behind
him and slowly padded along the wooden staircase in the direction of the
kitchen. The light of a candle in the living room took him by surprise and
Harry stopped, adjusting his sight to the poor lighting.
His step-father was quietly sitting on the couch in front of the coffee table,
playing with a dagger and turning it round and round by the handle. When he
raised his gaze he didn’t look surprised by Harry’s presence. He most likely
had heard Harry coming down the stairs.
“Join me.”
It wasn’t a request. Harry did as he was told and carefully moved to the couch
where he sat down next to the older man, trying not to wince as his bottom
touched the hard material. Mr. Riddle had patted that precise space; otherwise
Harry would have preferred to sit across from him. The fine hairs on Harry’s
arms stood up as he began to understand something was indeed very, very wrong.
But what?
“You know…I brought you up well enough, wouldn’t you agree? Gave you a proper
education and everything a child could wish for…”
The question caught Harry off guard. “Yes, sir,” he assured in an instant. “Of
course.”
Mr. Riddle hummed, deep in thought and still playing with his dagger.
Obviously, he still wasn’t well. That he was sitting here at this late hour was
proof enough. Almost three in the morning, the massive clock nearby read. Mr.
Riddle looked tired and worn-out as if sleep had avoided him these days. Harry
wondered if he should call for Tom but realized what a bad idea that would be.
“Then please tell me what in the hell is wrong with you? With every one of
you?” Mr. Riddle hissed, gripping Harry’s hand in his own and bringing his face
close. “Because you are broken, otherwise you wouldn’t have let him fuck you!”
His step-father almost spat the word, a grimace on his face at the mention of
his own son. The mere thought of Tom seemed to disgust him. Harry struggled to
move back but by now the man’s other hand had his shoulder in his grip. The one
with the dagger. His eyes were opened wide in anger.
“I… I didn’t,” Harry lied, struggling to escape the clutch to no avail. His
heart was hammering in his chest, fear spreading through him at an alarming
rate, down to his toes and making him numb.
“Do not lie to me!” his step-father snarled at him, yet not loud enough to wake
up either Tom or Nott. “I saw you two hours ago down here, all over each other.
I saw you letting him put his damned hands on you!”
Any reply Harry might have had on that was cut short as he was pushed down and
the man’s entire body covered his own. There was a hand fumbling around for
Harry’s zipper, a harsh breathing in his ear while his mouth was covered with
the other hand.
“What’s the matter? How come you don’t like it?”
Harry thrashed around even harder, pushing up with all his might to try and get
him off. The dagger, the dagger, where was the dagger? His trousers were around
his ankles when his elbow collided with the sharp blade resting beside him on
the couch. Mr. Riddle made to say something when Harry raised his right knee
and shoved it into the man’s stomach, making him tumble back in pain.
Out of instinct, Harry’s hand wrapped around the dagger’s elegant handle and in
one swift blind movement he plunged it straight into his step-father’s neck
before letting it go as if burned. The sound was horrible as the man choked on
his own blood while he tried to stop the bleeding, all the while staring at
Harry. He made to lunge at him again but then simply fell with a hard thud,
face down on the floor.
Harry sat there trembling, gaze traveling from his blood-covered bare legs to
the dead body on the carpet. The red puddle was spreading and spreading over
the expensive material. It would surely leave stains, Harry’s mind supplied.
And there was no one to clean it up, he thought hysterically. Harry had killed
someone. He was a murder who was going to be locked up in a far away cell
filled with rats and –
“Harry?”
Like a switch had been flipped, Harry stopped panicking and looked behind him
at Tom who came down the stairs, eyes locked onto Harry’s face. Tom had no
shirt on. His steps echoed closer and closer, circling the couch until his bare
legs stopped right where the dark stain ended, gazing down at the corpse of his
father. And then he looked at Harry once again.
“It wasn’t my fault,” Harry cried, hands coming up to his mouth in an attempt
to explain himself. “I…Tom… He – he tried to rape me, he was all over me and I
just – I don’t know… Please – I...”
Tom’s expression was a calculated one. “Hush love,” he whispered, and kneeled
down in front of Harry, taking his hands into his own before pressing a kiss to
the lightning bolt scar from his left palm and then another to his forehead.
“You did nothing wrong, nothing at all. He deserved it and I’ll fix everything.
Do you believe me?”
Harry could only nod against his shoulder where Tom had pushed his face into,
taking him in his embrace on the floor. Harry squeezed his eyes shut tightly as
his bare knees meet the sticky…thing painting the floor and tried to keep his
sobs down. Tom’s hands were travelling up and down his back, rocking them back
and forth and whispering comforting words into his ear with Harry in his lap.
“I’m here,” Tom chanted. “Here with you. He doesn’t matter, not at all. You
were so brave, so powerful, so perfect.” And then Tom took Harry’s weeping face
into his palms to look at him. “My very soul…”
Impatient lips followed, and despite the complete impropriety of the situation
Harry could only accept it, starved for everything Tom was able to give him. In
an instant, his no-longer-step-brother pushed him down until he was centimeters
away from the dead body’s head. Harry’s shirt was soaked in warm blood as Tom
pulled the remains of his trousers off, pushing his shaking legs apart and
feeling the entirety of Tom’s body slip between his thighs.
It was hotter than the first time upstairs. Tom kissed him on the lips and
rutted against him like a dog in heat, grinding his cock against Harry’s own
until it leaked over their sticky skin. Harry panted into Tom’s skilled mouth
as the man’s wet fingers nudged his thighs. Harry stared down until the
horrifying realization washed over him. The tip of Tom’s fingers were dripping
red onto his skin and Harry almost screamed.
“It’s just blood, just blood,” Tom said, and tilted his head at Harry before
stretching his lips into a smile. “Or what, have you forgotten where we’re
doing this?”
And Tom’s fingers were suddenly stuffed in there, right where Harry was aching
and he could only cry out, forcing the truth to the back of his mind. There was
no other way.
“It’s fine, I promise…” Tom told him in a needy voice. “You love me anyway,
don’t you, darling?”
“Yes,” Harry gasped, pushing down against the fingers, feeling them slip in and
out, sometimes curling inside Harry in just the perfect place and dragging over
his inner walls. “Please, please, please…”
He was begging now, eyes only on Tom. Not even the corpse mere centimeters away
posed a good enough distraction from the man above him. The sound of protest as
the bloodied fingers left him died down when Tom pushed his throbbing member
inside. Harry barely suppressed a whine, biting down on his bottom lip.
Tom forced him open, making his way yet again into the tightness of Harry’s
sore body until he completely settled in. His arms were strong and unmoving as
he pressed them on either side of Harry’s face against the carpet. Not knowing
what to do with his hands, Harry stroked through Tom’s hair, massaging his
scalp, while his lips moved up to ask for a kiss.
“You have to be quiet, Harry,” Tom murmured against his mouth, snapping his
hips forward, fucking him. “We wouldn’t want to wake up Nott and see us like
this.”
Harry clutched the strands of hair harder, lettings his sobs loose inside Tom’s
mouth. The other’s sharp thrusts made his back grind against the damp floor. It
hurt way more than the first time but it was exactly what Harry needed right
now, what they both needed. A reminder that they were in this together and will
continue to be no matter what. Two murderers, two monsters, two people willing
to forgive the other everything.
Harry chanted Tom’s name as he came, the man’s mouth covering his lips and
stealing all the sound for himself. After that the thrusts got harder. Harry
felt Tom starting to come apart as well, moving faster and faster while he
stared him down, eyes not leaving each other even for a second. And then Tom
pushed inside one more time, coming inside him and staying there some more. A
long kiss was pressed to the corner of Harry’s mouth until the man pulled out,
staring between Harry’s legs with a wicked grin. Satisfied.
“Do you think he enjoyed our show?” Tom asked, gazing briefly as his dead
father.
Harry stared at his lover, unable to look elsewhere.
“I’m a monster,” Harry let out as Tom rose and offered him a helping hand,
pulling him up and making his palm sticky as well.
“Maybe. But then again, what do you even know about heartless monsters? Now go
up and wash yourself as I take care of everything.”
Tom was calm and patient as he followed Harry with his gaze up the stairs,
making sure Harry did as he was told. Harry looked back only once, out of
morbid curiosity, as if to make sure the corpse was still there. Of course it
was, and then he all but ran to the safety of his room.
 
 
Nott found Tom sitting in the living room, a cup of tea near his mouth and
staring down at the floor with a smile. That was strange enough in itself. He
set down his suitcase.
“Oh,” Tom observed. “You woke up?”
“Have you seen father? I came from his room and he’s not there. His clothes are
missing. I asked Harry about it but he said he didn’t care,” Nott reluctantly
added, thinking back at Harry’s cold green eyes boring into his. “I…I think he
left us.”
Tom’s expression as he brought the cup to his lips was blank. “Oh.”
Nott felt disgust fill his mind at the uncaring man before his eyes. “What’s
wrong with you?” he couldn’t help but ask. “He’s your real father, flesh and
blood, and you aren’t even worried despite knowing what state he’s in after
Draco’s death… Don’t you have a heart?”
“Nott, surely father is resting somewhere peaceful right now. Besides, why
should I care about someone who never wanted me?”
Tom seemed to be waiting for an answer but Nott understood once again that
there was nothing left for him here. No father, no family, nothing. Just two
people who were set on ignoring his existence. He took a step back and Tom’s
eyes followed him closely.
 “I’m leaving as well,” Nott declared. “I’ll leave you two alone.”
Tom was taken aback by this and stood up as he placed his cup on the table,
only now taking notice of the bag at Nott’s feet.
“Me and Harry.”
It wasn’t a question, but Nott answered anyway. “Don’t think I haven’t
noticed,” he confessed. “Besides, as much as I like Harry, no one can deny that
you two are simply made for one another. Hope you’ll be happy.”
The long silence was disturbed by Tom’s voice calling out after him.
“We hope the same for you.”
And that was all. Nott took his suitcase and left, pushing the door open with
his shoulder. As he went down the stairs covered with ice, Nott stared at Harry
who was moving closer to him, unsurprised by the bag in his hands. He must have
been walking around through the snow for quite some time now. Harry was dressed
all in black, beautifully contrasting with his skin in the sunlight. Nott
stopped in front of him, opening his mouth to bid his goodbye but Harry kept
walking, eyes straight ahead. He stood there, snowflakes being blown into his
face, until he heard the front door open and close.
Nott gulped and left, one foot in front of the other, careful not to slip.
 
 
 
“Tell me a story,” Harry pleaded a few days later, resting his head on Tom’s
lap and nuzzling against his knee. “Lie to me, whatever you desire. I just want
to hear your voice.”
Life was nice now with just the two of them. Tom taught him how to play piano,
they walked hand in hand outside, shared stories, slept next to each other
every night, and just enjoyed their lives together. Sometimes Harry doubted
this happiness was real. Maybe he was dreaming now and the nightmare with “the
thing” in the living room was reality. This and that could not belong in the
same world. It was not possible.
The older man hummed, his fingers threading through Harry’s hair and massaging
his scalp like one would do to a kitten. They were lying in Tom’s bed,
abandoned books scattered all around them. Forgotten for the time being just as
Harry had chosen to forget a great deal of things in order to sleep at night.
But there was no use thinking about that now.
“Then I’ll tell you the coldest story ever told,” Tom spoke softly, exactly
like a true storyteller.
“Cold like you?”
There was a short pause before he got an answer.
“Yes, Harry. Cold like me. Quiet now,” Tom lectured. “Once upon a time there
was a powerful man who lost his soul, shattered into seven pieces and scattered
all around the world. One day after he died, our man found out that in order to
come back to life he needed them back. Or what was left of them. So he went
searching, but he found only six in his world. The seventh had disappeared.”
Harry furrowed his brows in confusion, waiting for Tom to elaborate.
“He needed the last piece the most so he travelled through several other
dimensions to get it, not having any luck at first. He found it after a while
in one of many, but there was a catch. The last part of his soul had to be
given willingly by its host.”
 “What happened next?” Harry asked, turning around on the man’s lap to see his
face. “Did the man get his soul back?
Tom’s dark eyes bore into his with intensity. “I don’t know the end of the
story quite yet,” he smirked, and leaned down to press a gentle kiss on Harry’s
forehead. There was a pensive tone to his voice. “So Harry, tell me, would you
give me your soul?”
Harry let out a giggle, looking up at his handsome lover. “I already gave you
my heart. I wonder what would I do without my soul too…” he joked.
There was a shadow of a smile across Tom’s face before he moved his fingers
over Harry’s lips, resting there. “It seems I'll have to try once again,” he
whispered, sending shivers down Harry’s spine, a shadow dancing across his
face. Despite this, his skin seemed whiter than ever in this light. “Maybe I’ll
start earlier next time.”
Tom’s lips replaced his fingers and Harry stopped paying attention to the silly
story. He was getting sleepy anyway.
 
End Notes
     beta by vanillaghost
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