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Harry Potter, Rinconcito Tomarry
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2021-04-05
Updated:
2021-12-26
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9/?
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The Visions Of Us

Summary:

Harry didn’t know how long he was out. He didn’t know how he ended up like this nor what happened immediately after. His mind was swirling under the fine lights of an office and over the cool of the hardwood floor.

When Harry wakes up in a gold-covered office, little clips of memories intact from a life long ago with dread setting into his stomach, he doesn't know what to do. Tom was sitting beside him, hand gripping his wrist tightly as if Harry was about to leave him all alone. Why was Tom thinking that? Of course, Harry wasn't going to leave him; that was insane!

Chapter 1: 1932 [The Past Is Never Dead; It's Not Even Past]

Notes:

This is a fic that's been a work in progress for how many months now and because of my wonderful betas Bettalover and Recanta (and a handful of others who helped including Kushimani who wrote A Soft Kidnapping), I can now finally manage to post the fic.

Thank gods.

Anywho, this is a long as fuck fic that already has 5 other chapters in the works to be edited and betaed so expect either weekly or bi-weekly updates for me to keep up with at least one new draft chapter every week. Also for the people who saw this as The Dreams Of Us title before, this is the same fic.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

 

"I love you. I feel as though we were never strangers, you and I, not even for a moment."


September 1, 1932

Wool’s Orphanage, London, England

[The Past Is Never Dead; It's Not Even Past]

Harry groaned as he lay on the wooden floor, the warped wood cool on his aching face. 

Damn Fate. Even though Harry didn't remember much, he had a vague remembrance of him being messed with. Every time.  It was constantly him! Always his well-being that was in danger! It was him, whose life was literally a bad cliche. (see: The Dursleys.) To be fair, had it not been for the constant meddling of the doubtless deities above (if there were any, anyway. He's pretty sure there are), Harry was sure his existence would have been very boring. He would still have entertainment in the form of other people! Probably. He knew his cousin Dudley was a prime example. Some people had bad cartoons, some people had their toys, and he had his blubbering idiot of a cousin. The living example of a walking pig.

Joy.

 Nevertheless, the headache Fate gave him was not worth it in the slightest. Why did Harry even have to suffer like this? Okay, he might've deserved getting thrown into the bloody floor (he knows bloody is a bad word, but he felt so cool thinking it!) for turning his teacher's hair- what color was it, again? Green? Yellow? He didn't remember, exactly. Or, maybe Fate wanted to mess with him. 

That seemed more plausible. He wasn’t that sorry for his teacher’s hair.

Other than vaguely knowing that the hellish attack on his head was due to some divine intervention, he wasn't aware of all that much. All he had was his name, a few memories, and his bitter personality.  Besides the select few, it was all quite hazy. But still, he remembers quite a few things! One thing he remembers very clearly is a castle… A sense of home and belonging. He knew the castle was a place he was very fond of, despite not knowing anything else about it. He also remembers a very tall cottage. It was over a pasture, but he couldn't recall much else.


A veil stood on a cobbled stone dais, a tall, ancient archway standing at its center. It was so cracked and deteriorated that it seemed amazing it was still standing. When Harry looked into the silky depths, he had the strangest feeling he was being watched. As if someone was right behind the veil.  


Harry shook his thoughts away. He didn’t like the feeling the veil gave him! It made his eyes water, and he wasn't a baby!  It reminded him of someone mourning a lost loved one (And he hasn’t grieved before! He only read about grieving through storybooks). It was a weird thing to feel, sadness for another person. Considering all the family he had were the Dursleys.

The longing tugged on his heart again. 

A dull, throbbing pain pierced his skull in memory of his delightful relatives, another thing that he sadly remembered. Harry figured that they weren't the ones who left him here on the floor. That he had crashed into.

Huh. Probably the reason he had a headache.

Harry would have already been on his back dealing with his uncle’s wonderful care if they were the ones who threw him on the floor. He really didn't like the punishments his uncle came up with for him. Luckily (or unluckily, depending on who you asked), there weren’t any footsteps approaching. 

Having nobody around left him time to prepare.  At least with the Dursleys, he knew what to expect. This place was unknown territory. 

Harry's thoughts grew fuzzy as an unnatural buzz overrode his senses, a shriek echoing through his skull. 


Harry sat on the floor dazedly,  the after-effects of nausea slowly fading. Looking around from his spot on the neutral-toned rug, he saw what looked like an office, a tall window taking up most of the wall. Near the window, he watched as a taller,  black-haired man languidly reclined in a dark burgundy armchair. The man held a blue-haired toddler in his arms.  

“Hey there, Ted,” the man cooed gently at the toddler, who was named Ted, Harry noted. Green eyes crinkled at the corners as the man grinned down at the baby. Happy, incoherent babbling sounded through the room as the older man let Ted play with his fingers. “How’re you today?” 

Harry’s face scrunched up in frustration towards the- blue-haired? It was more green now- baby. He wasn’t ugly, per se, Ted was actually quite cute. Harry just wasn’t keen on spending time with kids younger than him, especially ones who didn’t have the empathy necessary to understand him. If all kids did was annoy and beat the living daylights out of you, and heck- didn’t even care about you in the end- why should Harry make the effort to like them? 

Harry wasn’t stupid though. If given a good enough incentive, Harry knew he would quickly warm up to someone his age.

“That’s good,” the man easily replied to the baby, rocking Ted back and forth in his arms. “And how’s Grammy?”

The baby babbled again excitedly, face lighting up at the mention of this supposed, ‘Grammy’. The man listened with a thoughtful look on his face as he chattered on, small limbs waving through the air animatedly. Harry’s own eyes narrowed in confusion and frustration, unable to decipher the gibbering of the now green-haired child (when did that change?). Annoyed, he sighed. Why did he even bother listening to the baby? He couldn’t understand it anyway.

“That’s nice, Teddy.” the, Harry decided, weird man commented.

Harry stood up with slightly numb legs, pins and needles slowly subsiding as he brushed off his ratty hand-me-downs. Courtesy of Dudley, of course. Harry couldn’t wait to get rid of them when he finally could. They were loose, hot, and always made him trip.

Ratty inconveniences, they were.

As soon as Harry had stood up, the man’s sharp green eyes snapped to his face, green eyes meeting green. Harry was then faced with the thing he had been denying. This man looked exactly like him. The same hair, the same eyes, even down to the scar marking his forehead.

They- Harry’s eyes widened. They were the same person.

A nauseating tug on his navel turned his world black.


Harry’s bleary eyes woke up to brown eyes assessing his lying figure. They belonged to a boy around his age with black hair and the aforementioned brown eyes. He had a stern look, as if he didn’t know what to do with Harry. Harry felt like he’d been held under that kind of gaze a lot of times before this boy, and not just with the Dursleys.

Why did he feel that way?

Harry paused, looking at his surroundings. This was not the Dursley’s house at all. He knows number four inside out and he’d probably know if another boy his age was living in the house other than his pig of a cousin.

Harry sat up, rubbing his head.

“Mrs. Cole told me to call her when you woke up,” The boy softly claimed, though Harry could hear the bitterness in his voice. Even Harry could tell the other boy hated being here. Before he had any time to question the boy across from him though, he decided to do the exact same to Harry.

“Who are you?”

Harry gave the other boy a sheepish smile. Extending a hand out, he told him, “I’m Harry.”

“Just Harry?” he questioned. At Harry’s nod, the boy stared at his hand for a few moments before grabbing and shaking it. “I’m Tom Riddle.”

As soon as Tom gripped Harry’s hand, images flashed through his head like a filmstrip from a movie.


“Ginny, please wake up,” Harry muttered desperately, shaking her. Ginny’s head lolled hopelessly from side to side. And while Harry was as helpless and hopeless as the girl on his lap, he didn’t even know, nor remember, who Ginny was.

“She won’t wake,” said a soft voice. Harry jumped and spun around on his knees. A tall, black-haired boy was leaning against the nearest pillar, watching. He was strangely blurred around the edges, as though Harry were looking at him through a misted window. But there was no mistaking him— 

“Tom— Tom Riddle?”


Harry was violently shook from his stupor. It was Tom. He was looking at Harry oddly, assessing him with his gaze. Tilting his head, he asked, “What happened to you?” Harry couldn’t answer him. He didn’t know what had happened. All he knew was that he didn’t feel alright in the slightest. His brain was going fuzzy again, like static on the telly, and his breathing came out in quick pants, his forehead prickling with pain.

The room was getting hotter and Tom, despite Harry’s best pleads and efforts to stop him, called for Mrs. Cole before Harry blacked out.


Harry woke up to fussing hands and a glass of water being brought up to his lips. His tired eyes squinted at the bright light before focusing on the woman in front of him. She had sharp features and a skinny-looking figure, quite like his Aunt Petunia, but not with nearly as much a neck. Even furthering in their differences, his Aunt Petunia didn’t fuss over him like this woman did.

He gingerly took the cup and gulped down the offered water, refreshing his parched throat.

The woman sat at the end of the bed he was sitting on, looking as if she was hesitating between fretting over Harry or questioning him on what he was doing here. Harry guessed she was coming to the conclusion she could do both.

She introduced herself as Mrs. Cole, and as the matron of the orphanage, the place he was in. She also explained how they found him. He was lying face-first in the orphanage’s lobby before someone saw him and ran, thinking he was already dead. With the life he’d lived, though a short one, he’d rather be dead. He didn’t want to relive any part of that again. One time was enough.

As he set the glass down, he looked around the room, trying to take in all the details of it. He was in the same room he met Tom, but said boy was nowhere to be seen. It was like he was a ghost appearing in Harry’s dreams, appearing in his time of need, but Tom seemed more like an advisor than a knight.

Harry cleared his voice before asking his question to the matron. He noticed the falter in her smile and immediately asked again if it was alright to ask about the peculiar boy he met, the nervousness clear in his voice. Mrs. Cole immediately fixed herself before answering.

“All the other kids are at school by the church, you’ll be going there tomorrow.” The matron then paused, taking something into consideration before continuing. “I’ll give you a piece of advice.” Her expression twisted into one of disgust, “That Riddle boy is nothing but trouble. Devil incarnate, he is. You best be ignoring him, wouldn't want you to be catching anything from that boy.” She clicked her tongue. “Unfortunately for you, we haven’t got any free beds other than this one, here.”  Harry’s frown deepened as he sipped his glass when Harry realized the hate between Tom and the matron was mutual, those tones, while they were talking about each other, were hidden poorly (albeit Tom’s was better or he was just slightly biased towards the boy, he just didn’t know why).

Slowly nodding in understanding, Harry continued to sip on his water, looking around the room. It was bare. Harry figured the other boy he was sharing this room with wasn’t the type to accessorize. The room, overall, was in very pristine condition despite the drab place it was in. Harry could keep up with being constantly clean, the Dursleys were proof enough.

Mrs. Cole cleared her throat, grabbing the attention of the boy. She told Harry, “I best be off, come down by my office if you’ve got any questions ‘bout here.” Then she left the room, closing the door on her way.

Harry sighed. Even if this was better than being at the Dursley’s, the blatant (no matter how they tried to make it subtle) hate between the matron and Tom was an unfortunate sight to see. The matron was a caretaker, he knew that much but he couldn’t see any of the love and care she gave to Harry, in the few minutes he was in her presence, to Tom. It wasn’t Harry’s problem though, he’ll only intervene if it affects his own life.

This was going to be a long stay here.


September 2, 1932

Wool’s Orphanage, London, England

Harry woke up to a cold and free atmosphere. 

It was a welcome surprise compared to the suffocating and humid darkness of his cupboard back in Privet Drive. There was no shouting ringing in his ears, nor the insistent rapping on his cupboard door to ‘wake up’ and ‘make breakfast.’ Call him selfish, but it was something he could get used to easily. He wasn’t sorry about that thought at all.

Harry was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard shuffling from the other side of the room.

It was Tom. He was blatantly ignoring Harry’s gaze and silently got ready for the day. Ah, right. Harry had almost forgotten what Mrs. Cole said yesterday about Tom. What was it again? He should ignore Tom because of what reason?

”Wouldn't want you to be catching anything from that boy.

Harry scrunched his nose at the statement when he remembered the reason why. Why did the matron act like Tom had a weird disease and should be avoided at all costs? It was very rude! 

Harry knew that firsthand.

It made Harry think though. It was curious why matron had such a hostile attitude towards Tom and Harry was determined to find out why. Harry wanted to know why he’s being treated like this and maybe become his first friend. That was normal right? He didn’t have that much experience in the friendship department.

Harry sighed wearily. He really should start getting ready for today. “Good Morning,” he greeted but only got a disinterested hum in return. Gods, Harry knew this was going to be a long while before Tom even considered talking to him.

While musing over his thoughts, the room’s door clicked shut, Tom no longer in the room. Harry sighed again, he should get dressed now.


Climbing down the staircase, Harry felt an ache in his knees from working too much in- where was it again? He remembered the smells of morning dew and flowers. 

It was definitely a garden now that Harry thought about it.

Stepping down at the base of the stairs, he wandered the long corridor of the ground floor, finding the main cafeteria through the loud chatter of the other orphans. The door was slightly ajar, open enough to see the boisterous kids on the other side of the door. The first thing Harry noticed about them was that they were big. Not fat like his cousin, Dudley, no. They were just bigger compared to Harry and some of the other kids’ small frames. It made sense considering they looked significantly older than Harry.

He saw Tom again at the end of the long table all the kids were sitting at, the chairs beside him empty despite the number of kids present.

Harry sighed (he seemed to be doing that a lot more lately). The scene reminded him too much of himself and the things Dudley did to him that made his life miserable. All the more reason to befriend him, Harry guessed. He wasn’t going to stop until Tom was willing to be his friend. 

With newfound purpose and confidence, he strode over to Tom’s end of the table and sat down, ignoring the hushed but not-so-subtle whispering from the other kids.


Harry thought the interaction between him and Tom went well. Looking back on it though, that statement didn’t age well at all. The first few minutes of the conversation which was just Harry trying to start said conversation.

He was now walking to St. John’s School for the Faithful, the school everyone in the orphanage was attending. He was walking beside Tom, behind all the other kids, but despite the small conversation they made at breakfast, the other boy wasn’t keen to continue talking and Harry left him alone.

He wasn’t that concerned by the lack of enthusiasm on Tom’s part. He had all the time in the world so to speak.

All he had to do was put in the effort. 


September 2, 1932

St. John’s School for the Faithful, London, England

“I’m Harry.” Harry stood in front of the classroom, with a nun behind him that gave him the shivers. The other kids were looking at him, trying to figure something out about him. It was making him uncomfortable.

The nun clicked her tongue before speaking to Harry. “Sit beside Riddle.” She ushered Harry to the back of the classroom, right where Tom was. He gave the other boy a small smile before turning back to the front of the class, unknowing of the smirks being shared by the other kids.


The rest of the day came and went uneventfully. Their schedule was repetitive. Class, then recess, then class again before school ended. 

The classes were another story. The unsurprising part of it was that they kept preaching and telling them about ‘The Word of God’ and the constant reminder of Hell and sinning. That wasn’t suspicious to Harry at all considering the nature of the school. The not-so-subtle looks at Tom though, the sneers, weren’t very impressive. It had quite the opposite effect. It made Harry more interested in him. 

What was it about Tom that made all the other kids hate him? That made Mrs. Cole hate him?

Life at the orphanage, on the other hand, was hell on earth compared to school. Before, the other kids were ignoring him. Considering what happened, he’d rather be ignored.


September 8, 1932

Wool’s Orphanage, London, England

Entering the courtyard in front of Wool’s, Harry was just minding his own business, thinking about random things like fantasy creatures he read during the free days he had during the Dursley’s. Questions were running through his head, like who invented them? It was interesting Harry enough to dull his own awareness of his surroundings. 

A stupid decision on his part.

Harry was pushed to the concrete of the courtyard. It was something his 5-year-old body was used to but it was annoying nonetheless. Now on the ground, he was faced with another boy older than him. He had dirty blond hair and a stupid face, like his cousin Dudley.

“Think you’re special, do you?” The boy spat. It was disgusting, the spit that reached Harry’s face when the boy spoke. “Special attention from Mrs. Cole makes you think that you can’t be touched?” Harry didn’t think that at all. 

Harry just thought it was mostly convenient. The attention made him look like an angel in the matron’s eyes but he knew that would go downhill when Tom started to actually talk to him.

It was a small price to pay and Harry wasn’t that all against paying it.

Harry smiled teasingly at the larger boy, mocking him. His emerald-green eyes were shining menacingly. “You sound jealous. Are you crying that you’re so ordinary and stupid that mummy doesn’t want to give you attention anymore?” Harry teased before he paused. “Oh wait.”

Billy Stubbs reddened and while the other boy and his cronies were standing in shock, Harry stood up and continued, “You’re resorting to attacking younger kids because you can’t handle your ego being hurt. Are you that insecure and scared?” With that, the angry and fevering expression on the boy in front of him grew. Harry smiled angelically and even more mockingly at the sight. “No wonder the matron doesn’t pay attention to you anymore.”

“Well-” The other boy tried to defend himself but Harry cut him off before he could even start talking.

“What was that? ‘Stay out of your way?’ I wouldn’t even want to see your ugly face every day, you’re doing me a favor.” Harry sneered mockingly for good measure before leaving.

Harry let out a sigh of relief when he made it inside. He didn’t know where his retorts came from but Harry wasn’t complaining, more curious than anything.


Brown eyes stared out the window of the orphanage, glistening with amusement and sadism as he smirked. This was going to be very interesting.


September 9, 1932

Wool’s Orphanage, London, England

The blond kid left Harry alone for the rest of the day and the day after. Good riddance, Harry thought as he stepped down to the back of the orphanage. The boy was so annoying and insecure that it was driving Harry crazy. Though anything that resembled his relatives made his head ache.

Sighing, he wandered the courtyard before entering the small alley behind the orphanage building. Harry had found the alley a few days ago, finding snakes and enjoying the solace of being with the reptiles. It was a small haven after being in the presence of the prying eyes the other kids gave him.

Speaker! ” Harry smiled at the small snake that curled around his wrist, softly petting the underside of his chin. The snake asked, “How are the filthy non-speakers treating the speaker? ” The other snakes beside Harry looked interested in what Harry had to say. They weren’t allowed to be seen in the open field of the yard so it wasn’t that surprising.

Harry sighed, amused, before answering. “Even if they don’t understand you, they shouldn’t be called filthy. Even if they don’t shower regularly, ” Harry added and the snakes hissed in laughter, or amusement, Harry didn’t particularly know. “They’re treating me alright. Some older kid tried to bully me but I handled it pretty well.

He then started telling the story, and when he mentioned he got pushed, the snake on his wrist (he called them Loki, after the Norse God) moved to sit on his head like a crown. When he finished the story, the other snakes started hissing to each other, talking about the boy Harry insulted being the same boy the other speaker talked about. This information made Harry pause.

There’s another one like me? ” The snakes hissed in affirmation at Harry’s question. Huh. “Who’s the speaker?

The snakes then excitedly, more so Loki, answered Harry like they had no shame whatsoever to disclose such information. When his oaf of a cousin caught him in the garden talking to a garden snake, he ran right into the house and told on him to Daddy. He quickly knew then, even before Vernon’s threats, that stuff like that wasn’t normal in the slightest. 

Why, out of all of the memories he had forgotten, had he remembered that?

The snakes quickly disclosed the information of the other speaker. Jet black hair, brown eyes, and quite silent. Had a cool, disinterested atmosphere around him without even trying.

Harry grinned. Well, then. He had a roommate to interrogate.


As Harry entered their shared room, Tom immediately talked, surprising Harry. Tom never starts the conversation! It was always Harry trying (and failing) to start it. 

It was convenient though, Harry needed to talk to him. Loki was very adamant about it.

“Word has it, you stood up to Billy Stubbs.” Tom was trying to be uninterested but Harry knew enough Tom was interested at what happened (Harry wasn’t even going to question how he was so sure of Tom’s reactions). Unfortunately, Tom was facing away from Harry so he couldn’t see the other boy’s reaction.

As Harry sat down on the bed, he asked Tom, “His name’s Billy?” Harry scrunched his face at the revelation. “I thought his name was something lame but fitting like Richard. Doesn’t matter either way, Billy fits him well enough for being a prat.” Harry pulled a grin when Tom quietly snorted at the joke, fully knowing the joke in the name. 


  “So, did you?” Tom pried, facing the shorter boy. Harry shrugged in answer, making Tom smirk. “Good. That prat needs his ego ruined. God knows he needs it.” Which was ironic in and of itself, Tom was the farthest thing from religious. Then again, he wouldn’t mind using the name as a swear word. He’d do anything to undermine the religion that oh-so ruined his life.

“He reminds me of my cousin. He was a whale like Billy, complete with the prat attitude and the fragile ego,” Tom stared amused at Harry’s displeasure at the mention of his cousin, no matter how little they talked. The perks of knowing no extended or immediate family and taking note of everything he heard.

“That bad?” Tom asked. Harry stared at him shrewdly instead of offering an answer. Tom only smirked in reply. Before any of them could continue the conversation, Mrs. Cole’s voice echoed throughout the building, calling them for dinner.


Throughout dinner, although happy that Tom was talking to him more, the only thing Harry could think about was what the snakes told him. Loki, though more subdued while resting on his head, was very adamant and excited about meeting both speakers at the same time. All Harry had to do was ask Tom questions that would lead up to him admitting he could talk to snakes too.

It was easier said than done.

He might blurt out that he can speak to snakes while questioning the other boy and ruin all the surprise which isn’t really a surprise at all; he was beyond scared of Tom’s reaction to that revelation.

Sitting on his bed, all ready for sleep to take over, Harry decided to ask Tom now. The saying, “better late than never,” went through his mind when he asked but ‘never’ should have been the better answer. The look on Tom’s face was both terrifying and hilarious.

What? ” his roommate asked, almost hissing. If Harry wasn’t almost going to piss his pants, then the sight would have been amusing to all hell. He was though, and he wanted to get it over with.

“I asked you a question,” Harry claimed, fully knowing that wasn’t what Tom’s outburst meant in the slightest. “Can you, or can you not, speak to snakes?” The snakes assured Harry that Tom knew of another speaker but Harry was relying on Tom to realize that Harry is the other speaker. With the fury in Tom that Harry was facing now, he highly doubted a rational thought was passing through Tom’s mind at that moment. 

The reaction wasn’t surprising. Realizing that someone else knows what you do, something that isn’t normal, very little rational thought should even be possible unless you’re very in tune with your emotions and mind. Why Harry knew that while also fretting for his life, he didn’t know. One thing Harry knew though was that neither Tom, nor Harry, were normal.

Harry wasn’t scared of Tom. Harry was scared of what Tom was capable of doing.

“Where did you get that from?” Tom’s tone was flat and void of any emotion but Harry could see the shining rage in the other boy’s eyes. Either Harry was going crazy or Tom’s eyes were going slightly red from the original chocolate brown he had.

Grabbing the courage he seemed to have lost halfway through the confrontation, Harry stood up, faced Tom eye-to-eye, and said, “The snakes told me.” Successfully (or, rather, unsuccessfully on Harry’s part) outing himself as the other speaker and making Tom speechless.

Stupid, stupid, stupid Harry. Why did you say that?

“You’re the one…” Tom trailed off, having lost the majority of his anger, but both boys heard the silent, “who could also talk to snakes,” rang through the silence of the bedroom.

“I am.”

“Then prove it.”


 

Two souls growing together with appreciation for each other. That’s the most beautiful kind of love.

-Juansen Dizon

Notes:

Harry: i can talk to snakes
Tom: I'm not falling for that trick
Tom:
Tom: prove it

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Chapter 2: 1932 [Underground, The Stars Are Legend]

Summary:

“D’you want to see them?” Harry asked, stopping his search for Loki and instead put his undivided attention on Tom. Standing beside him, he gestured to the sky. “The stars, I mean.”

Tom only absently heard him.

Notes:

You guys waited two weeks for this cause my betas and I were busy. Sorry guys. Anywho, enjoy some Tomarry fluff as an apology, and if Recanta finally manages to manage her work properly, we might be able to post Chapter 3 next week and not make you people wait for another week.

Cheers, and enjoy the chapter.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

You became a part of me the moment I

laid eyes on you. Wherever you go- I'll go.

Because I know, I'm part of you as well.

- Clairel Esteves


September 9, 1932

Wool’s Orphanage, London, England

 

[Underground, The Stars Are Legend]

Harry and Tom were idiots fair and square.

Looking back on it, they should’ve waited to go in the morning when Mrs. Cole wouldn’t catch them, but it wasn’t Harry’s fault Tom was impatient! Harry would be too if he were in Tom’s place.

Wait.

Harry could have proved his ability in talking to snakes to Tom upstairs.

Harry sighed. It didn’t matter anymore. They were both downstairs already. Going back to their room would be a bother. Harry also… couldn’t really... talk to snakes. Without snakes.

It wasn’t Harry’s fault! It just worked that way! 

They both quickly stalked through the building’s halls, their socks muffling their footsteps. If Harry hadn’t thought of the socks, and if Tom hadn’t thought of not wearing shoes, they would have both been caught within a matter of minutes from exiting their bedroom.

Harry didn’t know what punishments these people used on the children they watched over. He hadn't been here long enough yet to know. Harry didn’t even want to know.

They both sneakily broke into the storage room and hid after they almost ran into an assistant matron in the hallway. If Tom hadn’t heard her soft footsteps, all of the effort they went through to get to where they were now, from the 3rd floor, no less! Would've been for nothing. Yeah, they really should have waited until the morning for this 'trip'.

When Tom’s head popped back into the storage room after checking if the assistant matron was gone, Harry shared a fleeting, giddy smile. Full of adrenaline that had been rushing through Harry the whole night, he grabbed Tom’s hand in his own. Tom might deny ever talking to Harry after tonight, but Harry didn’t care that much. 

At least he had experienced this with Tom tonight. If he had that, then Harry was fine.

“We should’ve waited until morning,” Tom admitted quietly. Harry knew Tom’s excitement got the better of him, it was why he had been so impatient. He could finally share his gift with someone; there was another person who could speak with snakes! “We really should’ve.” Harry gave Tom a reassuring smile, only half-seen in the dark room, illuminated by the moonlight through the small window. “Is the coast clear?”


“Almost,” Tom answered as he pressed his ear to the door, trying to listen to the footsteps outside.

It was muffled, but it was there. Soft footsteps inching closer to the duo. It was Martha Charles, the assistant matron of the orphanage. Tom didn’t see her much, despite the fact that she mostly took care of the younger children and the sick kids, and she had apparently taken over the second job as a night shift guard and Demogorgon.

Her footsteps were light but pronounced, and Tom was cursing himself for ever underestimating her. Never again, he promised himself. He didn’t even know what he would do to persuade her not to punish them if she found two six-year-olds in a storage room. In the middle of the night. After curfew.

If Tom didn’t know any better, he would think they were screwed.

Hearing the footsteps start to fade as she got farther away, Tom opened the door slightly. Tom almost jumped when Harry whispered, “We are so dead.” The other boy’s head was practically resting on Tom’s shoulders. “I’m going to kill Loki for this if we get caught.”

Tom let out a surprised, but expected, sigh at the information as he watched the assistant matron walk down the steps of the 1st floor. “Loki put us up to this?” Tom asked. Harry nodded, “Yep!” 

Tom’s eye gave an agitated twitch. He really was going to kill the snake for this. If they got caught, he was going to kill that crafty serpent.


After making sure the coast was clear, Tom grabbed Harry by the wrist and quickly led them to an empty room. Tom gave Harry time to breathe before swiftly jogging towards the back exit of the building, making sure they were as silent as possible while they ran.

How they managed to reach the ground floor of the building without getting caught was beyond Harry. He guessed Tom had experience. As they finally reached the back courtyard, Harry quickly removed his socks and ran to catch up with Tom across the yard in fear of being seen from the windows, despite the late hour. They quickly shimmied through the small gap in the fence before they finally reached their destination. They really should have waited until morning.

Harry winced in pain. He really shouldn’t have taken off his socks. Clutching his foot, he lowered himself to the ground to take a look. Both his feet were bleeding profusely, absolutely littered in small cuts and splinters. Subtly, he looked up at where Tom was supposed to be. Harry, when he couldn’t find him, looked around in a panic before letting out a breath of relief. Tom had just continued to walk to the nearby patch of trees, where they wouldn’t be seen by anybody looking out of moon-lit windows.

“Tom!” Harry hissed through his teeth urgently, trying to stay quiet. Hobbling over to Tom’s direction, he tried to get his attention again. “Tom!” Finally, the other boy looked over, an annoyed expression on his face.

Hands in small fists, in equal volume, Tom responded. “What!” His annoyed expression wavered as he saw Harry’s pained grimace. Harry saw something in his eyes, then. They flickered between the safety of the trees and Harry’s quivering form. 

What was Tom thinking about?

As Harry leaned against the alley wall for support, Tom walked over to him, cautious. Why was he being cautious?

Tom grabbed Harry's forearms and steadied Harry, roughly lowering him to the concrete floor. Harry let out an undignified squeak at the manhandling but had full confidence that Tom knew what he was doing. Slowly sitting down on the floor, he relieved Tom of his weight. “Are you alright?”

A bit confused, but not wanting to seem helpless, Harry frantically nodded. He could deal with this. He has dealt with worse before and he was ready to deal with this, too.

Tom clicked his tongue at the younger’s obvious confusion, but sat himself down directly in front of Harry. Lifting Harry’s foot to his lap, he rested it there to inspect it better. The bottom of Harry’s foot was covered in deep, sluggishly bleeding cuts and numerous splinters, the wood luckily jutting out.  Meanwhile, as Tom focused on his foot, Harry’s face was alight with shame and humiliation. He should’ve been more careful! Then they wouldn’t be in the middle of this situation right now! And- oh, what if they were caught-

 “Stop worrying, Harry. We’ll be fine.” Tom’s calming voice reached through Harry’s panicked thoughts, a shining light in the darkness. His words grounded him, and Harry took a deep breath. “What I’m going to do now is something I’ve never tried before. I-” a flash of indecision crossed Tom’s features, “I’m going to use something special to heal the worst of the cuts and take out the splinters. Is that alright, Harry?” Tom, uncharacteristically, asked gently. Nodding in affirmation, Harry braced himself. 

“S’not gonna be painful, is it?"

“I wouldn’t think so,” Tom answered, lifting Harry’s foot closer to his face. He tutted again as he assessed the wounds. “You can look away if you want to.”

Nodding, Harry looked up and tried to focus on anything that wasn’t his foot on Tom’s lap, the stinging pain of the cuts littering his foot, and definitely off of the gentle touches Tom made with light fingers, being gentle to soften the pain.

Harry instead focused on the grey night sky, lighter than it should be due to light pollution. Despite this, he tried to count the individual stars one by one. 

He had only counted twenty-five before he felt the uncomfortable ache of pins and needles throughout his foot. Shuddering, but still forcing himself to look away, Harry glanced over at the thick treeline Tom had walked over to earlier and attempted to find differences in detail between each of the trees. 

Nothing was helping.

He soon gave up on distracting himself and let out a surprised yelp when he felt Tom massage his foot, the soothing sensation calming Harry down more than he thought it would.

“How did you do that?” Harry asked as Tom lifted his foot from his lap and onto the concrete beside him. “How did you heal my foot?”

Tom simply said, “magic.”

Harry decided to stop prying. He wasn’t going to get far anyway.


Reaching into his pocket, Tom pulled out a small matchbox he had nicked from an older kid. Pulling out three matchsticks, he lit them while Harry called out for the snakes. 

Loki! ” Harry called sibilantly. Tom felt a shudder go down his neck while looking for old newspapers and trash on the ground, hoping to find dry kindling for a small fire 

So, Harry was right. He was another speaker like him. But, despite that fact, Tom would never get used to someone other than him hissing like that.

  Looking between the two buildings that surrounded them, Tom saw that the sky above both boys was clear. Tom could only see the few twinkling lights of a few stars through the slit 

A wave of unexplainable disappointment and indescribable longing filled Tom. All he felt was a spark of yearning that was void of all rationale and logic. It confused him. The clear night made Tom just want to abandon everything and travel far from the city. He wanted to see the endless stars he had heard of. The stars he had been born under. 

“D’you want to see them?” Harry asked, stopping his search for Loki and instead put his undivided attention on Tom. Standing beside him, he gestured to the sky. “The stars, I mean.”

Tom only absently heard him.


Harry’s breath hitched as he saw the clear night reflected in Tom’s glazed eyes. The reflection made them look slightly purple, but it made all the difference to Harry. The few dots of white that were present in the sky mirrored in Tom’s eyes and it made Harry want to stare more. 

And so he did.


“I do…” Tom responded absentmindedly. For some reason, Tom couldn’t keep a single line of thought as he stared up to the heavens. A small amount of stars were present, only a few specks, but it made Tom appreciate them all the more.

It was like he was staring at a murky ocean. Admiring the view despite knowing that a clearer picture existed somewhere out there. Maybe, he’d feel the sense of complete and utter contentment he’d been searching for his whole life when he finally saw it.

A hand grabbed Tom’s and brought his thoughts back into the familiar clear and sharp focus he was used to. It was Harry's hand. His eyes were furrowed in confusion and concern for Tom, but Tom couldn’t focus on that. All he felt was a sense of contentment and the surety that he was okay. 

It made Tom’s heart ache painfully. Flinching, Harry jerkily pulled his hand away from Tom’s own. It seems he had felt the pain, too. 

Despite the ache, Tom wanted to grab it again.

“Sorry,” his counterpart muttered and looked away, a faint blush on his face as he continued to call for Loki. Tom shook his thoughts away as he cultivated a small fire in front of them using the kindling he had gathered earlier.

Soon enough the snakes appeared to the boys, whispering about meeting both speakers at the same time. Loki, ever the affectionate snake, crawled up Harry’s body and rested himself on Harry’s hair like a crown. 

Harry and Tom sat on the concrete ground of the alley, illuminated only by the small fire Tom built from matches and the moonlight of the cloudless night.

Loki,” Tom hissed, frustrated. Glaring at the reptile sitting on the other boy’s head, Tom thought of all the risks they both took to get to where they were safely. While Tom was happy that he was now aware of who the other speaker was, this definitely wasn’t the way he had wanted to find out. While he wasn’t surprised that the other speaker was the other boy beside him, he wanted to uncover that fact himself and save him from the rage he had experienced earlier. “When I said I wanted to know who the other speaker was, I wanted to find out on my own!

Loki smiled, well, as much as a snake could smile. For a normal snake such as Loki, his grin was a silly, toothless thing. Turning his angular head towards the two speakers, he teased, “That wouldn’t have been fun now, would it, speaker? I knew you would do anything to get answers, even sneaking out of your room with the other speaker to get proof.” The snake’s voice turned smug. “It worked.

Tom huffed, but even he had to concede to that point. Harry, on the other hand, snickered at Tom’s expense and at Loki’s very accurate deduction. He quickly shut up in the face of Tom’s glare, but then snickered even louder at the put-out look on the other boy’s face.

“You’re just mad that a snake outsmarted you,” Harry pointed out. Tom just huffed again and stroked under the chin of another snake beside him, blatantly ignoring his counterpart.

"Stupid snakes and their namesakes,” Tom muttered but it only made Harry’s soft snickers turn into full-on snorts.


12:03 AM September 10, 1932

Back Alley Behind Wool’s Orphanage

 

Sneaking back into their room on the 3rd floor, both boys batted off any dirt that had happened to grace itself onto their pyjamas. Both were silent in the wake of the new revelations, despite the banter they had shared in the alley only a few minutes ago.

Harry, on the other hand, was thinking about his and Tom’s friendship. From what he knew, the only people who could speak to snakes were the people present in the room. Harry would admit, the conversations he had with Tom made him very happy. For Harry, Tom and he just clicked. They could talk so easily with one another despite Harry’s first awkward attempts to speak with him. Hell, they had only planned to stay outside with the snakes for half an hour, but look at where that got them. They ended up talking for 2 hours with the snakes and each other. 

Harry wanted to talk to Tom more, to know more about the other boy. Every moment Harry spent speaking with Tom, a warm feeling enveloped him. With Tom, Harry felt safe, secure, and complete. It was odd, but it was his.

  Tom, on the other hand, was thinking about Harry. Not about their friendship, no, though he thought about that too. The boy behind him made him open up more than he did his whole, though very short, life. In the span of a week, Harry had managed to make Tom think only about him the whole time. The first time the other boy had slept in their, begrudgingly shared at the time, room, Tom had just entered the room to see the measly, battered pencil and paper he had set on his desk floating along with the sheets and pillow of his bed. The other boy was a mystery that Tom oh-so-desperately wanted to solve. His and Harry’s shared ability to speak with snakes was amazing, but Tom wanted more.  He was considering befriending the boy, as outright rejecting him would be an idiot’s decision. 

Tom Riddle was no idiot.


As both boys lay on their respective beds, Harry turned to the other occupant in the room and asked him a question, disrupting the cool silence of the atmosphere.

“Are we friends, now?”

Turning to his left, Tom faced the other boy, seeing the vivid green eyes he’d grown to think about in the past week, and answered him.

“I would believe so.”


October 3, 1932

Wool’s Orphanage, London, England

 

“Did you know that Bowtruckles attempt to gouge out the eyes of anything that threatens itself or its tree? It’s the way they defend themselves against predators, and it’s a pretty damn good deterrent-” Tom sighed fondly, Harry was rambling about some fantasy creature in a book he was reading, relaying the majority of what he read to Tom.

Tom didn’t mind. Despite it being fiction, Tom didn’t refuse learning. Who knows? It might be useful one day. Besides, it was Harry, anything was bound to be interesting when it came to him. Trouble always seemed to follow him.


“You are the embodiment of trouble,” Tom commented.

“No,” Harry denied. “Trouble finds me and it likes to drag me to disaster while I kick and scream for it to let me go! Kinda like Billy’s poor, old rabbit. Still dunno where that thing is.”


As they were walking towards the orphanage from school, Tom got bored and kicked a rock. Harry paused in his ramblings and told Tom, “You know, you could’ve killed someone with that.” Though the tone Harry had used clearly showed he didn’t care that much.

It was curious, how dark both their humor was. Even though they were 6-years-old, they found humor in the weirdest things.

Weird to other people at least.

“And a Bowtruckle is so small it can-?” Tom prompted, trailing off. That shot Harry back into rambling about the creature again, continuing his previous rant to a  content Tom, who was listening with a considering hum.

It was…  different… for Tom to walk back with someone from St. John’s. It was pleasantly different, though. He didn’t feel that alone anymore, which was a very weird thing to say. He never thought he would be friends with anyone, unless it was solely for his own ulterior motives, of course. It seems that his decision to befriend Harry turned out well in the end.

It felt nice. 

“Would you want one Tom? If they were real?”

Tom hummed in thought before answering, “Are they useful in any way?”


Harry smiled at Tom’s automatic, enthusiastic affirmative to his question after hearing the words, “they can pickpocket.” He was such a kleptomaniac. The box in their room was enough evidence for it, and Harry doubted that anything would prove it wrong.

“Mr. Scamander really has a nice imagination. I can’t imagine half the creatures in the book.” He had found said book on the street near a corner store down the road one afternoon. It was the best decision of Harry’s life to pick the book up. 

He’d been obsessed ever since. He missed the book he read while at Privet Drive, but he loved Mr. Scamander’s book nonetheless.

“I’d much prefer the Horned Serpent than your Bowtruckle,” Tom admitted, directing Harry to Page 58 of Mr. Scamander’s book before continuing to look at the surrounding buildings as Harry quickly read the passage about Tom’s much-preferred creature.

HORNED SERPENT
M.O.M. Classification: XXXXX

Several species of Horned Serpents exist globally: large specimens have been caught in the Far East, while ancient bestiaries suggest that they were once native to Western Europe, where they have been hunted to extinction by wizards in search of potion ingredients. The largest and most diverse group of Horned Serpents still in existence is to be found in North America, of which the most famous and highly prized has a jewel in its forehead, which is reputed to give the power of invisibility and flight. A legend exists concerning the founder of Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Isolt Sayre, and a Horned Serpent. She was reputed to be able to understand the serpent, which offered her shavings from its horn as the core of the first-ever American-made wand. The Horned Serpent gives its name to one of the houses of Ilvermorny.

Huffing in indignation, Harry retorted, “You like snakes, so of course, a Horned Serpent would be your go-to. You’re so predictable, Tom.”

Tom glanced at the other boy before retaliating, “According to the book,” Harry snorted at the phrase, “someone was able to understand them and used the shavings of the serpent’s horn to make a wand out of it.” ‘We can understand snakes, too,’ went unsaid, but was understood between the two. He gave a small chuckle at Harry’s glare.

Well,” Harry started, a mischievous grin spreading on his face. “Bowtruckles are small, and very likely to pickpocket a person, unnoticed! Or to strike against an enemy. Their sharp fingers could really do some damage to you, y’know.”

Tom hummed in acknowledgment before answering. “On behalf of snakes, they could poison, paralyze you for life… even kill you. Basilisks are easy examples. While I agree that the Horned Serpent might only be good for materials, snakes, in general, are harmful, venomous or not.”

“Speaking of Basilisks, would you like one, Tom? If it were real, I mean.”


“Of course, a Basilisk is not called ‘The King of Serpents’ for nothing.”

Entering the orphanage’s grounds, before any of the two could continue the conversation, Tom was pushed to the cold concrete of the courtyard. 

Oh, how Tom bloody hated Billy Stubbs.

Grumbling, Tom looked up to see Billy Stubbs smirking at him triumphantly, like he was better than Tom. With luck and lenience (and maybe divine intervention), Billy Stubbs could only be better than a sloth at best. Beside him, an angry Harry helped him up before glaring at the fat, barely pre-teen kid in front of them.

The bully sneered at him like he was some pest he’d finally be getting rid of. It pissed Tom off. ‘As if it’s not the other way around,’ Tom thought bitterly. In the grand scheme of things, Billy Stubbs would be nothing but an insignificant worm beneath Tom’s shoe. Oh, the moment when he’d reap his revenge on that disgusting arse. 

“What do you want.” It wasn’t a question; it was a cold demand. A demand to know why Tom was wasting his thoughts and attention on him. The fat git didn’t need to know that, though. Tom had already given up on trying to even act remotely afraid of Stubbs. The fat screwup was a bully that didn’t deserve even a small sliver of Tom’s limited pity. Even more so, the bully only deserved the worst retribution and Tom exactly knew what to do. 

His bunny would be in for a treat.

“Well looky here, everyone, Tommy’s has got himself a boyfriend,” Billy mocked, sneering when he said boyfriend.

  Tom just looked at the boy in front of him with an annoyed expression, his whole face barely fighting the urge to give him the most murderous glare he could make. 

Maybe giving the bully a murderous glare would be better. Billy Stubbs wetting his pants would make a delightful sight to see after the years he had spent making Tom’s life miserable. If looks could kill (and with a Basilisk, it could), Tom’s barely concealed glare and disgust would’ve already been like Medusa’s gaze, turning Bill Stubbs into stone before Tom broke him into useless dust.

"I'm surprised you even read enough to know what that is." Billy's sneering face snapped into one of humiliated anger at Tom's retort.

“Why you little-” Before the fatass could even finish his poorly made retaliation, the matron of Wool’s burst out of the building, an angry look settled on her face. 

Tom sighed. He couldn’t get an ounce of fun, could he?

The moment the larger boy set his eyes on the matron, his expression grew sadistic and gleeful, glancing smugly at Tom, before a helpless baby act was put on for show for the matron. “Mrs. Cole! Mrs. Cole! Tommy pushed me down to the ground and said mean things to me,” he wailed like the belligerent whale of a child he was. 

At least actual whales were wanted and loved.

The matron’s face, if even possible, grew angrier at the tattle, but Tom was beyond pissed. If it wasn’t for Harry’s angry presence behind him, Tom’s self-control would have snapped and splintered. Tom could even say Harry’s fury outmatched his own.

“Tom Marvolo Riddle! How could you have done this? Billy has done nothing wrong to you!” Tom blanched in disgust at the use of his full name by the matron. It was utterly disgusting to even be a part of this scolding but unfortunately, he was the star attraction of the show. 

If only he could burn down the whole circus they called an orphanage.

The matron was oh so very gullible, considering how she swallowed up Stubbs’s very pathetic whining. Oh, how he loathed her. He would love to just torture her for all eternity.

Or, until Tom got bored of her.

Tom just took the scolding quietly and didn’t even try to defend himself; it would only end up with him getting an even worse punishment than what it should’ve been. Even if he had a bigger amount of pride than the next person, he wouldn’t, for the world of him, even want to endure that corporal punishment the matron called ‘scolding’. At least not talking back rewarded him with less of a punishment.


Harry, on the other hand, wasn’t going to let this slide. He accepted the animosity between the matron and Tom, but full-out the humiliation of his friend in front of everyone? Harry wasn’t allowing that. Plus, Billy was the older child, he should be more at fault for crying like a pathetic child in front of everyone. 

Then again, pathetic crybaby was a very accurate description of the large boy in front of them, wailing like a baby needing milk. It was no wonder the matron catered to him, he was pathetic.

 “This is so unfair.”


The matron’s head snapped at the boy behind Tom, her eyes growing softer before hardening with the realization that Harry was on Tom’s side and not Billy’s. Harry wasn’t backing down anytime soon, his head was held high and his emerald green eyes were burning with fury and rage, like embers of fire ablaze behind his very eyes, like his gaze was a Basilisk that could petrify you at any moment. 

If Tom wasn’t in the crossfire, he would’ve stared at those eyes for the whole argument.

“Why is it unfair then, Harry?”

The emerald-eyed boy stood in front of Tom, who was still staring at Harry in shock, with his head raised and daring the matron to attack him while he was speaking.

“It’s unfair because there’s evidence that Billy was the one who pushed Tom, the scrapes on his elbows clearly show it,” he exclaimed, clenching his fists at his sides as his rage bled into the air. “Billy doesn’t have a single scratch on him, and as you can clearly see, his tears only just started falling.”

Mrs. Cole’s face grew redder and angrier with each word Harry said.

“My eyes, which are in need of glasses, can see better than you! Why can’t you just see that Billy is a bully, fair and square?” Harry demanded. His voice was getting quieter but it spoke volumes. “Ask the other kids, they’ll tell you!” 

Finally, when Harry finished, Mrs. Cole finally snapped. “Go to your room, the both of you! No dinner.” 

And that was that. 

It looked as though the matron’s intelligence dumbed down in the presence of Billy Stubbs. It seemed that the fat arse’s idiocy could vandalize a whole orphanage, by the looks of it.

Both boys’ faces soured at the surprisingly mild punishment, but they were glad to hear the end of the scolding. Harry’s righteous outburst had almost won them a greater punishment than they ‘deserved,’ in the eyes of the matron. He wasn’t complaining, though. Tom didn’t want to deal with the matron’s crap right now. He wanted to make Billy Stubbs’s life miserable, and being the one being punished isn’t a good position to start with.


As both boys entered the safety of their room, Tom swiftly turned to face Harry, face scrunched up in rage.

“Why did you do that?! I had everything under control!”

Harry had calmed down on the way to their room, but he got angry again at the tone of Tom’s voice. Tom didn’t control him. “It didn’t look like it, Tom! I didn’t want you to continue to get harassed by Billy as he did to me! I hate him!”


“I hate him, too, but I had it under control!” Tom knew that, as he shouted, that their argument would get them nowhere if they didn’t agree on a compromise. He knew that they were both stubborn, that they wouldn’t back down without a fight, and that a physical skirmish would occur if they both didn’t calm down.


“I just wanted to protect you! To help you!” Tears were brimming in Harry’s eyes, why couldn’t Tom just understand? He understood Harry in everything else.


“I know you did! Just…” Tom quickly sobered up and looked his counterpart straight in the eye, his own pair blazing with emotion. It sobered Harry up quickly too, his sniffling quieting, and his tears were just brimming in his eyes instead of rolling down his face. It caused an ache in Tom’s chest for some reason, seeing that.

  Tom wrapped his arms around Harry’s shoulders. His counterpart was shocked at the action, before immediately wrapping his arms around Tom’s torso and stuffed his face in the taller one’s chest, while Tom rested his chin on the other’s hair. Harry’s cries grew significantly louder and more ragged, but it was muffled due to his face being stuffed against Tom’s chest. Tom, despite being incredibly warm and a little bit uncomfortable, endured it all. He kept telling himself, “If you didn’t like Harry, you wouldn’t be friends with him,” over and over again while his arms were full of said boy.

It was a small moment, just for the two of them to experience.

Tom’s shirt was slightly damp from tears, but he found himself not minding it at all. His first and only focus at the moment was to calm down his friend, well, his best friend really. After what happened outside, the other kids wouldn’t want to be their friends anymore, but that was okay. They had each other. It was the two of them against the world.

As Harry’s sniffles grew to a slow but sure stop, Tom asked him, “Are you okay now?”


Harry sniffled as he wiped the tears from his eyes before answering Tom, “Yeah, I didn’t expect you to do that. You’re not the type to hug people out of the blue.”

Tom winced at the reminder of that fact and drew away from the hug. Now, his only physical connection to Harry was both their hands linked with each other. “I’m- I’m not that kind of person,” He agreed, sheepish. ‘Usually.’ It was a weird sight to see, even Harry had to admit. Tom Riddle was not a sheepish person, even in the short time Harry was here.

Harry gave Tom a grin. “Then get used to it,” he said before assaulting Tom with a bear hug.

Tom ‘oomph’ed slightly at the impact before hugging Harry back with just as much enthusiasm.

Harry didn’t know how long their hug lasted, but they eventually pulled themselves apart. It could’ve been minutes or even just mere seconds, but Harry wanted this warm feeling to last forever. It was weird, they had only met each other less than a month ago and now they had hugged as if their lives depended on it. Maybe they did, Harry didn’t know. All he knew was that it was a damn good hug.

He voiced his observation to Tom.

“I noticed it, too. I don’t normally warm up to people this easily.” Tom had his head down, swinging their linked hands side-to-side, obviously trying to distract himself from his own thoughts.

Harry snorted, wiping his tear-streaked face roughly. “You don’t warm up to people at all.” He softened. “But I’m not complaining.”

When Tom’s head snapped up, Harry gave him a bright smile. The other hesitantly returned the gesture.

“So…” Harry trailed off, a silly grin on his face. It made Tom wonder what was going on in Harry’s mind. “Are we friends, now?”

Tom gave Harry an incredulous look. “Of course.” Harry lit up at the statement. “Now, let’s go and get revenge on Billy Stubbs.”


“My thoughts are stars I cannot fathom into constellations.”

-John Green, The Fault in Our Stars

 

Notes:

Tom: is obsessed with stars and what they make him feel
Also Tom: why is Harry making me feel like this

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Chapter 3: 1937 [In A Sea of Memories, I Only See You]

Summary:

Harry contemplates his and Tom's relationship and both of them become a little bit touch starved.

Notes:

I'm so sorry for the late chapter update. My betas and I were on a busy schedule and we couldn't tend to the fic for a new update. I do hope this fluff chapter (with a bit of backstory) will help you forgive me and my betas.

We'll try to not take as long as this chapter did for chapter 4 but we can't make any promises. Sorry darlings. Anyway, enjoy the chapter!

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

"A soulmate is someone who is willing to grow with you, who chooses to be with you until the end, and will love you through good and bad. It's not about sunshine and laughter, it's about mundane moments filled with unknowns."

-T.B. LaBerge


March 18, 193

[In A Sea of Memories, I Only See You]

 

They were inevitable. There was no doubt about it.

Years and years flew by, the both of them enduring thick and thin together. They’ve seen sides of each other that they’ve never shown anybody else, that they’ve never wanted to share with anybody else. Both of them belonged to each other, two lone planets in the same orbit. They were the inevitability of stars, of falling rain, of the tides and cycles of the moon. 

They were inevitable, plain as that.

Their tentative relationship started like the accidental meeting of the eyes, connecting with each other in the middle of a coffee shop. They were as unavoidable as the drooping of the lids, making way for a peaceful slumber. They were a pattern, as necessary to each other as the seasons were to the Earth.

They simply were.

Unbeknownst to the two of them, their ineluctability was like the myths of millennia, known by the people and told only for the Gods. Their relationship was built on the cultivation of caring kindness, soft words, and whispers, reassuring touches, and questions. Their inevitability grew into a bond of trust, a bond of partners, a bond where they both could find peace in each other and feel known. It happened so naturally, both boys wouldn’t be able to tell when it started.

All because they found common ground between each other, a language that only they shared with each other. It was as if they were made to be.

They learned that their language might be called Parseltongue, a dialect of olde. The etymon, Tom theorized, may have links to the French. He had reached this conclusion through his own studies of French and Latin, lessons the nuns had them complete at St. John’s. 

Even if both boys loathed the nuns and everyone associated with them, they were rather grateful for having two more languages under their belt.


December 31, 1932
Wool’s Orphanage, London, England

 

Tom could only gape as he stared at the newspaper-wrapped gift held out in front of him. Looking between the small box and Harry’s face, he took in Harry’s determined expression. Cautiously, he took the gift from Harry’s outstretched hands and to his own chest. 

Tom had never received a proper gift before, the exception being when Mrs. Cole told him the date of his birthday out of pure spite when she was drunk. Tom had never counted that as a gift. Not like Harry’s gift. This gift was physical and there. 

This gift was purely his.

Tom snapped out of his thoughts as there was a sudden hand waving in front of his face. Looking up, his view was obscured by the concerned face of his best friend. “What are you thinking about?”

Tom blinked as he came back to his senses. How long had he been blankly staring at the other boy in front of him?

“Nothing,” Tom sighed, rubbing a hand on his face “I haven’t received a gift before, so thank you.”

“That’s what friends are for right?” Harry asked. Both boys paused and stared at each other, Tom with sardonic amusement and Harry with shocked embarrassment, which unsurprisingly surmised both of their personalities. They both knew that they were each other’s first friends, but Tom couldn’t hold back his mirth and full-on laughed at Harry’s statement. 

The other boy flushed at the sight of Tom laughing, and at the realization of what he was laughing about.

They were friends now.


Another direct result of their bond was the discovery of their powers, or magic, as Harry called it. It only affected them in the way an artist covers up a mistake by making it part of the whole masterpiece. They cultivated the magic, they practised it, they even tried triggering the magic to make it react.


April 16, 1934
Wool’s Orphanage, London, England

 

Harry and Tom stood still, processing what just happened.

“How did we get down here?” Tom questioned; hysterical disbelief etched on his face, clutching the shorter’s forearms. If Harry wasn’t thinking the same, he would be laughing his ass off to Hell at the reaction of the other boy. Getting Tom to react this way was a rare event, and he relished in those few memories. But now, he was panicking and as hysterical as Tom was.

“I- I don’t know,” Harry stammered, in the same boat as Tom, trying to figure out how the bloody hell they ended up in the storage room when they were just in their bedroom mere moments ago. 

It left a twisting feeling in his stomach.

“Wait,” Tom realized, comprehension dawning on his face. It looked angelic; Harry noted, which was ironic in and of itself. “I think,” Tom said slowly, “this was like the time I first met you and saw you asleep, the objects around you floated.” Harry froze in the position he was in, barely holding himself up through his hold on Tom’s forearms and the other’s exact same hold on him.

“Tom, best friend, the most important person in my life, probably sociopathic-” Harry listed off, voice getting higher and higher. Harry’s list of descriptions was amusing, but Tom knew that it was leading up to the inevitable question. Wincing slightly, he braced himself. “When were you going to decide to tell me that you knew about my magic?” Tom’s poor best friend all but cried, distress clear on his face. Tom should probably feel bad, but he didn’t. It didn’t take much apathy to be greatly amused at the expression.

“Well, now that you mention it, I have been planning to tell you for a while-” Tom cut off abruptly when Harry gripped his shoulders and shook him panickedly, distress twisting his features. Tom stood there for a moment, stunned yet amused at his gall, and then shook the other boy’s own shoulders back in retaliation.

Tom!

“Alright, alright,” Tom tried to sooth, the other boy’s distress not fading in the slightest. The taller of the two stared into the shorter’s vivid green eyes, “I can do stuff like that, too. I did it,” magic, he reminded himself, “when we first met Loki together.”

That statement finally relieved Harry’s nerves, but they shot right back up again at the implications of the admittance.

“You’ve been keeping this from me?!” Tom got a whack at the back of the head for that.


March 18, 1937
London, England

 

Harry and Tom were sitting underneath a large tree in a park, the frequented haunt a small distance away from the orphanage. Tom was wrapped up in a book, his pointer finger tapping against the book’s spine. Harry was busy sketching the park’s view in front of them. 

It was the perfect spot for them to hide themselves from the world, and from the other kids in the orphanage. It hid them well enough from the sun, but their view overlooking the park kept being interrupted by the falling leaves from the tree above them. They would have stayed at the library, but Harry had decided to stay at the park today, claiming that they needed the fresh air. Tom was under no circumstances to deny Harry of that.


Looking up from his sketch, Harry observed his surroundings and the park itself. It was quiet, which was weird considering it was a Friday afternoon, but he could still hear distant laughing from the other kids. He knew that when he and Tom decided to stay longer, the other kids from the orphanage would eventually decide to show themselves. Considering the fact that the other kids wouldn’t want to stay cramped up in their room or the front yard of the orphanage, they were going to be seeing the other kids fairly soon. 

Maybe the laughter Harry heard had been coming from the petite girls across the lake. Harry had finally been able to sketch them after a long while of playing around the trees.


“It’s not paying too much attention if you know it’ll turn out the way you want it to.”

Harry didn’t look up from his sketch, avoiding Tom’s eyes, but wholly agreeing to his point. “It still feels like it is.”


It was weird how quickly Tom and Harry grew closer together in the past few years. It wasn’t that Harry didn’t like it, he loved having Tom as a best friend, it was just weird to have a friend after all the years. In his younger years, when his pig of a cousin prevented him from having such relationships, he would’ve never thought that what he had now, with Tom, was possible.

Speaking of Dudley, Harry remembered his game he had made called ‘Harry Hunting’

Harry scrunched his nose and erased a mistake he had made in his sketch.

Harry had to constantly hide from Dudley, Piers, and his cronies in school, fearing for his safety (he had even teleported to get away before! Harry just forgot where). 

He hated feeling powerless in front of his cousin. He stood up to Billy Stubbs thankfully, a few years back. It didn’t deter him whatsoever after a few weeks, but still. At least they got revenge on the fat arse.


October 7, 1932
Wool’s Orphanage, London, England

 

Harry and Tom watched with a sadistic sense of accomplishment at the sight of Billy Stubbs wailing over the unfortunate death of his poor, poor rabbit. 

They weren’t lying when they said they’d get revenge on Billy Stubbs; a promise was a promise wasn’t it?

When the matrons finally got the rabbit from the rafters, Billy immediately found the duo in the mass of kids trying to see the rabbit. He cried and declared that Tom and Harry were the ones responsible for the death of his rabbit, but the boys weren’t stupid. 

They knew they would be blamed for the rabbit; it didn’t take that much common sense to figure that out (at least they finally knew how stupid Billy Stubbs was, though). They staged a fight between Billy and another boy his age. It was a mere quarrel, but the other kids seemed only too keen to have drama around here.

“Tommy and Harry did it!” Billy wailed, fat tears rolling down his pudgy cheeks in the ugliest way. The nickname Billy gave Tom made him sick. It was an insult to his first name, no matter how much he hated it.


When news reached Harry that they had found the rabbit’s body hung from the rafters, he had no hesitation when telling the other kids that maybe Robert Jones was the one that had slaughtered the small animal. It was no secret that Robert and Billy had a fight the other day. Robert being the culprit was entirely possible. After all, Jones had very weak impulse control, and enough cronies in his circle for the rabbit’s death to be made possible.

  The news spread like wildfire. While Billy (and Mrs. Cole, by extension) wanted to blame Harry and Tom for the death, the other kids already indirectly had an alibi for the two of them. Multiple kids had come to their defense, claiming that they saw both of them in the park near the orphanage when the rabbit was supposedly hung.

They also, inadvertently, of course, blamed Robert Jones for the crime. With that, Mrs. Cole’s hands were tied. She had to punish Robert instead of Harry and Tom. 

While Mrs. Cole was a smart and sharp woman, they had to give her that albeit begrudgingly, she was too biased against the pair and all rational thought fled her mind when it came to the two of them.

Oh, the joys of not being a stupid person. They don’t know how Billy does it honestly, being like that.

It was like stealing candy from a child, the whole revenge plan, and quite literally. The duo found some sweets Billy had hidden in his own cot while getting the rabbit. It was all too good, and while getting away with the murder was the best thing they accomplished, the urge to steal the candy and get away with it was all too sweet to ignore. The oaf will be too busy mourning his poor pet rabbit to notice the candy going missing, anyways. He’d just assume that he’d already eaten it.


“It’s only murder, mon cher, if they’re my equal. As far as I know, I only have one of those.”


March 18, 1937
London, England

 

At least Harry had Tom now; he wasn’t going to be lonely anytime soon. Billy Stubbs was truly a mark on both of their histories, stupid excuse of an adversary or not.

Feeling eyes on him, Harry turned to his right where the subject of his thoughts was staring at him. Tom’s own book was closed and disregarded on his lap. He had an intense look in his eyes while staring at Harry, a flurry of emotions raging in them. The emotions flickering in his eyes were too fast to decipher all at once, like a storm in an ever-growing night. 

“What is it?”

“What were you thinking about?”

Harry gave Tom a fleeting smile before breaking eye contact and surveying the park. 

The trees were swaying in the wind, giving the park an eerie and lonely atmosphere despite being able to hear and see other kids from the immediate distance. He wondered what was taking them so long to arrive at their little niche, not that he minded. He liked that the two of them were the only people here. Other than the lovely couple in the clearing,  or the girls across the lake flying kites (he always loved sketching those), they were wonderfully alone. The colors of the cheap plastic kites always either contrasted to the sky, like a fire burning in the arctic or blended with the trees. Whenever that happened, it was like they were meant to be there. He almost had to draw the scene, Harry’s imagination bringing the lovely sight to life, despite being in a perpetual state of standstill. It was a masterpiece of the world that Harry had forever ingrained in his head, so it was a huge miracle for Harry not to draw the boisterous kids in his sketch. 

“It was nothing.” 

Tom didn’t say anything when Harry felt arms wrap around his torso. He was dragged backward to lean against his best friend’s front before Tom hooked his chin on Harry’s right shoulder.

Harry didn’t mind though.

After Billy Stubbs’s sad attempt to hurt Tom and the small fight the two boys had, Tom explained that the hugs that he initiated were caused by a primal urge to comfort Harry. An urge to just make Harry’s crying stop. Tom had also explained that it was just a natural instinct for him to hug Harry, despite not having the urge to do so for any other person.


May 21, 1935
Wool’s Orphanage, London, England

 

In the cold dead of the spring night, the two boys were lying in bed. It was quiet in their room, only the soft rustling of bodies and whispers of breath interrupting the silence.

Harry’s thoughts were swirling in and out of coherence. He was growing restless, picking his own fingers in thought, while his best friend was relaxing next to him. Judging from the slow, labored breathing and the lack of noise from the rustle of sheets, the other boy was already asleep.

While Tom was in the gentle arms of sleep, Harry was stuck awake. He was thinking of insignificant things, things that had only happened in the past and shouldn’t be leaving such a significant impression on him . The ache in his bones from staying in such a still position was gaining on him, his mind a dark spiral of thought that Harry couldn’t control. 

His whole body was stuck in a cycle of freezing and overheating. There was no in-between.

Why was he reliving his own memories, trapped in his own thoughts? It was almost like he was stuck in that awful, awful cupboard and living with the Dursleys again. He felt the ache in his head worsen like he’d taken another beating from Uncle Vernon. He had taken a beating from Uncle Vernon. His head was swimming like the first time he had attended school, his vision a blurry haze. The chill overcoming his whole body was exactly how he felt when Dursley and Dennis and Gordon and that annoying rat Piers attacked-

 A hand suddenly rested on Harry’s forehead, causing Harry to flinch violently. He backed up to the corner of his headboard skittishly, twisting the fabric of his thin comforter between his fingers. 

Why did he feel like he was suffocating? Why did he feel like he was drowning miles away from shore and all he could do was try to breathe and panic and flail -

“Harry,” said a hushed voice, thick from sleep. Harry felt himself come down to the shore from the sea, his breathing calming down slightly. “You’re alright. I’m here.”

Harry whimpered and pulled his legs towards his chest, hearing the voice but not quite registering what it said. He rested his forehead against his knees and tried to calm down. 

He’d dealt with this before and he’d deal with it again; one more attack was nothing in the grand scheme of things.

“Breathe,” the voice ordered and Harry tried his best to listen to them. Breathing through his nose and out his mouth, Harry took deep intakes of air even if he stuttered halfway through.

Two hands cupped the underside of Harry’s face and tilted it upwards, the fresh tears still streaming down his cheeks as he hiccupped. The thumbs of the hands cupping Harry’s face wiped the tears away.

As his vision cleared and his thoughts calmed, Harry’s glasses were given to him. He blinked rapidly as he put them on, not quite used to the sudden change from blurred to crisp. Focusing on the figure in front of him, only illuminated by the moon, he squinted.

“Are you okay now?” Coming into view was Tom, slight hysteria and concern etched on his face. It warmed Harry’s heart that the fully confident and arrogant best friend of his pushed aside his pride and warmed his own cold heart to help Harry.

  Harry stuttered out a breath. He was okay. While that panic attack wasn’t the worst he experienced, it wasn’t mild either. He was fine though; he was sure of it this time. “I’m fine.”

Tom didn’t believe him, but he let it slide. He would know what happened in a little while. "What happened?” Tom asked sternly, fully sitting beside Harry at the head of the bed. 


March 18, 1937
London, England

 

"Harry," Tom scolded gently. "What are you thinking about so intently? You're not even paying attention to me." Harry raised his eyes from the image he was sketching, a confused expression on his face.

He tilted his head slightly, "How could you tell?" Harry blinked in surprise when Tom laughed at him. Harry didn’t know if he should feel offended or not.

"Whenever you're focused on something, if something holds your attention, you get a certain… look on your face." Tom rested his chin on top of his palm. "It's not hard to notice if you look."

Harry glanced upwards and gave the other boy an inquisitive look. How did he notice that? Harry was pretty sure Tom wasn’t aware of him blanking out often. Harry paused momentarily as reality hit him in the face. “I- if you noticed does that mean you’ve been?" You've been staring at my face?  Harry turned away, embarrassed. “I don’t blank out .”  Harry had the feeling he was speaking out of his own ass.

“Of course, you don’t. When I first met you, you weren’t so spaced out you didn’t even notice me. Of course, that didn’t happen.” Tom scooted closer to him, a smug quirk to his lips. “That was so silly of me to hallucinate that of you. I do hope you find it in you to forgive me.” Tom’s small smirk slowly morphed into a sardonic grin at Harry’s pouting face.

“You know what I mean, Tom!”

“I know. Also, I-” Tom looked away, “I don’t look at your face often .” he said defensively, hands laced together. “I only pay attention to you because all the other kids at the orphanage are all carbon copy annoyances.” Tom’s face grew serious. Well, serious enough for a face like Tom’s. It just made Harry think of the pouting snake he saw in Mr. Scamander’s book. “Now, what were you thinking about?”

Harry leaned back on Tom’s hold, relishing in the warmth the other boy gave him from the windy weather. He genuinely didn’t know why he was thinking about their friendship. 

Admittedly, he hadn’t been in a lot of friendships (see: none at all) before Tom. The only examples of such a relationship had been from the children around him and the books he had read in his leisure time. Considering the time he had to read, which wasn't a lot given how he spent it (French Homework, chores, sketching), he still knew normal friendships weren’t as close as Tom’s and his were. 

“I don’t know, really. It’s nothing,” He admitted reluctantly.

“But what you’re thinking right now isn’t nothing. You answered me after a few minutes of spacing out,” Tom pointed out. Harry hated Tom now (not really); he was too observant of Harry. But then again, Harry was very observant of Tom, too. Harry then remembered the both of them were eleven. However…


July 31, 1935
Wool’s Orphanage, London, England

 

“Happy Birthday,” Tom greeted. Harry was too sleepy to register the full force of the statement. It was early in the morning, way too early for Harry’s tastes. He usually stayed up the night before his birthday to count down, but this year he fell asleep as soon as their clock hit midnight. It was like Tom was trying to torture him or something, waking him up this early. 

Either way, this was a bad best friend thing for Tom to do on his birthday.

“What? S’too early to talk…” Harry mumbled, pulling himself to Tom. It was a bit difficult because Tom was standing, but Harry managed to burrow himself in the other’s stomach. Tom was fully dressed, pristine as always, and ready for the day. In comparison, Harry was still in pyjamas that were formerly owned by the boy in front of him.

Tom ran his fingers through Harry’s messy bird nest before he told Harry, “Get up your lazy arse. I have a surprise for you.” 

But Harry didn’t budge one bit and only burrowed his head further into Tom’s stomach. The other boy sighed and furrowed his brow as he focused his magic (“Is this magic?” “Of course, it is, what else would it be?”) to levitate Harry’s gift off his desk. Tom might as well make himself comfortable, he knew that Harry wouldn't be budging from his spot in a very long time.

The gift shakily levitated from the table before floating into Tom’s waiting hands. He nudged the sleeping boy who was clinging to him like a koala, sleeping soundly.

Harry blinked drowsily and rested his chin on Tom’s stomach, looking up at the older boy. “Mm?” He hummed, looking like an angel in Tom’s holy opinion. Lightly laying the gift on Harry’s nose, he grinned at the way his counterpart’s face scrunched up at the gesture.

Tom then sat down beside Harry and let him lean heavily against him before handing Harry his gift for him. 


March 18, 1937
London, England

 

Harry, when shaken out of his stupor, easily realized his counterpart’s point. Damn Tom and his accurate thinking. He looked down at his sketch and continued drawing the scene in front of him, ignoring his traitor of a best friend’s attempts to get his attention.

“Harry,” Tom groaned, hooking his chin on Harry’s shoulder. The point of his chin dug into Harry's muscle slightly as he peered down to see the sketch his counterpart had made.

It was a beautiful graphite sketch of the park view in front of them, drawn in a black and white scene. It was beautifully done, despite the monochromatic color scheme Harry had to work with. The trees were made with love and attention, so much so that it seemed to sway in the still state it was in. The grassy knoll in front of them was drawn precisely,  including the small couple sitting on a blanket (Tom absentmindedly hoped that one day he’d be able to experience that too). The lake just beside them glimmered in the warm sunlight, and the masterpiece Harry had drawn was an exact replica of it (Except it was better, of course. It had Harry’s own brand of style and magic to it). 

It amazed Tom to be friends with someone so talented (he knew his worth, but he didn’t think that someone like Harry would be friends with someone like Tom. Despite his intelligence) and it would never cease to amaze him.


July 31, 1935
Wool’s Orphanage, London, England

 

Harry, in his somewhat awake state, managed to open the wrapped present with a distinctive carefulness. Opening it fully, he gasped softly at the gift in his lap. 

It was similar to the dark green leather journal he saw on the corner store near the orphanage. Harry supposed Tom got it there, but it surprised him. How did Tom save enough to buy something like this? His grin widened when he felt a pencil beside the journal’s spine.

  He was surprised to see tears dropping onto the cover of the book. He didn’t even notice himself crying, or him gripping Tom like a lifeline. All Harry knew was the overwhelming feeling of happiness and fulfillment crashing into him like waves, and the comforting presence his best friend gave him. It was so overwhelmingly heartwarming, and Harry revelled in it.

Tom, on the other hand, was fretting over Harry’s reaction to the gift. “Harry, are you okay?” He cupped Harry’s cheeks, frantically trying to wipe the tears off his best friend’s face.

Harry only cried harder, making Tom fret even more. Tom wasn’t used to emotions (or fretting) of any kind and thought it was stupid. This wasn't stupid, though. Nothing was stupid when it came to Harry. 

Nothing.

Harry grabbed Tom’s wrists and Tom stilled, an awkward grimace etched on his face. It made Harry giggle. “I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine!” Harry reassured with a grin, quickly wiping his tears in the process. He didn’t like people worrying over him, but Tom just amplified his emotions to a state of no control. Harry wasn’t really used to that, but he was too happy and grateful to be bitter.


March 18, 1937
London, England

 

“That’s a really nice one,” Tom murmured. He already knew that because of Harry's stubbornness, he wouldn't be budging until later. He knew the waiting game well enough. Being friends with Harry for 5 years did that to Tom. “I think that’s your best one yet.”

Harry gave him a rogue smile, full of the narcissistic and confident qualities that the two of them normally saw on Tom. “Of course, it is.” He boasted, lifting the leather journal in triumph. He held it like it was a prize that he had just won. “But I think the one with you reading in the clearing, down there, was my best one yet.”

Tom had to agree. Not that he was a hardcore narcissist, Tom just appreciated the time and effort Harry gave when he sketched Tom. If Harry agreed, he would pay millions, if not billions of pounds to just see his artwork. However, he already saw them every day for free. 

He felt like he was scamming Harry, who had the talent to make masterpieces. Harry's drawings deserved to be in art galleries of the highest class, auctioned and preserved religiously (not that Tom knew about being religious in any right).

“Now,” Tom started as he closed the sketchbook. “What’s on your mind?”

 “Billy Stubbs.”

As Tom’s face soured at the name, he tightened his hold on Harry. It was no secret that they both hated Billy Stubbs with a burning passion. That git deserved to rot in hell for all they cared. While the two of them weren’t martyrs or saints of any kind, they only sought out revenge when someone wronged either one of them. Other than that, they weren’t the ones actively seeking a fight. Quite unlike Mr. Righteous over there. His fat ass couldn’t handle not picking a fight with someone every single day; every time the duo saw him, he was constantly bickering with someone and wailing to Mrs. Cole when it was over.

“Why him?” Tom all but growled.

Harry rushed to respond; he didn’t like dealing with an annoyed Tom at any time of the day. “Well, not really Billy Stubbs. More like us, in general, but us, really.” Harry scrunched his face, lost in thought as his eyeglass pads dug into his nose. “I don’t know how to explain it.”

Tom visibly slouched in realization. “Oh,” he replied before the thought suddenly came to him. “Why are you thinking about it?”

Harry shrugged.

“I just…” He trailed, not knowing what to answer to the boy behind him. He was just thinking about it while sketching, so he didn’t really notice that his mind had drifted off to the two of them.

“Just?”

“Just nothing?” Harry replied, his mind working overtime to understand why. He absently realized that only Tom made him think like this. “I just feel like I’m missing something important, but the only important thing I care about right now is behind me, so…” Harry shrugged again, careful not to disturb the chin on his shoulder. A grin broke out on his face when he heard Tom mutter under his breath about Harry’s charm and quick thinking to avert the question.

Harry leaned back against Tom’s hold as he said, “Well, I learned from the best.”

He was laughing as Tom pushed him from his hug, rolling away to lay on the cool grass.

“Prat,” Tom muttered as he flipped through Harry’s sketchbook, ignoring the way Harry was outright laughing at Tom’s put-out expression. He was literally like a grumpy cat.


“I’m not wrong!” Harry claimed, but Tom was too busy admiring the traitor’s sketches to pay attention to the actual artist of the book. He continued to ignore Harry even when the boy hung on to his side and kept pleading for Tom to stop ignoring him. After all, traitors aren’t forgiven. Especially if they keep laughing like a lunatic.


“Come on Tom,” Harry whined, a cramp-inducing grin still ever-present.

“No.”

Harry whined even more, if possible. “Come on!” He rested his chin on Tom’s shoulder before intently staring at his counterpart, making the pouting and droopy-eyed face he knew Tom would instantly cave to.

Tom glanced at Harry before instantly looking back to the sketchbook. If even comprehensible, at this point, Harry whined even more. Damn Tom and his self-control, but it didn’t deter Harry. Five years of being friends with Tom made him know, with much certainty, that Tom would cave to him. He knew it wasn’t that long in the grand scheme of things, but it was long enough.

Harry pouted even more, and that was when Tom looked up to stare at him again. They had a short staring contest, Tom with narrowed eyes and Harry with faux innocence.

Tom growled and looked back down again to the sketchbook. At that moment, Harry knew that he had won the argument.  He knew there would be a catch, though. There always was with Tom.

Tom was turning the page to the sketch of a Bowtruckle when Harry heard it. “Get me that Magical Theory book we saw down in the hand-me-down bookstore.” His counterpart said, absentmindedly thumbing the sketch. “It had practically the same design as your Fantastic Beasts book. I want to learn more about it. Maybe we’re not just the freaks Mrs. Cole claims we are.” Harry’s hold on Tom tightened at the mention of the word freak but nodded determinedly in understanding. He could easily get that book for Tom.

Dutifully accepting his sketchbook back, he continued drawing the scene before him while Tom continued reading his book. Harry couldn’t help but think about what Tom had said a few moments ago; he had a point. Maybe they weren’t the freaks the orphanage claimed they were. Maybe they weren’t the devil incarnated, as the matron kept insisting.

Harry sighed and continued on sketching, notably missing the glance Tom shot at him. 


Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs;
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes;
Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers' tears:
What is it else? a madness most discreet,
A choking gall and a preserving sweet.

- William Shakespeare, Romeo & Juliet

Notes:

Harry: I'm thinking about us
Tom, snaking his arms around Harry's waist: oh really?

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Chapter 4: 1937 [The Sea Does Not Like to Be Restrained]

Summary:

“Yeah,” came the breathy yet panicked reply from Tom, his eyes crinkling in his best attempt to stop crying. Not from fear, no, but from bursting out laughing. “When we came back, Amy and Dennis suddenly were like that. We didn’t know what happened. Amy asked if they could tag along and we agreed. Then this happened.” Tom then looked up at Martha Charles and her eyes softened in sympathy at the both of them before reporting back to Mrs. Cole.

Notes:

DOUBLE CHAPTER UPDATE BABY
and yes i am alive

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

(memories that you bury by making better ones but turns into flowers.)

-Juansen Dizon


March 18, 1937
Wool’s Orphanage, London, England

[The Sea Does Not Like to Be Restrained]

As Harry and Tom entered the orphanage building, two kids approached them with nasty grins on their faces. Dennis Bishop and Amy Benson; thick as thieves. Both boys watched as they sneered in disgust at them.

It made Harry’s blood boil. 

“Had a nice date in the park?” Dennis mocked, Amy bouncing in glee at the prospect of bullying the two boys. Harry absentmindedly wondered why the Matron despised the two of them when it was their bullies who attacked them first.

An eye for an eye and the world goes blind.

“Not gonna talk?” Dennis taunted, walking towards them. As Dennis walked forward, the two boys were forced to step back towards the wall.  It was too close for comfort. “Or are you too ashamed? ” The repetitive taunts the other kid used against them made Harry sick.

They were plain. Uninventive and unimaginative, to put it kindly.

Oh, who was Harry kidding? They were severely lacking in thought and intelligence. The words caused Harry to lose brain cells just by listening. It seemed that Tom agreed from the annoyed look he sported under his passive exterior. If Harry didn’t already know that they’d have a plan for these idiots, then he would have already dealt with them after the first time they dared bully them.

“No,” Tom admitted, a bored drawl dancing in the undertone of his voice. “We’re just trying to deal with the conversation we’re having, as of right now. It’s incredibly taxing to understand what we’re talking about when the other party lacks the nuance to carry it.”

Tom's statement proved to be quite right. Judging from the scrunched face of Dennis and the gaping mouth from Amy, they didn’t understand what Tom said. Well, at least not fully. Though, their clenched, shaking fists proved that they knew it was a dig at them. 

Good.

It was the whole point of it, riling them up. Make them confused, get it done, and make them lose focus of their plans. Easy as pie.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, a delighted grin on his face that was far from sincere. “It’s really enervating. I think my mind is melting.” He gave the two annoying kids an airy smile, adding to their confusion before he dragged Tom upstairs.

“They’re making me lose brain cells,” Harry whispered playfully in a hushed voice as he and Tom walked towards their room, Harry latching onto Tom’s left arm.


Tom sighed as he opened the door. He needn’t have worried over Dennis and Amy. They would get their revenge on the two eventually. In the meantime, they would need to think of a plan to lure the infuriating kids towards the cave. It would be during summer, obviously, when they visited the seaside. The matrons will assume it was an accident, and Harry’s crying will let them get away with it. But what else?

After all, who tagged along with the likes of Harry and him? They had what was coming to them.

“I know,” he said, watching as Harry flopped on his own bed, groaning as he did. He had his arms over his head, a very telltale sign that Harry was considering ending Dennis Bishop and Amy Benson right then and there.

Harry sighed and removed his arms, dropping them down to the mattress. “What’s your plan?” Harry strained his neck to  look over to where Tom was on his own bed, staring at Harry, deep in thought.

Tom hummed and slowly blinked back to reality. He shrugged, acting as though he didn’t really care about the two other kids that were downstairs. “What makes you think I already have a plan?” Tom’s lips quirked upwards at Harry’s derisive snort.

“Your life is run on plans!” Harry exclaimed, his arms flying up before falling and bouncing on the bed just as quickly. “Even when we were six. Poor Billy Stubbs didn’t know what was coming for him. Robert Jones, too.” Tom snorted at the memory. That one had been the best to date. It was done in a short amount of time, too. It had been glorious.

“But what makes you think I already have a plan for them right now?” An amused glint took over Tom’s calculating eyes. He leaned back on his arms as he sat and an innocent look graced his features, quickly covering the amusement.

Harry deadpanned. “But what makes you think I’m nearly blind?” He mocked, removing his outdated prescription glasses and putting them on his head while giving Tom an incredulous look. He sat up and rested his elbows on his knees, narrowing his eyes at Tom in a way that made Tom snort. 

Tom then looked up at the ceiling as Harry nearly gave up.

“My plan is merely making them more interested in us. and When summer hits, we’ll lure them somewhere else and teach them a lesson.”

“And I’ll go boo-hoo when they find us out?” Harry guessed.

He looked back down at Harry and grinned, one full with malicious intent. “You know me so well.” 


March 28, 1937
Wool’s Orphanage, London, England

 

The first step to their plan was very easy to accomplish. 

While Harry took care of Amy, Tom took care of Dennis. It was quite simple what they wanted; they were just insecure of their own friendships and decided to take it out on both of them. 

Honestly, with the things that they were subjected to on a daily basis, Harry was surprised that the only thing they got was hate and close-mindedness from Mrs. Cole and the others. 

Even if Harry was only 9-years-old, he was very comfortable with who and what he liked. And while he didn’t know what Tom’s thoughts on the matter were, he knew his best friend didn’t mind their friendship dynamic that much.

Speaking of friendships, it seemed that neither Amy nor Dennis got anything good out of theirs. 

All Amy did was simper and mock them in the background while Dennis terrorized the other kids. It also seemed the annoying pair thought they were slick. When Harry and Tom split up (which was very intentional, by the way), Amy decided to flatter Harry while insulting him with backhanded comments at the same time, as though Harry was a stone-faced idiot. He truly had to give her props though even if he wanted to make her die. In excruciating detail.

Damn. The thought of Harry dislocating Amy Benson’s shoulder before he pushed her into the River Thames was really tempting to do so. Unfortunately, they already had plans for the idiot duo and the plan to push someone off of the River Thames required more work than Harry already wanted to do.

Tom told him one night that Dennis kept insulting and making snide comments at him which were really ordinary at best. Harry only felt slightly sorry for his counterpart but it was his fault for setting himself up to deal with Dennis.

When Harry entered their rooms, Tom was on his bed reading the Magical Theory book Harry got him a few days ago. Harry never broke promises, no matter what.

Tom bookmarked his page before looking up at Harry, giving him his undivided attention when he spoke. “Benson overheard me ‘muttering’ about the summer trip and our ‘plans’ for it,” Harry reported as he plopped beside Tom and rested his head against the wall. “How about you?”

Tom gave a bored shrug and at the thought of Dennis Bishop and the halfwit he was. “Insulted me again, nothing new,” He said, opening his book again. “He then pushed me to tell him what we’re going to do during the trip this July. Honestly one would think that they’d have at least a brain cell to share for the both of them.”

Harry snorted and got out his sketchbook. “That’s very unlikely, Tom,” he said. “We both know Amy and Dennis can’t have an ounce of common sense to save their lives.”

Tom glanced at Harry and said, “True enough, mon cher.” Before he continued to read his book.

“As I always am, carissimus.”

Harry opened the sketchbook and saw the unfinished sketch he had of a Kelpie from Mr. Scamander’s book. He already had the rough sketch of the creature; he only needed to draw the details.


June 5, 1937
Wool’s Orphanage, London, England

 

“Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be.”

With a deep breath, Harry took Tom’s hand and imagined themselves in the storage room downstairs.

He felt a pull at his navel before his back slammed into the room’s floor where he smelt bleach and cleaning supplies. Harry wheezed and laughed in surprise and triumph. 

He opened his eyes and snickered at the sight of Tom on his knees, heaving.

“Success!” Harry managed to let out as he took the hand Tom gave him. He sneezed at the incoming dust as Tom covered his own nose and mouth with his shirt to avoid Harry’s sneeze. He rolled his eyes; Tom was such a germaphobe.

Tom pulled down the shirt from his face. “It’s a good start,” his counterpart agreed. When Harry finally got a better hold of his footing, he nodded at Tom before he felt the unpleasant pull at his navel again before groaning. 

At least they didn’t end up someplace else again; that hadn’t been a good experience.

Harry sat up from where he was on the floor and heaved himself up and onto his bed where he lay down on his back. He looked to his right where he saw Tom breathing heavily and gave him a grin. Tom smiled right back before gaining a thoughtful look. Harry sat up and asked,

“What’s the plan now, carissimus?”

“You know the plan, mon cher.”


July 17, 1937
Unclear Location Near South Seaside, England
 

Harry breathed in the cold air of the seaside as he stepped down from the automobile. 

They were somewhere in the south of England. East Sussex maybe? Harry guessed but he didn’t really care. All he cared about was how Dennis and Amy would finally get their retribution. 

They had to go. Today.

Them, their annoying personalities, and how they thought they were better than them had to go. All Harry wished was that they’d go without even a proof of indication that something happened to them; as if they would just cease to exist. That was the dream Harry knew wouldn’t happen. But he kept hoping anyway.

Feeling a presence behind him, Harry smiled as he faced his counterpart who nodded in acknowledgement of Harry and his thoughts. Harry turned towards his back and saw Dennis and Amy sharing smirks as they stepped out of the vehicle. Harry sneered at their faces before he quickly faced the seaside view in front of him. Harry didn’t want them to know anything they were planning.

“Alright, children!” Mrs. Cole called, quickly gathering all the children around her. Tom and Harry skirted around the gathering, not really wanting to endure the matron’s presence much longer. The ride to the seaside had been long enough.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Dennis and Amy’s eyes on himself and Tom. Nudging the boy beside him, he gestured to the annoying pair staring at them.

Tom lightly smirked that it could pass as a grin. His eyes were full of mirth as he stared ahead of him, not wanting to draw more attention to themselves as they already were. After the matron ceased to talk, a plan already formed in his head when he saw a path going into the rock wall near the shore.

He elbowed his counterpart, soft enough to not hurt but hard enough for Harry to sense his urgency.

Harry smirked when he quickly got Tom’s plan and saw the opening on the wall. “We make Bishop and Benson see us go in there and lure them in. Make them ask to go with us, in front of everyone,” Tom hissed in Harry’s ear. “I believe there’s something we could do on the other side. If not, let’s make it for ourselves.” It was a low murmur to everyone else in the vicinity but to Harry, it was loud and clear. 

It was a smart, yet obvious, decision on Tom’s part to use parseltongue. To the other kids around them, they might think it was the sea spray from the ocean (which was highly unlikely due to their distance from shore but Harry didn’t particularly think that the kids around them were that smart to realize that) but to Harry and Tom, it was as easy as speaking English.

If possible, Harry grinned even wider and quickly acted as though Tom made a joke to not raise the suspicion of their targets.

Harry and Tom continued to act as if nothing was amiss, walking with the other kids towards the town and talking about random topics. If anyone didn’t know better, which they didn’t, they would think that the pair of them were normal introverted kids.

Easy as pie.


During lunch, Harry and Tom snuck out from the group and explored the cave in the wall they saw at the start of the trip. 

They weren’t hungry. They managed to have a heavy breakfast with snacks they bought with the money they managed to save up for this moment. Plus, it was normal for the two of them to skip meals because of being caught up in projects or just being generally punished by the matron and the orphanage.

Quickly exiting the establishment that they were confined in for the lunch period, Harry and Tom snuck in and out of alleys and rounded buildings before running the last stretch towards the shore of the town.

After checking that the coast was clear, Tom grabbed Harry by the wrist and ran towards the shore, Harry just barely able to catch up with Tom’s speed. “ This feels like what happened with the snakes a few years ago, ” Harry managed to get out as he and Tom heaved deep breaths behind the safety of the wall.

It does,” Tom agreed before standing straight and surveying the cave around them.

The cave was more an alcove than anything else.

It was like a chunk of rock on the cliff side was scooped like ice cream. Sand and gravel covered the area of the alcove that was near the sea, giving way for the sea salt to invade Tom’s senses. It wasn’t dark in the least but it provided enough shade and coolness to escape the humidity of the town.

There was also an exit on the other side of the long alcove (hallway?), giving Tom a view of the seaside blocked off by the cliff near the town.

It was perfect.

Snapping out of his daze, Tom glanced over to see his counterpart’s reaction and it was exactly what he imagined it to be: awestruck and malicious beyond belief.

“This is amazing,” Harry breathed and Tom agreed with him, it was.

Unconsciously grabbing Harry’s hand for comfort and reassurance, Tom took the lead and led the two of them further into the cave before quickly reaching the other opening of the cave.


Harry stared mesmerized at the view before him. Despite the low tide of the sea at the time, it was gorgeous all the same. Harry glanced over towards the middle of the view before he was overcome with a wave of exhaustion and almost collapsed on Tom.

A wave of blackness overcame him.


Harry could smell salt and hear rushing waves; a light, chilly breeze ruffled his hair as he looked out at the moon-lit sea and star-strewn sky. He stood upon a high outcrop of dark rock, water foaming and churning below him.

He glanced over his shoulder.

A towering cliff stood behind them, a sheer drop, black and faceless. A few large chunks of rock, like the one upon which Harry and the old man were standing, looked as though they had broken away from the cliff face at some point in the past. It was a bleak, harsh view, the sea and the rock unrelieved by any tree or sweep of grass or sand.

“What do you think?” asked the man. Harry looked at him incredulously. If Harry didn’t know better, he might have been asking Harry’s opinion on whether it was a good site for a picnic.

“They brought the kids from the orphanage here?” asked Harry, who could not imagine a less cozy spot for a day trip. It made Harry question his own thoughts. While Harry didn’t control what he said in visions like these over the years, he knew well enough of the view behind him. They were talking about the trip that they were on right now.

Interesting . It was as if someone wanted them to know.

“Not here, precisely,” said the old man. “There is a village of sorts about halfway along the cliffs behind us. I believe the orphans were taken there for a little sea air and a view of the waves.   No, I think it was only ever Tom Riddle and his youthful victims who visited this spot. 

“No Muggle could reach this rock unless they were uncommonly good mountaineers, and boats cannot approach the cliffs, the waters around them are too dangerous. I imagine that Riddle climbed down; magic would have served better than ropes. And he brought two small children with him, probably for the pleasure of terrorizing them. I think the journey alone would have done it, don’t you?” Harry looked up at the cliff again and felt goosebumps. “But his final destination — and ours — lies a little farther on. Come.”


Harry blinked and all he could see was Tom’s face and all he could feel was Tom’s lap behind his head. Harry groaned. He always hated dealing with visions like that, the aftermath was always an annoying thing to deal with.

“How long was I out?” Harry asked, sitting up with the help of his counterpart.

“Not that long,” Tom admitted and at Harry’s deadpan, he continued talking. “Just around a few minutes.” Harry sighed in relief. He took off his glasses and rubbed his face, it gave him time to think about the vision.

“No, like- How long exactly?”

“Just around a minute or two.”

It was about Tom, his Tom, again. And it was with the Professor Harry had no name to put on. The vision version of him always referred to him as sir and if the vision did say his name, it was muffled out like Harry was suddenly dunked in a pool of water before resurfacing again to the conversation.

“It was about you again,” Harry murmured.

“Oh.” Tom already knew about his visions like the time when they first met or the first time when they entered the park near the orphanage. Tom already knew about them and the fact it was about him or some other people, the brunette and the ginger. Hermione and Ron, Harry’s mind helpfully supplied. “What’s it about specifically?” Harry was grateful that even if Tom worried about him, he knew Harry enough that he trusted that Harry was alright to talk about it. Over time, Harry stopped being so emotionally invested in the visions and more interested in the information it gave and benefits to the both of them.

“It’s about what we’re going to do today,” Harry said. “About what we’re going to do to Dennis and Amy.” He gave Tom a sharp-toothed grin that was anything but childish, it was full of malice.

“Tell me on the way back,” Tom advised, already hoisting Harry up to his feet. “We stayed too long here. The matron will finally notice us gone. What did you see before having the vision?”

Harry squinted at the view before him again before spotting and pointing at the rock in the middle of it and as a result, Harry saw the cave a little way in front of the rock. 

Bingo.

“The professor and I were standing on the rock right there.” Harry continued, pointing at the rock before moving to the cave opening on the cliff face in front of it. “And that’s where they were planning on going to. He said you climbed down from the cliff with Amy and Dennis.”


They managed to get back just in time for the matron to gather everyone up and true to Harry’s word, he told Tom everything and in detail about what happened in the vision.

Change of plans then, ” Tom said and Harry nodded. After experiencing the visions over and over again, both Harry and Tom knew to listen to it. 

Plus, who knows when they’d come back to this place in the near future? Maybe never.


As they reached the cliffs near the town, exactly the ones near the vision, Mrs. Cole told them they could explore. It was also the exact time Tom noticed Amy and Dennis slowly approaching them. 

It was game time.

The annoying girl soon reached the pair of them before Dennis.

“Hi!” Amy greeted. Tom hid his grimace and managed to give her a small smile. She grinned brightly back (it almost made Tom want to puke) before gesturing to Dennis and herself, asking, “Can we explore with you guys? We didn’t want to explore with just the two of us, with just Dennis and me alone.”

“Sure,” came the chipper voice of Tom’s counterpart and it made Tom want to snicker, he would oh so clearly hear the disgust and hatred from Harry’s voice.


“It’s safe,” Harry called from below Tom. He was the first to descend down the cliff, Dennis and Amy quickly following before Tom closed in on the two of them. It was so laughable that those two idiots thought that they could terrorize Harry and himself when they fell into their trap so easily.

Amy’s shaky voice came into question Harry’s assurance. “Are you sure?” At least now Harry knew she had at least a brain cell.

“Positively sure.”

“A-alright.”


Amy was quivering and shaking just as much as the boy beside her while Mrs. Cole and the assistant matron, Martha Charles, checked on the two of them. It was pathetic really. Just a little show to inspire fear and all their hubris and arrogance was gone, pity.

Ms. Charles turned to face both Harry and him, an admonishing face etched on her face.

“What happened?” She asked, and it took all of Tom (and Harry’s) control to not laugh or react in any way but remorseful and regretful.

“We were just exploring, promise!” Harry said, an innocent look of terror and horror masking the pride and glee in his eyes. At the tug of his shirt from Harry, Tom quickly spoke in a panicked manner, refusing to meet the assistant matron’s eyes.

“Yeah,” came the breathy yet panicked reply from Tom, his eyes crinkling in his best attempt to stop crying. Not from fear, no, but from bursting out laughing. “When we came back, Amy and Dennis suddenly were like that. We didn’t know what happened. Amy asked if they could tag along and we agreed. Then this happened.” Tom then looked up at Martha Charles and her eyes softened in sympathy at the both of them before reporting back to Mrs. Cole.

The matron didn’t look like she believed any of the information her assistant gave her but accepted it anyway after looking at the frightened-looking boys.

She sighed and ordered the kids to pile back up into the vehicle when they arrived back in the village.

They were going home and no one was none the better of what happened.


July 17, 1937
Wool’s Orphanage, London, England

 

Harry flopped down onto his bed and let out a relieved sigh. Finally, those idiots won’t approach them anymore. It was like a bucket of ice cold water washed over Harry, in a good way. With no more snobby Benson, and no more idiot Bishop with a superiority complex, life was good.

Tom sat next to Harry, a manic grin stretched on his face, dimples clear for Harry to see.

“We did it,” Tom whispered. “We actually did it.” Proud yet unwavering disbelief was clear on Tom’s face. As if his plans don’t work out flawlessly every time.

“Of course we did it, carissimus,” Harry said, leaning up to grab Tom by the bicep before pulling him down to lie down on the bed beside him. Tom fell with a small, ‘oof’. “It’s you who planned it, of course it would work out as planned.”

Tom let out a disgruntled noise. “But it wasn’t my plan though,” Harry’s best friend denied. “Not really.”

Harry rolled over and laid an arm across Tom’s stomach, snuggling against Tom. “S’all fine, Tom,” Harry said, words a bit muffled from his place mushed into Tom’s side. “You adapted because of a vision I had and it worked out perfectly. You shouldn’t beat yourself up.”

Tom just let out a put-out sound before rolling around to face Harry. He wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist and tugged him closer to him, Harry readily doing so. Tom was very warm yet cool to the touch at the same time. Harry loved it.

And it was only Harry who could experience that. Harry grinned at the thought. As it always should be. Harry doesn’t share friends, let alone best friends like Tom.

“Speaking of visions,” Tom started, loosening his hold on Harry just slightly to see his face. Harry peered up at him questioningly. “What exactly did you see in vision earlier?”

Harry only whined and burrowed his head into Tom’s chest.

“I already told you earlier!”

Tom laughed and ran a hand through Harry’s hair. Harry contently sighed at the gesture. He loved it when Tom did that.

“I know,” Tom claimed but Harry didn’t trust his best friend’s statement at all. “You only told me the details of what happened in the vision, not what you felt about it or even your insights and theories about it. You always say those.”

Harry leaned back to stare at Tom. “I say those?” He asked, incredulous disbelief clear as the sunny day outside their room. “I don’t... notice that at all.” Harry narrowed his eyes at Tom at the revelation. “Why do you keep noticing what I do?”

Tom scoffed, as if he was offended at Harry’s comment. What was there even to be offended about? Harry was asking a genuine question.

“Because, mon cher-” Tom gave Harry a fond look. Harry pouted. “-I notice a lot of things about you. Things you don’t notice yourself.”

“You’re obsessed!” Harry exclaimed, pure delight laced in his words. “You’re obsessed with what I do!”

Tom gaped at Harry and before Harry knew it, Tom was above him, straddling his stomach. Harry squirmed when hands feathered lightly over his neck and to his sides before an onslaught of tickling overcame Harry. Harry laughed and tried his hardest to get away from Tom but his best friend was practically dead weight above him.

“Take it back,” Tom ordered but they were all empty orders to Harry. Tom wouldn’t do that to Harry. “Or else.”

“Never!” Harry exclaimed before full on wheezing and laughing because of Tom’s tickle assault. “We both know I’m right!”

“You’re not!”

“I am!”

Suddenly, the hands stopped their assault on Harry. Harry opened his eyes to peer up at Tom. Tom sat on top of Harry, deep in thought, staring at Harry. What was he staring at? Harry hoped there was nothing on his face.

Harry finally had enough of the unwavering eyes that stared down at him and asked, “what?”

Tom blinked and slowly came back to reality, back to Harry. A grin formed on his face as he looked at Harry but Harry didn’t know what Tom was thinking nor what he was planning.

Harry’s confusion further grew when Tom moved from his spot on top of Harry to beside him again.

“You alright, Tom?”

Tom’s grin widened when he looked back at Harry and Harry looked back at Tom, a questioning gaze at the forefront of Harry’s expression. “I’m alright, mon cher.

If possible, Harry’s eyes narrowed even more. “Are you really sure?”

Tom laughed and said that he was.

“What’cha thinking about then?” Harry questioned. He crossed his legs and he laid his chin on the palm of his hand. “You don’t normally space out that far on me.”

Tom’s grinning face suddenly turned smug. Harry gaped at the implications. Tom tricked him.

“Now look at who's obsessed.”

Harry tried to hit him on the arm but Tom blocked the hit with his arms. Harry then grumbled and crossed his arms. Tom tried to hide the grin that was breaking out but the dimples gave it all away.

Pretty.

“I hate you.”

“Do you really, mon cher?” Tom teased, grin spreading out even more. Harry tried to focus on Tom’s eyes instead of his dimples. They were full of amusement at Harry’s reaction. “Do you really hate me?”

Harry only stuffed his face into Tom’s chest, avoiding the question and Tom’s laughter altogether.

“I hate you so much.”

“No, you don’t.”

Harry huffed and sat up, turning around to face Tom. The grin on his best friend’s face was contagious at best and Harry found himself trying to hold his own grin from showing.

Tom looked up at him expectantly, as if Harry was going to say some witty quip to Tom’s response. But Harry couldn’t find any will to find it. After all, why deny a statement that was true in all forms?

Harry let the grin he desperately tried to hide show.

“Do you really hate me, Harry?”

Tom already knew the answer to that question. Why would Harry remotely hate Tom? What has Tom ever done to Harry to warrant him such hate?

Nothing. Nothing at all.


“Afterwards, when Agamemnon would ask him when he would confront the prince of Troy, he would smile his most guileless, maddening smile. “What has Hector ever done to me?”

― Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

Notes:

Join the Discord! https://discord.gg/RjXFgth5HD

Chapter 5: 1937 [A Devil's Got to Do What A Devil's Got to Do]

Summary:

The exorcist laid his tools on the only table in the room and assessed Tom like he was vermin on the road but it only made Tom disappointed in him. Weren’t people who do things in the name of God kind and nurturing? If they were then who were these imposters fucking Tom’s life up? Were they demons in search of a host? Were they banshees looking for someone to kill?

Tom didn’t care anymore.

Notes:

part 2 of apology double chapter update

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“I feel like I could eat the world raw.”

-Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles


July 24, 1937
Wool’s Orphanage, London, England

[A Devil’s Got to Do What A Devil’s Got to Do]

The Sunday following the seaside trip was a collection of memories Harry wanted to forget.

In the wake of what happened to Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop, both Tom and Harry were closely monitored by Mrs. Cole and the assistant matron, Martha Charles (albeit a bit more sympathetic since Mrs. Cole told Martha it was for their wellbeing), every single afternoon after they arrived back from St. John’s.

It was subtle enough.

The long stares, the inspections that took way longer than anyone else’s, and the watchful eyes that kept looking in their direction were annoying. Fortunately, they didn’t mind the actions and the utter breach of privacy the matrons committed despite it. After all, they weren’t stupid enough to do magic out in the open where anyone could see them. Doing magic or anything unusual in the eyes of the matrons was peak idiocy and they weren’t idiots.

Oh how stupid that sounded now.

Amy and Dennis were alright in the end unfortunately, but they ignored and avoided Harry and Tom in any and every way possible. If they passed them during school, they’d quickly avert their eyes and practically run from their presence as if they saw a ghost. It hadn’t been their first taste of fear from others but it was still both enticing and intoxicating for both of them. 

Fortunately, or unfortunately for Amy and Dennis, they knew they had to talk to both Harry and Tom in front of the nuns and Mrs. Cole. If they didn’t, Tom warned them of something happening to them. They weren’t keen on finding out what it was.

When the matron’s asked what happened during the trip, Amy shook her head and shut her mouth while Dennis’s once outspoken attitude quickly dimmed down to one of paranoia and fright. Their silence benefited both boys so they didn’t really care about the pair anymore; they got their revenge on both of them.

They knew they should’ve made sure the coast was clear. They were so stupid for thinking that the matron already let them go.


As Harry sat with Loki and the other snakes, he felt as though an enormous chunk of him was ripped apart from him as he worried about Tom. The tear tracks were still fresh from when he was near sobbing earlier.

Do not worry, master, ” hissed Loki, rubbing his tail on Harry’s cheek. It was a futile attempt to dry his cheeks but Harry appreciated it nonetheless. “I am sure the other master will be alright.

When Tom was called to the matron’s office after dinner, Harry didn’t like the implications of it. Every time they were called to Mrs. Cole’s office, it didn’t result in anything good and after what happened after the trip, Harry knew something worse was happening to Tom. 

Harry also knew that he’d be next. One foot out of line and he’ll be given the same punishment that Tom’s getting now.

I know he will, ” Harry admitted, “I’m more scared of what they’re doing to him. ” Harry rubbed the underside of Loki’s face and busied himself with thinking about his snake more than his counterpart.

In the past few years of spending time with Loki (and with Tom), the snake grew longer than when Harry first met him. He doubled in length and was now roughly around 3 feet long. His scales were now a much more vibrant gray with flecks of green sprinkled in. 

It always confused both Harry and Tom how a snake like Loki managed to be living in England of all places but Harry was too grateful for Loki to fully question it.

Harry was also embarrassed that he named a snake from South America a name from Norse Mythology. But hey, he was six and quite stupid back then.

Think of something else then.

Harry sighed and leaned back against the wall of the alley. It was almost curfew meaning Mrs. Cole was almost done with whatever she planned on doing to Tom (meaning Harry had to get up in a few minutes to further delay the punishments he knew that’ll happen). He didn’t know what was going on with Tom or the matron, so he quickly escaped to the alley to see Loki when Tom was called.

Why was Harry so stupid?

Harry couldn’t think about anything else lest he would think about Tom again. He still feels constantly complete and happy with Tom but he hates how the other boy is so intertwined with his life; it made him hurt all over when Tom’s not with him because of a cause that Harry couldn’t prevent.

He decided to think about Loki again. 

How did you end up here? ” Harry asked and continued stroking Loki’s scales. “You’re not native to England. ” The snake hissed in contentment and burrowed his head on Harry’s arm before answering. It made him smile despite his gloomy mood.

I do not know, ” The snake admitted, “But I knew that I needed to find you and your human. I feel like I have memories I do not remember anymore.

Harry could relate to that. He felt as though there’s a locked-up part of his brain that he had the key to but couldn’t open under any circumstances. He felt like he was diving into the Mariana Trench when the visions happened, coughing and heaving as he kept realizing over and over when he resurfaced that it was a useless endeavor to keep trying to do. 

The visions were worse.

They were like the fruits of knowledge, a forbidden temptation that Harry fantasizing about, desperate to know the secrets it kept from him.

If Harry’s thoughts were correct, Loki couldn’t just be a coincidence they found when they were younger.

Loki’s tail bumped his nose as Harry shook out of his stupor. “Come now little master, the other master will be back any minute now, ” Loki hissed, already untangled from Harry’s lap and arm.

 am not little! ” Harry denied but he listened to Loki’s advice and dusted his clothes.

You are little, and you are my master, now hush. The other master will be waiting now.


Earlier
Wool’s Orphanage, London, England

 

Tom stood up from the dinner table when the matron motioned him over. “Tom,” she called, the ever-familiar beckoning hands he remembered calling him from the other side of the room.

A hand flew to latch on Tom’s own and he knew immediately who it was. After all, who else would it be?

Harry’s hand squeezed Tom’s own in worry for him. “Are you going to be alright?” His counterpart whispered over the noisy chatter of the dining room, brows creased in worry and confusion.

Tom squeezed right back in reassurance before he told Harry, “I’ll be fine. If this lasts the night then just wait for me. I’m sure Loki won’t mind waiting with you.”

It was an unspoken truth that Tom was Harry’s and Harry was Tom’s on account of the fact that they were each other’s only friend and they didn’t share with other people at all. And while Harry was okay with being separated from Tom, he didn’t like the fact that he was being separated from Tom because of Mrs. Cole. He didn’t like letting go of something, or in this case someone , to the hands of the enemy. It didn’t sit well with Harry.

Harry chewed on his lip before he let go of Tom’s hand.

“Are you sure?” Harry still asked, his face riddled with a flurry of emotions that were too fast for Tom to identify one by one. 

It made Tom’s heart melt by how Harry cared for him.

“Positively sure.” Tom gave a smile that only Harry could see before continuing. “If something goes wrong, I can handle it. I’ll tell you about it later.”

“Don’t blame me for my actions later.”

“I can’t make any promises.” Harry hit him on his forearm for the statement before he exited the dining room, leaving Tom to deal with the matron.


In hindsight, Tom should’ve known something was about to happen. Nothing was ever simple with Tom. Nor was it with Harry.

When Mrs. Cole led him down to the basement of the orphanage and not her office, Tom was on high alert for anything and everything. No one went down here other than the matrons for supplies and such; the kids were too scared to even think to pick lock the door to the basement. 

Well, children other than Tom and Harry. 

Though they didn’t explore much here either, it held little importance to them at the time, and that it was too risky to use the basement. The door to its stairwell was directly in front of the matron’s office and Tom knew that he and Harry would get severely punished for it if they even tried to attempt to pick the basement door open.

When they reached the bottom of the stairs, the basement hallway seemed extremely still like time was a figment of Tom’s imagination. 

The dust was falling so slowly that Tom thought it was a still replica of a room. The dingy concrete walls looked nothing but plain and drab because of their little use for the kids in the building; then again, the whole orphanage was drab. The light illuminating the hallway was flickering every so often.

It was the exact same as they last saw it.

The sight made Tom’s stomach churn but it didn’t deter his mask in the slightest. He’s experienced worse than being in a murder basement; he can handle whatever Mrs. Cole wanted for him.

The matron led him inside the third door on the right side of the hall. It was empty besides a chair and a small table beside it with a small dingy light in the middle of the room.

Tom read enough stories and books to know where this is going and he didn’t like it.

“Riddle,” Mrs. Cole called. “Sit on the chair.” The matron gestured to the chair in the middle of the room and as Tom reluctantly sat on it, dread growing. When he sat on the chair, his hands felt leather on the side of it wrapping around to under the seat. 

Tom didn’t like where this was going at all. Though if he was right about where this was going, he was sure that he could handle it.

Evidently, fate had a grudge on him for some godforsaken reason because it got worse . The assistant matron walked in with a man in a familiar surplice that Tom still hated to this day. The man was also holding a bible and a crucifix in his right hand and holy water in his left. The sight made Tom sneer.

The man had grey hair and a well-kempt beard and if Tom was being honest, the man looked like a grandfather of sorts (not that he knew about having one in any way). His face ruined it though. It had a closed-off look that Tom saw in everyone he met, everyone except Harry. 

It was a look he saw with the nuns, with the matrons, and with the other kids around him. He hated that look, it made him feel inferior and Tom Riddle was not inferior.

If Mrs. Cole was going to play this way, Tom was going to fight back. A fight was a fight no matter what and Tom wasn’t going to start losing now.

The exorcist laid his tools on the only table in the room and assessed Tom like he was vermin on the road but it only made Tom disappointed in him. Weren’t people who do things in the name of God kind and nurturing? If they were then who were these imposters fucking Tom’s life up? Were they demons in search of a host? Were they banshees looking for someone to kill?

Tom didn’t care anymore.

He already gave up on religion and it’s sick preaching that they knew the truth about death and the afterlife. Even as a 10-year-old Tom knew it was utter bullshit.

“Tom Riddle, I am Paul Stevens,” came the deep voice of the man, finally facing Tom after a few minutes of ignoring him and preparing the room for what was about to happen. Tom sighed. Honestly, Tom thought people had more decorum than this. 

Oh well, you shouldn’t expect an idiot to talk when they didn't know anything in the first place. Tom knew that first hand. 

As the man motioned for Martha Charles to tie Tom up with the belts, he asked Tom, “Do you know what is going to happen?”

Tom smirked, one full of malicious intent. If Mrs. Cole and this a-hole wanted a reaction, Tom was going to give them a performance. If they expected him to be dancing with demons, he was going to be the devil orchestrating the whole party.

“Well, no, but I’m not an idiot though, unlike some people,” Tom admitted, a bored drawl covering up his amusement and growing hatred for Mrs. Cole. “Here’s three guesses about what’s to happen.” Tom leaned back and smirked at the exorcist looking at him before he lowered his eyes and acted submissive. He had this wide-eyed innocent look on him, his bottom lip parted and protruded just a bit to make the exorcist take a step back.

It made Tom want to laugh, this was too easy .

“One, I’m going to get violated.” Tom was internally smirking as he said it, looking down before back up again and reveling in the way that the pastor reddened in incredulousness and rage at Tom for suggesting such a thing in front of a man of God. 

And people say that Tom was an egoistic little shit.

“Two, I’m going to die.” While Tom was afraid of dying in general like every other person than Harry, he wasn’t afraid to joke about it. After all, why would you be scared of something you joke about? You’re already brave enough to talk about it. Cowards are the ones that die by fear and their own hesitance to conquer their lives. True people die by their actions, their ambition to learn the world, and their own acceptance of death. Prisoners were the ones who had no choice. 

Tom was neither a prisoner nor a coward; he was a king that would rule the world.

“Or three,” Tom made his magic surround and intoxicate the room, smirking and celebrating the panicked looks of the once enraged face of the three adults in front of him. After he’s going to apologize for making Harry worry, he’s going to retell this whole experience word for word. It was only fair after all. “you’re going to exorcise me.”

Tom admired the way Stevens held himself together after his act despite the shock at the start. It seemed the man was a master of his craft, Tom had to give him props for that no matter how much he thought it was all bullshit.

“It is the third one, boy,” The exorcist exclaimed, already gripping his holy water in his right hand.

Tom sighed like he had done this act countless times before and truthfully, if Harry wasn’t with him constantly, he probably would have already had.

The exorcist nodded as Mrs. Cole and Tom sighed again. Showtime.


It had taken all of Tom’s control to not outright laugh at the end of the exorcism. 

It had been stupid but really damn amusing to see Mrs. Cole fearing for her life and the pure and unadulterated determination of the exorcist that is Paul Stevens. Sucks to be them, the only demon in Tom was his mind and personality. You can’t blame someone for being themselves, it’s the natural way of things.

They would die before they could get their hands on Tom though.

Tom groaned once the belts had been removed from his person. It had been annoying to be stuck in a wooden chair for two hours bored and with no rest. He complained once or twice during the session for extra flair and dramatics he thought lacked in the whole affair. It had been a joy to act out.

Once Mrs. Cole led him to his and Harry’s rooms, he quickly slid in and locked the room before his arms were full of his best friend.

Harry’s voice came in muffled from stuffing his face in Tom’s chest. “Are you okay?” He asked and removed himself slightly from the hug to get a good look at Tom’s face.

Tom fondly sighed and ruffled Harry’s hair. 

When Harry’s face scrunched up and swatted Tom’s hand from his bird nest, Tom laughed at the gesture. “I told you I’d be okay, didn’t I?”

Harry only hugged him again and tightened his hold on Tom.


For the rest of the night, Harry didn’t let Tom go. When Harry said that he shouldn’t be blamed for his actions, he really meant it.

Instead of complaining (it wasn’t like he could, Harry was stubborn like that), Tom retold everything that happened downstairs to make Harry relax. Tom hated Harry getting anxious over something so silly like Mrs. Cole’s attempts to ‘cure’ Tom.

If Tom could, he would show Harry his memory because no matter how expansive Tom’s vocabulary is, no words can describe the reactions from adults around him only a few minutes ago.

They were now cuddling on Harry’s bed partly because Harry didn’t want to let go of Tom and Tom was too exhausted to keep standing because of the act he kept up the whole time with Paul Stevens and the matrons.

Tom didn’t mind though, he’d gotten used to it over the years.

“D’you think they’ll try it again?” Harry asked, his face half mushed because of his face on Tom’s chest. Tom only burrowed his face into Harry’s messy curls and tightened his hold on him. No matter what he felt nor how he acted would change the fact that Tom was actually really fucking terrified downstairs. He was only lucky that Mrs. Cole wanted him exorcised and not dead.

“I know they will,” Tom murmured. He felt Harry’s arm around his waist tighten at his comment and lightly grinned. “And they’ll come for you too. I don’t want that to happen.”

Harry sat up from his spot and looked over his shoulder to face Tom, leaving the said boy with his arms spread on the bed, hair mussed. “Well, it’ll happen, Tom,” Harry claimed but all Tom could see was how the moonlight coming from the window highlighted Harry in a way that made Tom’s breath hitch. The soft light illuminated Harry’s skin like he was a fallen angel. It only really served to draw Tom’s attention to Harry’s emerald eyes, filled with fear and determination and defiance. “Whether you like it or not.”

“I know…” He trailed off, still admiring the scene before him. His best friend really was a masterpiece in everything he was, even in looks. Tom wasn’t surprised though. “I still won’t like it in the slightest. I already want to kill Mrs. Cole now, how much more than I can handle if it’s you who was down there.”


Harry sighed again at Tom’s reluctance to accept the truth.

He was sitting on Tom’s stomach instead of fighting him, knowing that the other boy wouldn’t try to push him off after they finished talking about a matter as personal as this. Tom didn’t have the heart to. Then again, Tom didn’t have much of a heart to begin with.

“It’ll happen either way Tom,” Harry said, grinning at the way Tom was still recovering from the sudden pressure on his stomach. “Stop being so stubborn and actually think for once.”


“You saying that to yourself in the mirror this morning,” Tom quipped, breath heavy but spirit still much more alive than before. Harry always had that effect on him. It made Tom wonder how things could have been so different if Tom didn’t have Harry all these years.

Harry squished Tom’s cheeks in retaliation, not budging in the slightest even if Tom grabbed his wrists to let go. Soon enough, Tom grumbled about Harry being more stubborn and gave up his attempts to remove Harry’s hands on his cheeks.

“I hate you.”

“You love me, really.”

Tom smiled as he said, “Unfortunately,” to Harry’s last statement and laughed as Harry let his cheeks go and hit him in revenge for his comment.

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted,” Harry huffed. He sat up and crossed his arms in a way that reminded Tom of a put-out cat. “You, Tom Riddle, are one stubborn individual who is blind to the fact that I’m best friends with you. Even if I’m only a bit involved with you and not best friends, Mrs. Cole would have already dragged me down to the basement to interrogate me.”

Tom glowered at that and grinned as he wrapped his arms around Harry’s waist instead and pulled him forward. Harry yelped as he narrowly avoided having his face smashed into Tom’s with his arms on both sides of his best friend’s face.

“What was that?!” Harry exclaimed, still reeling from the almost assault Tom pulled on him.

“Revenge,” Tom simply said, arms still hooked around Harry’s waist. Before Harry had the chance to speak again to Tom about his stubbornness, Tom used his arms to drag Harry down to the open space beside him on the bed. Tom sat up and Harry kicked him in the back, sending him tumbling down to the floor between their two beds.

“D’you like what revenge feels now, Tommy?”

Tom groaned as he stretched his back, trying to ease out the pain Harry’s kick brought him. He sighed as he heard the satisfying cracking sounds while Harry was wincing at it.

“That was uncalled for, Harry.”

“Everything is uncalled for, Tom.”

Tom sighed and sat back up on the bed.


“I know I’m stubborn, Harry.” At the tone of Tom’s voice, Harry quickly sat up attentively. It made Tom’s lips quirk up just a bit. “But you’re my only friend and I don’t want you getting hurt. Lord knows what I’d do when I’ll realize that it’ll go back to the way it was before you arrived at the orphanage. I don’t want that to happen again.”

Harry snorted at the small joke but other than that kept himself attentive to listening to Tom. A serious Tom was a Tom you should listen to. Harry learned that lesson the hard way, especially when said boy didn’t even open up that much compared to Harry.

Tom lifted his knee and rested his chin on it. It made Tom look more tired than how he actually was from Harry’s perspective. “I was miserable back then.”

“I know.” Was Harry’s only response.

Tom continued on again, now looking at Harry. There was an indescribable look in his eyes that Harry couldn’t understand. Harry thinks he never will. “I kept thinking what would’ve happened if you weren’t here.”

“But I’m here, Tom,” replied Harry. He lifted his hand and gently grabbed Tom’s bicep, squeezing in reassurance. “I’m not leaving any time soon.”

Tom copied Harry’s previous answer. “I know.”

They fell into a comfortable silence. Tom stared off into space while Harry stared at him, hand still on Tom’s arm. The moonlight was on Tom now, like the moon understood what Tom felt as the gentle caress of the light graced Tom’s curls like a crown made only for him. His usual dark brown eyes were illuminated and it was no longer like the dark chocolate they saw at the store; the brown of his iris was like the leaves in fall with little flecks of wine red here and there.

Maybe it was just Harry but Tom looked like a fallen angel of the grace of God or maybe even Lucifer with how he looked right now.

The silence broke as Tom called out to Harry. Harry answered; he always did and he wasn’t going to stop now.

“Thank you.”

“For what?” Harry asked.

Tom looked at Harry with the same indescribable look that Harry couldn’t decipher. Tom whispered, “For being my friend.”


“Be yourself; everyone else is already taken.”

-Oscar Wilde

Notes:

yes i am indeed alive recently i got resurrected

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Chapter 6: 1937 [Awake, Arise, Or Be Forever Fallen]

Summary:

Harry was behind him, his left hand holding a lump of ice wrapped a few times in an old shirt he found in their closet (that Harry cleaned, obviously. Tom would rather clean the kitchen for a week straight than consciously know that Harry was using a dirty shirt to wrap the ice in and putting on his scars). He lightly pressed the lump on Tom’s scars and welts, some new and some that should have already faded to almost small lines. Tom didn’t know why the welts didn’t fade by now, he hadn’t found a book that explained that.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Till pride and worse ambition threw me down, Warring in Heaven against Heaven’s matchless King.”

-John Milton, Paradise Lost


August 15, 1937
London, England

[Awake, Arise, Or Be Forever Fallen]

Harry ran and ran and ran, hand in Tom’s, dragging him away from St. John’s and away from Billy Stubbs and the rest. 

The rain beat against their backs and the puddles were soiling their clothes and hair but it didn’t matter. Harry was a coward; he would do anything to avoid Mrs. Cole and her punishments, anything. Even if it meant running away and not showing his face back at the orphanage, he’d do it.

To Tom, Harry was like lightning striking at the ground with no mercy, making Tom have no time to comprehend things he usually could with other people.

“Harry!” Was all Tom could let out as they reached the park near the orphanage. It was quite ironic to escape to a place where it was nearest to the orphanage but it was genius. No one would suspect them to go here, it was too close to the orphanage. If Tom could, he would stand impressed that even while running in the almost pouring rain, Harry still managed to come up with a place to escape to. But Harry’s health came first to Tom’s curiosity. “Are you alright?”


Harry wasn’t alright in the slightest. While soaked to the bone, all Harry could think about was how stupid he was. He shouldn’t have done that, he shouldn’t have done that, he shouldn’t have done that. It was all so stupid! 

One would even think that it was so utterly idiotic of Harry to lose control like that. Billy Stubbs would go moan and moan and moan to Mrs. Cole, saying that Harry did something unusual just like Dudley did to Aunt Petunia after Harry ran away from Dudley and Piers again.

Why was it always him?

It was all crashing down on Harry like a mountain and he felt like he was Sun Wukong, a character so thoroughly beaten down to the point of nature pinning him down into the Earth, forever to wait for 500 years again just to feel alright and free again. The rain was pouring down and blurring Harry’s already subpar vision like Zeus had a vendetta against him for disrespecting the gods.

Why was it always him?

Maybe Zeus did have a vendetta against him for having lightning for a scar, the scattered ones going straight through his right eye and just above his cheek, making him look like an ugly rendition of his sketches. Maybe Zeus had a vendetta against Harry for running like he was Hermes on a mission, or for thinking up ideas that only someone like Athena could.

Why was it always him?

Maybe it was because he was like Hephaestus, born with a face so ugly that only his works and art could redeem him of his birth on Earth.

His scar was itching and aching and it hurt. It was scorching his skin and the cold atmosphere and rain around them did nothing to soothe the pain of it. It hurt Harry to the point of wanting to collapse.

Harry wanted it all to stop.

A pair of hands grabbed Harry’s soaked shoulders and turned Harry around but all could Harry see was the oh-so-familiar brown eyes of his best friend before the world turned black. 


Tom groaned as his head hit bricks, literally. His chest was heavy of his best friend and all he could hear was the ringing bells of a church.

Weren’t they at just the park before?

The ground Tom was laying on was as dry as the insults he came up with, no muddy grass nor puddles soaking his clothes any more than it was. There was no rain sliding off his face, only the cool air gracing it, making Tom’s face feel colder than it already was.

Tom could hear the pitter-patter of raindrops but it wasn’t the kind where it was directly falling onto you. No, it was the kind that you would sit against the windowsill and watch the outside world like a film to be watched. 

It was addicting, calming.

Tom’s bones ached to move but Harry was right on top of him, head against his chest like he did on bad nights. It wasn’t the familiar look of peace Harry had on after Tom comforted him though. Harry’s brows were furrowed and his face was scrunched up like he was in pain. 

Harry probably was. Tom’s heart ached at the thought.

Tom groaned as he sat up, supporting himself and Harry’s weight. He quickly moved Harry’s head towards his lap instead of his chest, finally taking a deep breath of the cold air surrounding them.

They were up in the bell tower of the church near St. John’s. Tom was sure of it. There was no other place that Harry could teleport them to that was this high.


January 5, 1936
Wool’s Orphanage, London, England

 

“Are you ready?”

Harry scoffed at Tom’s question, obviously cocky at his abilities. Tom sighed at Harry instead of calling him out on it. Honestly, Harry was a suicidal maniac when it all boiled down to it. Like he had some parasite that caused him to have no self-preservation skills whatsoever. Harry was all, ‘do this do that’ without much thought and subconsciously relied on Tom for back-up which Tom readily gave.

Unfortunately.

Tom crossed his arms at Harry, not budging until Harry whined at Tom’s expression and let out a reluctant, “I am.” Before slinging over the satchel he found a few days ago while looking for a gift for Tom’s birthday.  


“Buy one, get one free, Tom. It’s part of the fun.” Tom heard Harry say that as he adjusted the strap of the satchel to better fit his smaller figure. A small figure that Tom always teased since his own growth spurt. A miniscule growth spurt, but a growth spurt nonetheless.

Tom snorted and continued reading his book. “As long as you don’t get caught.”

Harry turned to face Tom on the bed and pulled an incredulous look at his best friend. “You think I’m daft, Tom?” Harry asked and Tom lightly shook his head no; of course not, Tom didn’t think Harry was daft or even stupid for that matter. “Good. The only time they’ll catch me is when I’m dead.”

At that statement, Tom vowed to never let that be true.


Tom stared at Harry for a few moments before nodding and getting ready himself. Harry whined at him again. Honestly, it feels like Harry was a pet whining for attention.

As soon as Tom finished buttoning his ratty old cardigan from the orphanage, Harry immediately grabbed his wrist and Tom felt a pull at his navel before he immediately fell face-first into the Bell Tower floor, Harry groaning with him.

“Let’s not do that again,” Harry groaned out and Tom nodded at that, wholly agreeing with that statement. The aftermath of the travel between their room and the storage room was enough, teleporting a few kilometers was practically suicide.

Harry is a suicidal maniac.


August 15, 1937
London, England

 

Tom looked over the ledge of the bell tower, which was quite a feat considering his position right now with Harry on his lap and the immobility it caused his legs.

The sight of the area Tom could see was breathtaking despite the rain distorting most of the view below him. The whole ground was covered with puddles and rain, coating the whole area with a strange yet soothing atmosphere. Tom could hear Billy Stubbs and the other kids’ shouts but it was faint to the point that Tom would have believed he didn’t hear them at all.

The wind grew stronger and Tom shivered as the breeze brushed against his skin.

Tom sighed. He should be waking Harry up by now or they’ll get into more of a mess the longer Billy Stubbs doesn’t find the both of them.

He brushed his fingers against Harry’s forehead and pushed his best friend’s bangs up, finally seeing the scar again after weeks of Harry complaining about Tom seeing it.

He gently traced the white lines marked on Harry’s forehead, from his scalp to the ones at the end near under his eyes. He paused, unphased, when he felt Harry shift on his lap. This was all normal to Tom. When Harry keeps having nightmares and visions, calming Harry down was practically second nature to Tom.

Tom couldn’t explain why Harry was just so different compared to the other kids. 

Tom couldn’t explain how he just felt at home with Harry if it was just reading at the park or even talking to Loki and the other snakes. Everything felt natural to Tom when it came to Harry. The emotions kept rushing through Tom when Harry was sobbing in their room or leaping with joy or even shouting at Tom in anger, all of it was as natural as breathing to Tom. 

It scared him.

Why did Harry push Tom into feeling more than he vowed he would? Why did Harry of all people teach Tom the oh so beautiful feeling of being alive? Why was it always Harry and not someone else?

Maybe it was Harry’s nature, Tom mused. He paused his ministrations again as Harry shifted against him and nuzzled his face into Tom’s stomach. Maybe it was just Harry’s nature to push Tom into feeling more than he should. Maybe it was just how Harry acted.

Tom looked out again to the pouring rain almost flooding the streets of the area, feeling the bell of the tower ringing above them.

Before Harry arrived at the orphanage, Tom was alone as the sun with planets turning around him. A lone star burning while others watched in awe and fear of what he could do. Now, Tom couldn’t imagine his life without Harry beside him.


Harry groaned as he felt the ache in his body and the familiar tracing of his scar.

What happened? He remembered the way his body was yelling at him to stop running from Billy Stubbs and the exhaustion it caused him. Ghost touches washed over his body of the rain drenching his skin, making him shiver.

A headache was pounding in his skull, but Tom’s gentle touches subsided quite a bit.


July 25, 1937

Wool’s Orphanage, London, England

 

Harry scrunched his face up at the sensation that washed over his forehead. It was all tingly and warm and ticklish. He heard humming from above him in the voice he knew oh so well after hearing it scheme and plan since he was five.

The tracing still continued, making his forehead feel all fuzzy. Harry groaned and the ministrations stopped, making Harry whine instead.

Tom chuckled and Harry hesitantly took a peek at the boy beside him, leaning against Harry’s bedside of the wall. He had a cheeky smile on like he had a marvelous idea to attack Billy or Mrs. Cole for what she did last night. Harry wasn’t opposed to that in the slightest, Mrs. Cole deserves whatever Tom had in store for the matron.

Tom’s voice was above a whisper but it cut through the cold silence of the room. “Did I wake you?”

Harry shook his head no. Of course, Tom actually did wake him but Harry hadn’t had the heart to say yes.

“Why are you in my bed?” Harry’s voice was groggy from just waking up and Tom quickly reached over to the table between their beds to hand Harry a glass of water before answering.

“We fell asleep like this.”

“Oh.” Tom grinned at Harry’s short answer which made Harry’s face scrunch up in thought. Why was Tom smiling like that? Did Harry have anything on his face? “Why are you smiling, Tom?”

Tom’s grin softened as he put down the book he was reading. “I just felt like it,” He admitted. “Is something wrong with me smiling?”

“It makes you look like you’re plotting someone’s death.” Harry grinned at the deadpanned look Tom sent him before changing the subject of their conversation.

“You were tracing my scar earlier,” Harry murmured, glancing at the way Tom was putting his undivided attention to Harry before continuing. “Felt weird.”

Tom pulled a thoughtful look before asking, “How weird?”

“I don’t exactly know, but it felt nice.” Tom grinned.


August 15, 1937
London, England

 

“Are you alright?”

Harry scrunched his face up as Tom removed his hand from Harry’s forehead, exposing Harry to the small streaks of sun peeking through the clouds.

“M’alright.” Harry’s voice was groggy as he said it, throat scratchy from the past few hours of disuse running away from Billy Stubbs. He was fine but he really didn’t feel alright in the slightest.

Harry finally opened his eyes.

The first thing he saw was Tom’s brown eyes staring right back at him. It had a piercing feeling about it despite the crinkling of his best friend’s face. Tom’s hair was still quite wet too, the curls in front of his face dripping a few on Harry’s face.

Harry sat up, groaning as he felt the kinks in his back. He stretched his arms and groaned in relief. And while Harry couldn’t see Tom’s face in his position, Harry knew he was pulling a face of disgust.

“Why do you always do that?”

Harry looked up at the question. Harry just shrugged in answer as he faced Tom. “It’s satisfying.”

Tom wrinkled his nose in distaste. “It sounds painful.” And it probably was if Harry took into account how loud his joints pop every time he stretched and how frequently Tom kept complaining about it.

“It's not my fault that your bones don’t need any popping.”

“It’s not my fault that your joints need constant maintenance.”


Tom covered Harry’s blabbering mouth as he watched a nun pass by the hallway in front of them. If Harry got them caught for running his mouth, Tom would kill him. Especially if they were so close to escaping.

Tom absently remembered the night they snuck from their room on the 3rd floor of the orphanage to the alleyway behind it. He also realized how long that had happened.

That was almost 5 years ago.

Had it really been that long?

Tom shook his head as he quickly regained sense of where he was. The church was no place to think of those thoughts when they were escaping said church without getting caught.

Tom grabbed Harry’s wrist and dragged them down to the nearest staircase when the nun finally turned a corner and left the hallway. Why were there so many nuns and so little truth in the bible? Who were they? The Believers of Bullshit? Tom would believe so considering the lessons he puts up with on a near weekly basis.

Harry’s hand was gripped tightly in his as they tried to speed down the stairs in the quietest way possible. If this weren’t covered with carpet, they would have been dead ten times over before Tom could hear Harry say Bowtruckle.

Tom faintly registered the hand slapping over his mouth when he saw the back of a nun emerging from the hallway to the staircase’s right. Tom thanked any fucking God that existed to have a best friend like Harry that had as much common sense as him.

Tom pushed Harry to take a few steps up the staircase as Tom quickly followed the motions, putting them back into the safety of darkness.

Harry’s hand slipped from covering his mouth back into Tom’s hand. Right where it should be, Tom’s mind absently supplied but Tom quickly banished the thought as they ran through the ground floor hallway.


“Is someone there?” Harry’s eyes widened when he heard the voice calling out to them, running in front of Tom and took the lead of their escape. “Show yourself or I’m handing you over to the authorities!”

Harry knew that was bullshit. As much as Mrs. Cole trusted St. John’s and its church, the matron didn’t like the nuns being the ones reprimanding the children at the orphanage. As sweet as that sounds, the reason was that the matron wanted to reprimand them herself.

Really sweet of you there, Mrs. Cole. It really warms Harry’s cold, dead, heart.

Tom pulled Harry behind a pew, wrapping an arm around Harry’s neck and covering his mouth almost like what Harry had done to Tom minutes earlier. Harry could hear and see Tom trying not to breathe too deeply, feeling the shallow breaths near his skin.

The nun’s footsteps were growing steadily closer, the familiar thump, thump, thump of the carpet on wood increasingly growing louder. Harry closed his eyes shut and waited for the nun to just leave and go away.

The nave was practically empty as it was nearing lunch. The confessional was the only thing occupied and Harry was sure it just started when they entered. Thank gods for small mercies.

Harry sighed in relief and pried Tom’s hands off his mouth when the nun’s footsteps grew quieter and the small click of the door on the side of the nave’s room graced their ears. If Harry didn’t have as much dignity as he did right now, he would have started crying. Harry didn’t like churches as much as his best friend beside them did. His hate ran much deeper than the Challenger Deep and it was steadily growing closer to Hell. 

Well, closer to the earth’s core technically.

Tom and Harry crouched behind the pews, trying to hide from the view of the side doors and the chance of being caught.

The doors of the church quickly grew bigger and Harry was starting to feel the cold wind of the outside brushing against his skin.

Quickly going closer to freedom.

Harry grinned and led their escape again, not caring if the chances of getting caught were steadily going up with each step he took. If Harry could outrun fat whale kids like Billy and scrawny sticks like Piers, he could outrun old ladies in long dresses in the cold London street.

Pushing against the large door of the church, Harry smiled as the cold air rushed past his face.

Finally, freedom.


Tom knew that as he and Harry walked down a sidewalk nearing the orphanage, Billy Stubbs already told the matron about what happened, twisting what had actually happened to suit his benefits. Tom didn’t like the whale but he could at least admit that the fucker was good at manipulating the matron into getting Tom and Harry in trouble.

Tom was better. But that's yesterday's news already.

“What do you think the matron has in store for us now?”

Tom hummed in thought, weighing all the possible outcomes out. Mrs. Cole’s punishments could go a lot of ways depending on a lot of things. From if the matron was drinking recently to how pissed she is at other things, that all affected the possibilities of how her punishments are going to end up. 

That all affected how fucked the both of them are.

That was why they stayed out of trouble or covered it enough to not warrant a punishment from her. They knew they weirded her out despite having a vendetta against them. If they didn’t do anything wrong, she’d leave them alone to their own devices, a win-win for everyone. If Billy Stubbs, on the other hand, came whining to her with his fat cheeks streaming with tears, she would punish them with punishments the other kids couldn’t even fathom to make up. 

If the other kids got in trouble, they would be let go without even a slap to the wrist!

Tom sighed. Once they were old enough to leave, they would leave without turning their backs and without any regrets.

“Depends on what kind of whining Billy decided to say today.”

Harry scrunched his nose in annoyance (Tom absently thought that Harry looked like a cat) before clicking his tongue. “If he saw me in the park then-”

“-We’ll get exorcised.”

“-We’ll get exorcised.”

Harry sighed again while Tom snorted. While Tom wasn’t that worried about what’ll happen to him or Harry during the exorcism, he was scared of how far the matron will take it. Both of them had endured beatings before even to the point of bleeding and scars. The breakdowns…

Tom shook his head. He shouldn’t be thinking about those days, not ever again. He swore to never try and relive those memories ever again. Some scars were still prominent on his back despite it fading over the years, it still gave him shivers, sometimes even made him yelp, when Harry ran his fingers over them.


June 13, 1936
Wool’s Orphanage, London, England

 

Tom absently thumbs the pages of the sketchbook, humming as he did. His shirt was off and he was slightly shivering every now and then because of it.

And because of what Harry was doing to him.

Harry was behind him, his left hand holding a lump of ice wrapped a few times in an old shirt he found in their closet (that Harry cleaned, obviously. Tom would rather clean the kitchen for a week straight than consciously know that Harry was using a dirty shirt to wrap the ice in and putting on his scars). He lightly pressed the lump on Tom’s scars and welts, some new and some that should have already faded to almost small lines. Tom didn’t know why the welts didn’t fade by now, he hadn’t found a book that explained that.

“Are you alright now?” Harry asked, pulling the ice away from Tom’s back, Tom shivering at the gesture. They were in this position for a while after Tom endured a 10 minutes session of torture from the assistant matron. His back was red and it was slightly swollen but it didn’t cause Tom as much pain as before, it still stung like a bitch though.

Tom’s voice came out in a soft murmur. “I’m alright.” Tom was still slightly spaced out, tracing the soft sketches on the page of Harry’s sketchbook. “It still kind of hurts though.”

Harry moved his place from behind Tom to beside him. “I can’t put any more ice,” His best friend admitted, holding a significantly smaller lump than when Tom saw it before. “It’s almost gone.”

“It’s fine,” Tom said. “Thank you.”

Harry smiled at him, making Tom echo a smaller one because of it. It was only Harry that could make him feel like that, like he was safe. Harry then stood up and opened the window with slight difficulty, squeezing the towel out through the window before laying it out to dry on the windowsill.

Tom figured it was old habits dying hard.


August 15, 1937
London, England

 

“It also depends if Mrs. Cole drank today,” Harry pointed out. “She’s going to be a bit more handsy if she is.”

Tom grimaced at the thought and Harry slipped his hand into Tom’s, a silent pillar of support. “I suppose she will be.”

“Let’s just head back and expect the worst.”

Tom agreed to that.


The moment Harry opened the door to the orphanage, Mrs. Cole spotted them and immediately grabbed them both by the arms, standing in between them and separating them from each other. She then dragged them to the basement, almost tripping on a rickety floorboard.

So, she was drunk? Unfortunately, Harry’s mind supplied. Should’ve been better dead.

As the matron passed the kitchen, she called out to the assistant matron. “Martha,” she called, missing the dark look Harry saw Tom sent her. “call Stevens.”

Without waiting for an answer, Mrs. Cole unlocked the basement door with medium difficulty before continuing to drag Harry and Tom downstairs.


“A lie. A dream. Good stories are both.”

-A.J. Hackwith, The Library of the Unwritten

Notes:

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Chapter 7: 1937 [Resist Much, Obey Little]

Summary:

 

He supported Malfoy across the bathroom, turning at the door to say in a voice of cold fury, “And you, Potter… You wait here for me.”

 

It did not occur to Harry for a second to disobey. If he was in control of his vision’s body, he would’ve already ran outside. He stood up slowly, shaking, and looked down at the wet floor. There were bloodstains floating like crimson flowers across its surface. He could not even find it in himself to tell Moaning Myrtle to be quiet, as she continued to wail and sob with increasingly evident enjoyment.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

"And I'd chose you; in a hundred different lifetimes, in a hundred worlds, in any version of reality, I'd find you and I'd choose you."

- Kiersten White


August 15, 1937

Wool’s Orphanage London, England

[Resist Much, Obey Little]

Harry all but sobbed into Tom’s arms, as his best friend tried to comfort him. He buried his face in Tom’s chest as tears rolled down his cheeks while he tried to process what happened.

He was going to kill that exorcist.

Tom’s hold tightened on Harry when his hands curled on Tom’s ratty cardigan, gripping them tighter. Harry only sniffled and burrowed his head further, trying to avoid the onslaught of snot in his nose dripping to his shirt.

Why was it always him?

First, it was Dudley and his cronies, who chased him around the neighborhood without letting him rest. Then there was Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon who were the worst of the worst. They beat him, they starved him without reason, and they made him do chores. While the last one alone wasn’t a big problem, they beat him when he didn’t do it perfectly when he was just five!  The matron didn’t even do that to them or the other kids.

Harry would have rather stayed in Wool’s for 18 years than spend even two more years with the Dursley’s.

Wool’s Orphanage was a bit tamer compared to the Dursley’s. Now, it was Billy, Dennis and Amy.

They didn’t matter anymore; they weren’t that important to warrant Harry’s worry. He had Tom now, he’d rather worry about Tom’s health and well-being than drive himself insane thinking about those low-lives that keep annoying the two of them. 

Tom. How did Harry ever deserve him?

Harry turned over on the bed to properly face Tom and removed his hold on his cardigan. He wrapped his arms around Tom instead, tucking his face under Tom’s chin.

Tom only let out a noise and held Harry.


Tom didn’t know how long they stayed in that position but he didn’t care. All he cared about was Harry, nothing and no one else, even himself.

He didn’t care about the extra welts and bruises that littered his arms and legs. He didn’t care about the bloody lip he sported, nor did he care about the ache in his bones. His mind only focused on the boy in his arms that had tears in his eyes, sniffling and burrowing his head in Tom’s chest.

It should have been Tom instead.

No. Tom shook his head. Harry would hit him for thinking that. Harry didn’t like him thinking he should take every single burden that was put on Harry but Tom couldn’t help it. It was his best friend he’s talking about, of course Tom would rather die ten times over than even hear the slightest chance that Harry was in danger.

Things that were his should never be hurt. Tom would rather burn the whole world into ashes than see Harry in pain.


June 14, 1936

Wool’s Orphanage, London, England

 

The scars on Tom’s back didn’t sting that painfully anymore, it was a dull pain that covered his whole back yet didn’t overcome his senses yet. Tom thanked the high heavens, no matter how ironic it sounded, that Harry didn’t have as much scars as Tom had. They were severe, yes, but it was a miracle that they were few and far between each other compared to Tom’s.

When they’d leave the orphanage, Tom would do anything in his power to have his and Harry’s scars treated.

“Are you alright now, Tom?” Harry asked, already at the windowsill of their room to fetch the already dried t-shirt from last night. “I can treat it again for you.”

Tom shook his head. It wasn’t necessary in the slightest. He can handle the pain, he already did so for how many years at this point. He appreciated the gesture, though. He’d be forever grateful for Harry.

“Are you sure?” Harry pressed and, once again, Tom shook his head. He walked over to where Harry was and gently pried the t-shirt from his best friend’s hands, making Harry pout at the silent dismissal.

Tom folded the shirt and put it on their desk as he said, “100 percent, Harry.” 

“Are you absolutely sure?”

“Absolutely, completely, fully, entirely, perfectly, whatever other word there is, sure,” Tom listed off, making Harry laugh as he did so. “I’m alright now. Promise.”

Harry held out his left pinky finger and Tom sighed at the silent demand before answering, “pinky promise.” He held out his left pinky finger too and Harry immediately latched onto it, a giddy smile full of triumph stretched across his face. Tom felt his mouth stretch to mirror Harry’s and internally wondered if Harry was always going to affect Tom this way.

Nonetheless, Tom didn’t care that much about it. 


August 15, 1937

Wool’s Orphanage London, England

 

Tom burrowed his face into Harry’s curls and tried to even his own breathing. He licked his lips, tasting the metallic taste of blood on his tongue.

He hated the dull aching of his lip. The only thing it added up to was the skull splitting headache he had.

Harry’s sobs slowly turned into unlabored breaths and his sniffling turned into occasional sniffs to keep in the snot from dripping. Tom sighed in relief and tried to get some rest too but all it did was wake Tom even further despite his weariness. He moved his body a bit to fully lay down on his back and adjusted Harry’s hold on him too, careful not to wake his best friend.

Despite being in a more comfortable position, the prospect of Mrs. Cole barging in and taking Harry from him made Tom stiffen with unease and paranoia. The matron didn’t usually do that to any of the kids here, especially them. That woman was overbearing but she respected boundaries, for some odd reason.

Tom was thankful for that at least.

But even knowing that information, Tom didn’t relax in the slightest. The matron was unpredictable when drunk and Tom didn’t want to know the possibilities of her actions. She was too erratic, too spontaneous, for Tom to predict her.

Tom hated that fact since before Harry came into his life. 

Tom laid in the cold, dead silence for a few more minutes, listening to Harry breathing on his chest, before he gently adjusted Harry’s arms around him and sat up. He reached for the glass of water that sat on the desk to the right of him and drank a few gulps. Tom didn’t even know he was thirsty in the first place; he was too wrapped around Harry’s wellbeing to even realize his own needs.

Tom blinked owlishly and tried to feel the exhaustion seep into him. It arrived in a slow wave that overcame him and drenched his bones with an ache that was all too familiar to Tom. It was the same feeling of reluctant restlessness plaguing his body, the same quiet ghost that came to haunt him at night after dealing with the matron.

The ache was a bit more bearable now that Harry was beside him. It didn’t solve Tom’s problems, it probably never will, but it soothed his nerves to know that his best friend was beside him, safe.

Tom rubbed his eyes and sank back into the comfortable warmth of his bed, into Harry’s arms again.

He’ll have to deal with their cuts and bruises tomorrow, but that wasn’t an immediate problem. Tom didn’t want to wake Harry, his best friend already suffered enough.


August 16, 1937

Wool’s Orphanage London, England

 

Harry groaned as he turned around the bed. Everything hurt. His bones were aching, his skin was practically on fire and Harry had to struggle and pull off the covers of the bed off of him. The bed was damp to the point that it was cold yet suffocating at the same time. His arms and legs were tingling something akin to pins and needles sticking him to the bed.

The room was quiet, only disturbed by Harry’s rustling and moving. It was so cold last night, what happened in the few hours Harry was out cold?

With slight difficulty, Harry managed to sit up and take off the sweaty shirt clinging to his skin like a soaked paper sticking to a concrete wall. He sighed in relief at the cold air the room gave him.

Harry’s shorts were damp too.  He shuffled out of them and quickly went to the closet for a change of clothes. He pulled up the pants and buttoned it up before hastily grabbing a short-sleeved shirt and buttoning it up too. Harry only absently realized it was Tom’s shirt not his. 

When Harry finally buttoned the last button of the shirt, Tom quickly scrambled in, a medical kit, water bottles, and a small plastic tub in hand. He looks both exhilarated and panicked.

Harry didn’t even notice Tom was absent from the room until now.

“Where were you?” Harry asked and silently sat down on the head of his own bed, near the pillow, at Tom’s silent request.

Tom set the medical kit down and opened it, getting a towel from their cabinet in the process. “I was in the storage room, getting this.” He gestured at the kit beside Harry and continued to soak the towel with some water. “I forgot to get it last night.”

“Oh.”

Tom squeezed the cloth and went back to Harry. He set the plastic tub and the bottles of water on the desk and took Harry’s cut littered arm. He let it sit on the edges of the tub and opened a water bottle, pouring the water on Harry's forearm and cleaned it with a damp towel.

Neither of them talked, they both knew the conversation they were going to have.

Tom went back to the medical kit and took out some items. Antiseptic, rolled gauze, gauze pads, scissors, and medical tape. He walked back to Harry and moved the plastic tub, setting Harry’s arm on a clean shirt Harry didn’t notice was there on the table and started treating Harry’s cuts and wounds with the antiseptic.

He dressed Harry’s wound with gauze and wrapped it in a few areas on Harry’s arm before taping it off with the medical tape. 

Tom did that again a few more times, for Harry’s other arm, his face, and both of his legs.

Tom stood up from his place in front of Harry’s legs, snipping the tape from the now wrapped gauze. “Are you alright now?”

Harry only nodded, twisting his arms and dangling his feet from the edge of his bed to test the gauze wrapped on his body. “I’m alright.” Harry’s nose crinkled in confusion at Tom’s gauze free arms and legs. Why didn’t he treat his wounds first? Harry could have waited until Tom finished treating him to treat his own. Harry wasn’t a baby to be taken care of. Most especially Tom, who was in practically the same state as Harry, maybe even worse. “Why didn’t you treat your wounds first?”

“Yours were more severe compared to mine,” Tom claimed but they both knew that was a lie. They didn’t lie to each other most of the time, and if they did, it was mostly about things like that. “And you looked in worse shape than me when I woke up.”

“Lies,” Harry immediately said, standing up from his bed and dragging Tom to sit there instead. He copied Tom’s actions from before and cleaned Tom’s wounds before he dabbed the wounds with a bit of antiseptic and wrapped it in gauze.

Harry did that again with the rest of Tom’s body.

“Did I do a good job?” Harry asked. “Or are you not satisfied yet, my liege?”

Tom huffed and adjusted a bit of the gauze but didn’t do anything else. Harry smiled. Success.

An incessant bell ran through the orphanage, signaling the lunch period.

“We have to change,” Tom said suddenly, surprising Harry, and walked towards their closet. He grabbed a long-sleeved shirt and removed the short-sleeved one he was wearing. “Mrs. Cole was drunk last night and probably didn’t remember what happened. We can’t give her any ideas.”

Nodding, Harry stood beside Tom and changed the short-sleeved shirt he was wearing into a similar long-sleeved shirt.

The bell rang again and both boys sighed.


When they entered the dining room, Mrs. Cole was nursing a mug, probably Seidlitz powder as its content.

Tom didn’t care what the matron looked like. If Tom knew she suffered through the hangovers like they did when she was drunk, that was enough for him. If Harry being happy wasn’t on top of the list that made him happy, the matron suffering through hangovers would surely be on the top of that list with no doubt.

They sat down near the end of the table, far from Billy Stubbs and his cronies. They laughed and snorted like pigs, food flying everywhere and landing on some poor kids that decided to sit near them.

Pity.

Harry took two pieces of toast from the plate in front of them and gave one to Tom. Tom whispered a quick thank you before he spread his own with chipped beef while Harry didn’t spread anything with his.

Tom, during the whole meal, would glance at the matron while he ate. It was mostly to check if the woman realized what she had done last night rather than to check if she was still suffering but Tom still enjoyed the frequent temple rubs of her hangover.

Fucking hag.


When the matron dismissed them, Harry quickly dragged Tom upstairs to their room and got his satchel full of sketching supplies. It was clear Harry didn’t want to talk about what happened last night, that he’d rather sketch his problems away than talk about it.

Tom didn’t mind. Harry would talk about it either way, either when they get back, during their time at the park, or tomorrow, when Harry’s nightmares come and bite him in the back.

As long as Harry was alright now, Tom didn’t have any problems. He’d deal with the upcoming problems when they arrive.

When Harry finished getting ready, he sent Tom an anticipating look, Tom’s ratty cardigan in his hands for him to take, and Tom could only sigh in response. He took the cardigan from Harry’s hands and slipped it on before he took a random book from under the bed. He also got a sweater and stuffed it in the messenger bag Harry got for him a few years ago.

“I hate you, you know,” Tom said, lacing his and Harry’s outstretched hand. “I hate you more than Billy Stubbs.”

Harry only grinned at his best friend. “You love me more than you love my sketches, Tom,” Harry claimed and led them out of their bedroom to the building’s hallway.

Tom rolled his eyes. “Obviously.”

Harry only grinned even more.


The weather was a bit cold when they exited the orphanage’s building. The wind ruffled through the boys’ clothes and Harry suppressed a shiver. He was thankful that Tom suggested changing clothes, even if it wasn’t for the weather.

Tom, feeling Harry’s shivers, gripped his hand tighter and led them to the park.

The wind swept through the air again and whipped through their hair, making Harry shudder again. Harry knew he was the reason why both of them were outside and not in the safety of their room but he didn’t care. He couldn’t bear to think that Billy Stubbs and the matron were in the immediate vicinity of them, he’d rather run from them around London than be trapped in the orphanage.

Harry gripped the strap of his satchel harder when Tom stopped walking and turned to face Harry.

Tom let go of Harry’s hand and unclasped the lock on his messenger bag. He took out a grey sweater from the bag and gave it to Harry, who tentatively accepted it. What was Tom doing?

Harry’s best friend clasped the lock of the bag and took the sweater and Harry’s satchel from his person. Harry stood there awkwardly as Tom slung his satchel on his other shoulder and pulled the sweater over Harry’s head. As soon as Harry’s hands reappeared from the sleeves of the sweater, he adjusted Harry’s shirt, sleeves and collar before giving him back his own satchel.

“What was that for?” Harry questioned. He tugged the sleeves of the sweater down to the tips of his fingers, thankful that Tom got his sweater instead of Harry’s. Harry didn’t want to feel the disappointment he knew he’d feel when he realized that the sleeves couldn’t reach his fingers.

“You kept shivering,” Tom simply said, shrugging and taking Harry’s hand back in own. Harry smiled at the gesture and gripped it tighter. “I told you that you should’ve brought a sweater with you.”

“You did not!” Harry laughed. He walked a bit faster to catch up with Tom before he matched his best friend’s pace. “You literally didn’t say anything and just got your things.”

“It was implied.”

“Was not!”

“Were too.”

“But still.” Harry heavily leaned into Tom’s side, hands still connected, and said, “thank you.”

Tom huffed and looked in the other direction, away from Harry’s gaze, cheeks and tips of his ears reddening. Harry figured it was because of the cold. “Just remember to bring one next time,” he muttered before walking faster, making Harry struggle to catch up with him, even with their linked hands.

Harry laughed but he didn’t mind Tom’s words. He loved Tom when he acted like that. “Alright.”


They sat down on the same grassy hill they always sat on and Harry got out his sketchbook while Tom took out the book he blindly chose from his bag.

It was a coming-of-age novel Tom didn’t get around to read yet, Little Women. It was an interesting story so far, far more interesting than the other books Tom read before. It changes the way he thought when he read it, it was nothing like the male protagonist stories he read, hence why Tom liked it.

He was still in chapter 11, ‘Experiments.’

As he turned the page of the book, Tom remembered why he didn’t finish the book. As always, Harry was the reason why. More specifically his sketching.

His best friend, on this very spot, a few months ago, distracted Tom from his reading. He was sketching a sunnier version of the park in front of them before his mind started wandering and Tom just had to point that fact out. And because of the worry he held for Harry, Tom fell into the trap and listened to Harry’s rambles, said boy being oblivious that he was distracting Tom at all.

The problem was Tom couldn’t call it distracting when it was with Harry, merely more like changing his attention to something- someone- else. It was always so different with Harry. When it’s with Harry, Tom lets the things he usually holds grudges against go.

When it’s Harry, everything just feels different. Tom wanted to know why but it was low on the list of priorities.

The wind slowly calmed down but it still rushed through Tom’s clothes and made Tom let out a shuddering breath.

Tom looked to his right, where Harry was. His best friend’s face was practically tucked into his sketchbook. He occasionally muttered the parts he was sketching but other than that, stayed quiet. Tom observed Harry a bit more before his gaze turned back to the view in front of them.

Tom sighed and paid attention to the words in the book. He shouldn’t worry about Harry that much; he’d turn old just thinking about the stuff Harry got themselves into.


Tom blinked as he slowly pulled himself out of his mind. Harry peered at him expectantly when Tom met his eyes, sketchbook pressed into his chest.

Tom sent him an inquisitive look but only got a head shake in response. He slipped the random piece of paper between the pages before he closed his book and gave Harry his full attention. Harry grinned, always the contagious one, at the gesture and Tom’s lips slowly quirked to mirror the other boy in front of him.

Harry leaned back again against the trunk of the tree behind them and handed Tom the sketchbook, slight apprehension clear in his actions.

Tom’s left eyebrow raised in question at Harry’s behavior but didn’t say any more about it. Instead, he took the sketchbook from Harry’s hands and opened it. He thumbed the only sketches he passed before he came across the page Harry wanted to show him.

Tom smiled.

It was a sketch of himself. It was still fresh so he was careful not to ruin it. His features were almost perfect, save for a few elements he knew Harry hadn't mastered yet. Nonetheless, he enjoyed every single sketch Harry showed him, especially of himself. They always showed something Tom hadn't seen in himself at all, there was always something that stood out but at the same time didn’t. It both fascinated and scared Tom at the same time, how Harry’s vision of the real world was fuzzy but when it came to his masterpieces, Harry was sharp and attentive to the smallest of details.

Tom thought that described Harry perfectly.

Tom glanced up to see Harry staring at him. It was clear he was waiting on Tom’s opinion.  “Do you like it?” He asked, and Tom could see Harry playing with the hem of the sweater he wore. Tom’s sweater.

Where did that thought come from?

Tom shook his head and smiled at Harry, only calming the boy slightly. Of course, Tom loved it. He loved every single thing Harry showed him, even if the things he showed Tom were things Tom despised. It didn’t despise him that much anymore, anything that made Harry laugh or even smile was tolerated by Tom.

“I love it,” Tom said and Harry let out a shaky breath. He leaned his head against Tom’s shoulder as he watched Tom stare at the details again. “Your attention to detail is amazing as always, Harry.”

Harry huffed and adjusted his head against Tom’s shoulder. “It’s not,” Harry claimed and pointed to parts of the drawing. The hair, the clothes wrinkles, and the nose. “I’m not happy with those. They look off to me.”

Tom let out a laugh and Harry pouted at the reaction. It made Tom laugh more.

“I promise they aren’t as bad as you think it is,” Tom said. He pointed to his sketch self’s hair. “The hair looks like it’s been annoyed by the wind-” Tom pointed to the nose. “If you make my eyes squint a bit, it’ll look like I’m frustrated about something instead of it being unnatural-” Finally, Tom pointed to the clothes' wrinkles. “Only some parts look awkward. Small, very miniscule parts of it look off. The rest of it looks as good as it always does when you sketch it.”

Harry still continued to pout.

Tom sighed and turned to face Harry. He squished Harry’s cheeks and leaned in, making Harry whine at Tom’s actions. Tom didn’t care. He had a point to make to Harry

“You should stop rejecting my compliments and just accept them. It isn’t the end of the world if it doesn’t come out in the way you wanted it to.”

“M’not rejecting it though,” Harry said, speech slightly muffled because of Tom’s hands on his cheeks. “M’jusht saying.”

“Good.” Tom let go of Harry’s cheeks and Harry pouted as he rubbed them. Tom handed the sketchbook back to Harry as Harry adjusted his position to sit neared to Tom. Tom smiled at the gesture.

Tom rested his head on Harry’s when Harry laid it on Tom’s shoulder, almost the exact position as they stayed in before Tom squished Harry’s cheeks. Tom heard Harry sigh as he opened his sketchbook again. Tom only shook his head and continued reading the book. 

He could stay in this position for hours with Harry and he won’t even notice time go by.


Harry sighed as he snuggled deeper into the bed. The exhaustion was seeping into him like water did to a towel. His eyes started to droop and the sweet escape of falling asleep enclosed him too like he was being coddled.

He heard Tom adjust his position on his own bed and Harry felt a pang of sympathy and regret for dampening up the bed with his sweat. Tom reassured him earlier that it wasn’t as damp as Harry thought it was but Harry still apologized profusely nonetheless. He saw the scrunched up face Tom did.

Tonight, it was surprisingly cold compared to the sweaty and suffocating day Harry woke up to.

The rain Harry expected just started to fall just as they rounded the corner of the orphanage’s street earlier and the downpour hasn’t stopped yet. The only thing Harry was thankful for was that his fear of storms subsided significantly now that he saw them.

Harry sighed as the darkness closed in on him.


Outside the bathroom, he pressed his ear against the door. He couldn’t hear anything. He very quietly pushed the door open.

Malfoy was standing with his back to the door, his hands clutching either side of the sink, his white-blond head bowed.

“Don’t,” crooned Moaning Myrtle’s voice from one of the cubicles. “Don’t… tell me what’s wrong… I can help you…”

“No one can help me,” said Malfoy. His whole body was shaking. “I can’t do it… I can’t… It won’t work… and unless I do it soon… he says he’ll kill me…” And Harry realized, with a shock so huge it seemed to root him to the spot, that Malfoy was crying— actually crying— tears streaming down his pale face into the grimy basin. Malfoy gasped and gulped and then, with a great shudder, looked up into the cracked mirror and saw Harry staring at him over his shoulder.

Malfoy wheeled around, drawing his wand. Instinctively, Harry pulled out his own. Malfoy’s hex missed Harry by inches, shattering the lamp on the wall beside him; Harry threw himself sideways, thought Levicorpus! and flicked his wand, but Malfoy blocked the jinx and raised his wand for another—

“No! No! Stop it!” squealed Moaning Myrtle, her voice echoing loudly around the tiled room. “Stop! STOP!”

There was a loud bang and the bin behind Harry exploded; Harry attempted a curse that backfired off the wall behind Malfoy’s ear and smashed the cistern beneath Moaning Myrtle, who screamed loudly; water poured everywhere and Harry slipped as Malfoy, his face contorted, cried, “Cruci —”

“SECTUMSEMPRA!” bellowed Harry from the floor, waving his wand wildly.

Blood spurted from Malfoy’s face and chest as though he had been slashed with an invisible sword. He staggered backward and collapsed onto the waterlogged floor with a great splash, his wand falling from his limp right hand.

“No—” gasped Harry. Slipping and staggering, Harry got to his feet and plunged toward Malfoy, whose face was now shining scarlet, his white hands scrabbling at his blood-soaked chest. “No— I didn’t—”

Harry did not know what he was saying; he fell to his knees beside Malfoy, who was shaking uncontrollably in a pool of his own blood. Moaning Myrtle let out a deafening scream: “MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!”

The door banged open behind Harry and he looked up, terrified. Snape had burst into the room, his face livid. Pushing Harry roughly aside, he knelt over Malfoy, drew his wand, and traced it over the deep wounds Harry’s curse had made, muttering an incantation that sounded almost like song.

The flow of blood seemed to ease; Snape wiped the residue from Malfoy’s face and repeated his spell. Now the wounds seemed to be knitting.

Harry was still watching, horrified by what he had done and barely aware that he too was soaked in blood and water. He knew it was just a vision, nothing else. Moaning Myrtle was still sobbing and wailing overhead. When Snape had performed his counter-curse for the third time, he half-lifted Malfoy into a standing position.

“You need the hospital wing. There may be a certain amount of scarring, but if you take dittany immediately, we might avoid even that… Come…”

He supported Malfoy across the bathroom, turning at the door to say in a voice of cold fury, “And you, Potter… You wait here for me.”

It did not occur to Harry for a second to disobey. If he was in control of his vision’s body, he would’ve already ran outside. He stood up slowly, shaking, and looked down at the wet floor. There were bloodstains floating like crimson flowers across its surface. He could not even find it in himself to tell Moaning Myrtle to be quiet, as she continued to wail and sob with increasingly evident enjoyment.

Snape returned ten minutes later. Harry was still pissed at himself that his vision self didn’t move at all. He stepped into the bathroom and closed the door behind him.

“Go,” he ordered Myrtle, and she swooped back into her toilet at once, leaving a ringing silence behind her.

“I didn’t mean it to happen,” said Harry at once. His voice echoed in the cold, watery bathroom. “I didn’t know what that spell did.”

But Snape ignored what Harry said. It made Harry’s blood boil. “Apparently I underestimated you, Potter,” he said quietly. “Who would have thought you knew such Dark Magic? Who taught you that spell?”

“I— read about it somewhere.”

“Where?”

“It was— a library book,” Harry invented wildly. “I can’t remember what it was call—”

“Liar,” said Snape. Harry’s throat went dry. He knew what Snape was going to do and he had never been able to prevent it…

The bathroom seemed to shimmer before his eyes; he struggled to block out all thought, but try as he might, a copy of Advanced Potion-Making swam hazily to the forefront of his mind.

The haze started to overcome Harry’s vision, rushing to fill his gaze of Snape with nothing but water. Harry staggered, absently realizing with surprise that he had control of the vision’s body, before a force knocked him forward.

Harry landed on his front, cold and wet concrete squishing his face.

Harry groaned and tried to regain his senses but immediately got grabbed by the collar and lifted up until Harry only saw the disgusting face of Paul Stevens. He blanched, realizing what happened when he got thrown against the wall, ears ringing.

He hated this. He oh so hated this. Where was Tom to save him now?

Harry was somewhere Tom couldn’t even manage to save.


“Another secret of the universe: Sometimes pain was like a storm that came out of nowhere. The clearest summer could end in a downpour. Could end in lightning and thunder.”

― Benjamin Alire Sáenz, Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe

Notes:

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Chapter 8: 1937 [Put Your Head On My Shoulder]

Summary:

“You won’t die on my watch,” Tom let out, voice barely above a murmur. “You can’t.”

“And what if I did?” Harry breathed. This was too embarrassing for Harry, even if it was just the two of them in the room, but Harry trusted what Tom wanted to do. Harry would trust Tom even if it was a ballsy move to do.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

“For who would lose, though full of pain, this intellectual being, those thoughts that wander through eternity to perish rather, swallowed up and lost in the wide womb of uncreated Night?”

-John Milton, Paradise Lost


August 17, 1937
Wool’s Orphanage London, England

[Put Your Head On My Shoulder]

Tom woke up with a start, cold sweat dripping down his face like someone poured buckets upon buckets of water down his head. His pyjamas were practically soaked and his bed was damp yet again, sweat seeping through the old shirts Tom piled up in the middle of the bed to keep it dry.

Tom lurched forward and slapped a hand over his mouth, trying to keep himself from vomiting. Is this how Harry feels every time he has a nightmare?

Harry.

Tom immediately looked to his right, where Harry’s bed was. There was a lump under the covers, shifting slightly every few seconds. If it weren’t for the moonlight that enveloped the room, he wouldn’t have seen Harry that properly.

Tom sighed and ran a hand through his curls, trying to calm himself down.

What are five things you see?

Tom’s eyes frantically darted around the room, avoiding the static trying to overcome his senses and bring him under again. The moonlight. The closet. His sheets. The clean spot near his bed among the dusty floor. Harry.

What four things can you touch?

Tom curled his fingers into his palms, feeling the smooth skin under his fingertips. He splayed his hand flat against his bed and felt the cotton of the thin sheets he called a blanket. He tugged at his clothes, practically desperate to pull the things clinging to him off. Tom’s, almost frantic, hand leaned over to touch the cold of his bed frame, feeling the indents and hard surface of it.

Skin, cotton, flannel, metal. 

Tom breathed in the cold hair of their room. Harry is okay, there is nothing to worry about. He’s alright, finish the exercise.

What are three things you can hear?

Tom cleared his mind, taking in deep breaths as he tried to listen to the environment around him. He heard the unsurprisingly heavy rain outside their room, he heard Harry rustling across the room, and he heard his own heavy, uneven breathing. The storm didn’t let out yet.

Tom ran hand through his hair again.

Rain. Harry. His own breathing.

The world started to come back slowly, and started to ground Tom again. The cotton of his own bed was a comforting feeling now, instead of being a suffocating sheet of discomfort. Tom unbuttoned his flannel a few buttons and sat there on his bed, unmoving, and tried to focus on Harry’s breathing again. He was safe .

What are two things you can smell?

The sweat on his bed wafted through the area of his room, it was practically odourless but Tom still smelled it. That didn’t count. Tom tried again and smelled a little bit of rain from outside the window, only absently realizing that they left the window slightly open instead of sealing it shut.

Thank the high heavens it was open. Tom feels like he’s suffocating.

Tom inhaled again and smelled the old wood of the room. It was a grounding feeling like no other. He smelled the cedar from their closet, and the old pine of the floorboards. Why was it so grounding?

What is one thing you can taste?

He can taste the rabbit stew on his tongue, vaguely remembering how close to tears Billy Stubbs was then he realized what they were eating earlier that night. It was an amazing sight to see.

Tom stretched his arms and groaned at the popping sounds it made. He felt so stiff . He’d have to ask Harry to give him a massage when he woke up.

Tom took a few more deep breaths and repeated, ‘I am not alone,’ over and over again like a mantra that’ll keep him from his monophobia. He takes in the rain again, inhaling the scent before he swung his legs over the bed and sealed the window shut. They couldn’t afford to deal with a wet windowsill later, it was too much of a hassle to deal with, especially with the room inspection the matron does every two weeks.

Tom unbuttoned the flannel all the way and folded it before chucking it into the basket the matron put in their rooms. At least the old hag cared for hygiene or Tom wouldn’t see the end of it.

There were a few rustles from Harry but Tom just ignored them. After all, Harry did that a lot and Tom wasn’t in the best mood to worry over everything Harry did at the moment, especially when asleep. Tom took off his sweaty pyjama bottoms and changed to cleaner ones.

And that was when everything practically went to hell.

“Tom!” A shout from the other side of the room made Tom instantly swerve and practically run towards Harry. His clothes were strewn across his chest, clear that there were haphazard attempts to pull it off. Tom’s alarms rang loudly in his head. Why was Harry not okay? “Please help me…” Before it trailed off into a whimper.

Tom turned Harry around to lay him on his back and pushed his hair away from his forehead. He sat beside Harry and tried to comfort him in the best way he could possible while Harry was asleep. He couldn’t shake Harry to wake up, Harry explicitly told him not to, saying that it felt like he was being pulled in every single direction.

All Tom could do was make Harry’s resurface the most comfortable he can make it be.


Harry scrambled back into the wall, far from Paul Stevens and the manic grin he was sporting. The concrete that enveloped his senses overcame him like a wave of ice again, leaving Harry both shivering and cold because of it and because of the man in front of him.

Where was Tom? Where was Tom to save him? Where was Tom to reassure him everything was alright? Surely, he would be there to comfort Harry, right? Right?

Harry whimpered again when the man in front of him took out a pocket knife and stalked towards Harry, each step making an echo that filled Harry with dread, regret, and a twisting feeling in his stomach.

Tom wasn’t there nor will he ever be there again.

“You’ll see how much Christ loves you, devil child,” The man spat and Harry tried to scramble back further behind him but all he felt was the cold sensation of the wall. “I’ll show you how much our saviour sacrificed so that I can save you too.”

“No!” Harry screamed, kicking and trying to escape the man that had already practically pinned him down into the floor of the basement. “Don’t touch me!”

As the man was about to slice Harry’s arms, Harry kicked him in the chest, making him stumble backwards, away from Harry and away from the subsequent danger he can cause.

The room suddenly grew larger and longer, making Harry feel crowded and small. Harry immediately ran to the left and the wall stretched to form a long hallway. Harry’s eyes widened at the opportunity and tried to run as fast as his little legs could take him but it was no use, Paul Stevens was gaining on him.

Harry turned a corner and saw the hallway turn into white flower-patterned wallpaper and the floor beneath him turned into blue carpet, slowing Harry down significantly. Why was this so familiar?

Harry tried to think where did this all come from when the shouting began.

Harry tried to keep his mouth shut as insults like, “I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HIM MAGIC TRICKS!”, “I WILL NOT TOLERATE MENTION OF YOUR ABNORMALITY UNDER THIS ROOF!”, and, “FREAK!” echoed through the hallway.

Harry winced but continued running.

The walls were covered ceiling to floor with faces upon faces in frames that Harry can’t fathom to remember nor recognize. Pink hair, green hair, dozens of ginger ones, black hair even, Harry can’t recognize them at all. He doesn’t even know if he knew them in the first place.

Harry could hear Paul Stevens behind him, gaining on him and Harry tried his best to run away from him, to run away from the mocking steps each step the man took.

Where was Tom? Didn’t Tom promise to protect him? To take care of him?

Harry shook his head and rounded the corner before running towards another one, one that was closer compared to all the others he already passed.

Tom couldn’t protect him now. It was all on Harry to save himself.

No one can save him now.

Harry yelped as a hand grabbed his collar and lifted him up. He kicked and screamed behind him, trying to make the man let go of him but it was no use. Like before, Harry will never win.

Paul Steven’s arm was tight around Harry’s neck, squeezing and tightening before Harry’s world grew dark and hazy. His actions grew sluggish and weak while the man behind him grew stronger.

It was no use, he’d die here knowing that Tom was nowhere to be found, probably as dead as Harry was going to be in a few moments. Harry’s breathing grew ragged as he saw the glint of the knife held up at his throat.

Harry embraced the darkness.


Tom took a step back as Harry lurched forward from his bed. Harry was sweating, incredibly so, even without a shirt on. Tom took a step back and took the glass of water from the desk beside Harry’s bed.

He kneeled on the bed and took hold of Harry’s shoulders, trying to steady his best friend.

Harry was swaying as Tom continued to steady him, attempting, trying even, to help Harry regain his senses. It wasn’t enough as Harry swayed again and almost knocked the glass out of Tom’s hand and onto the bed. Tom clicked his tongue and set the glass on the windowsill of the other window, the one to Harry’s right side of the bed and not the one between their beds. Tom hoped it wouldn’t spill.

He cupped the underside of Harry’s jaw and lifted it for Tom to see.

Harry’s eyes were lidded and glazed, as if he had been possessed by something. But he was awake, that was enough comfort to Tom. He pressed his fingers on Harry’s neck to check his pulse. It was abnormally increased, beating so fast that Tom panicked for a moment. The sweat was piling up and seeping into Tom’s hands as he checked Harry again.

“Hey, Harry,” Tom whispered, desperate to help Harry and to help resurface his thoughts. “Harry. It’s me, Tom? Don’t you remember?”

Harry made a noise and his weak hands lifted up to wrap them around Tom’s wrists. His head dropped forward, right into Tom’s right hand. It was practically no use; Harry still wasn’t that awake to be helped.

“Hey, darling, can you stay awake for me?” Tom was desperate for something, anything, just to know that Harry was alright. “Please? I need you to stay awake for me.”

Harry made that sound again but finally, moved his head. That was practically a miracle in Tom’s eyes. He never would have thought of Harry to start to recover this quickly. Still, Tom took what he could get, even if it still scared him half to death of how little he got from Harry as a response.

“Please, Harry, mon cher, please, stay awake for me,” Tom said. Something, anything, Harry. “Stay awake for me, okay?”

Finally, Harry said something. “Tom,” he groaned, eyes slowly blinking into consciousness. His breathing was still uneven but it was better than before. “Tom…”

As if on instinct, Tom’s hands moved up to cup Harry’s cheeks and felt how hot they were. Why didn’t he feel that before? “Yeah? Breathe with me.” Tom watched as Harry followed his orders and breathed in deeply. “What’s wrong? What happened in your dream?”

Harry only shook his head.

Tom changed his position and sat cross-legged across from Harry, still cradling Harry’s face in his hands. Harry didn’t say much else, he only leaned into Tom’s touch and practically sat in his lap.

Tom sighed. He knew Harry won’t be able to talk about his dream in the next few hours, he didn’t want to. Tom didn’t mind nor care about it in the slightest, as long as Harry was okay.

When it grew almost uncomfortable to bear, Tom had to let go of Harry’s face and instead held Harry’s hands before he led Harry towards his bed. He walked over to Harry’s side of the room and took the glass waiting on the windowsill before coaxing Harry to drink it.

Harry drank the whole glass in a few gulps.

Tom grabbed an extra shirt from their cabinet and pulled it over Harry’s head. Harry whined but followed Tom’s motions and adjusted the shirt to fit more comfortably.

Tom then laid Harry down and joined him after a few moments. Harry immediately turned around and snuggled into Tom’s arms, falling asleep within minutes. Tom just sighed and tightened his hold on Harry before falling asleep too.


Harry woke up feeling arms around his middle, tight and unmovable.

It hit Harry what happened last night. How Tom took care of him, the burden that Harry is, and didn’t demand anything or forced Harry to say what happened.

When did he ever deserve Tom? When did he ever deserve to have a best friend like Tom?

Harry snuggled into Tom’s chest and tightened his hold on him. He heard Tom let out a groan and shifted because of it but just continued sleeping.

It was a quiet morning, there were no shouts from the street below nor from the courtyard in the back of the building. The rain was still pouring, significantly weaker than last night’s but it was still strong nonetheless. It was soothing, Harry decided, the pitter patter of the rain on the window, the cold that seeped in through walls that made Harry shiver and snuggle into Tom more.

Harry didn’t want to remember what had happened last night in his dream. Well, more like a nightmare really. It was both a haze that fogged his senses and a bucket of ice-cold water that drenched him at the same time. Harry shook his head. No, he shouldn’t be thinking about it, let alone think about thinking about it.

He snuggled into Tom more and winced when Tom moved to his side. Harry felt Tom’s arms tighten around his waist again and saw that Tom’s nose was scrunched up.

That wouldn't happen. Harry couldn’t bear to see Tom uncomfortable like this.

He let go of his hold on Tom and reached up so he could brush away the stray curls that fell over Tom’s face. Tom’s nose scrunched up even harder at the action. Harry lightly traced the area between Tom’s eyebrows to the tip of his nose in a downward motion before he started over again with the action.

Tom’s face slowly relaxed under Harry’s ministrations before his head grew limp again and fully rested against the pillow. His arms around Harry laxed a bit too.

Harry smiled.

After a few minutes of trying to fall asleep again, Harry eventually gave up and sat up. He did it in a way so as not to wake Tom up in the slightest. His best friend deserved some sleep.

Harry reached under his own bed and found the satchel full of sketching supplies before he pulled out the ones he was finding, the sketchbook and the pen. He leaned back into the bed and adjusted his position so that Tom could hug his middle before he started to sketch.


All Tom saw when he woke up was a bit of darkness and light from the window seep into his senses. He blinked, trying to adjust to the uneven brightness across his eyes before smiling at what he heard.

Tom heard Harry sketching away and humming an old tune as he did.

“Mister Sandman, I’m so alone, nobody to call my own,” Harry sang and Tom’s nose scrunched up in confusion. He hadn’t heard of a song with those lyrics at all, even in passing through Mrs. Cole’s radio of showtunes. “Please turn on your magic beam. Mister Sandman, won't you bring me a dream…”

Harry’s whisper of a voice tapered off into a softer hum, singing a different tune instead of the one Tom woke up to. Tom liked that song. He’ll just ask Harry and find it later.

“Fly me to the moon, let me play among the stars. Let me see what spring is like on Jupiter and Mars.” Harry's voice was a melody Tom could forever listen to without complaints. He’d pay to hear Harry’s voice every single day of his life but he was listening to them for free. “In other words, hold my hand. In other words, baby, kiss me.”

Tom tightened his hold on Harry.

Harry glanced back at him and smiled when he saw Tom awake. He put down the pencil he was holding and ran a hand through Tom’s hair, inadvertently making Tom suppress a shudder and instead sighed in contentment.

He loved quiet mornings like this. It was just the two of them in their own little bubble, away from the world and away from the annoyances the orphanage called kids.

“How long have you been awake?” Tom’s voice was groggy and in need of water. Sensing this, Harry helped Tom sit up and passed him the glass of water on the desk.

The exact same glass that was empty when Tom fell asleep. Maybe Harry refilled it.

Maybe that was it. Harry just used magic to refill it and didn’t sneak into the orphanage’s kitchens to refill it. Tom would harass Harry just to know that Harry didn’t endanger his own safety just for a glass of water.

Tom took a few gulps before he passed it again to Harry, who put it back on the table. 

Tom leaned his head against Harry’s shoulder and Harry leaned back on it, still sketching as he did. Tom looked down to see what Harry was sketching.

It was still unfinished but it was mostly done by the way Harry was sketching it. It was a sketch of two pairs of legs covered by a blanket and the rest while the rest of the page was a sketch of the rest of the room in front of them. It was almost an exact sketch of the position they were in right now.

Tom smiled. He could always count on Harry to make masterpieces in the most mundane things.

It was an art and Harry was the master of it.


Tom stirred as Harry shook him awake. How long had he been asleep? Did he bother Harry at all? Tom shook his head. No, Harry would say that and would have woken Tom up when he did bother Harry. Calm down, Tom.

“You alright?” Harry turned around to look at him, a small grin stretching his features. “You passed out on me.”

Tom groaned and rubbed his eye with the back of his hand before he blinked again at the brightness of the room, exactly the same as before but rainier. “How long was I out?”

Harry’s grin widened before he closed his sketchbook and faced Tom. Tom, startled at the sudden movement, heavily leaned against the hand Harry cupped his right cheek with. Soft, Tom thought. Harry stroked Tom’s cheek and Tom leaned to it even more, making Harry let out a laugh at the sight.


“You’re really a cat, Tom,” Harry said but Tom only gave a disgruntled noise as a response. “A very grumpy cat that looks so serious and disappointed.” Harry adjusted his position again and cupped Tom’s other cheek with his other hand. Tom’s head practically limped as soon as Harry did that.

Cute, Harry thought. 

“M’sleepy,” Tom slurred and Harry’s eyes widened. Tom never slurred his words like that. He told Harry it was improper before he continued to lecture Harry about Greek Mythology.

“Go to bed then.”

Tom’s head shook in Harry’s hands, still limp. Harry knew Tom was used to telling Harry that and not the other way around but Harry found it endearing. Harry was going to take care of Tom this time, his best friend already did enough for him last night.

“You’re not going to miss anything,” Harry laughed. It was true, it was too early in the morning for the matrons to even think about making breakfast. “I’ll wake you up. Promise,” Harry added and Tom let out something akin to a grumble before he assumed his previous position before he woke up.

Harry laughed and patted the arms that snaked around his waist before continuing to sketch.


Harry lightly shook Tom awake.

Harry stowed the sketchbook away as Tom groaned and rubbed his eye with the back of his hand. The rain outside had weakened a bit but there was no mistake that it won’t stop until later today, or even tomorrow.

When Harry saw the sluggish actions Tom had made to get up, Harry immediately pushed Tom back into the mattress by his shoulders. Tom scrunched his nose and held Harry by the wrists to stop him from lowering Tom even lower on the bed. Harry laughed at Tom’s attempts but stopped his actions to try and make Tom get a few more hours of sleep.

After gulping down the glass of water Harry handed to him, Tom asked, “How do you…” Tom’s face narrowed in concentration. “Deal with nightmares so easily?”

Harry leaned back on his arms and turned to face Tom, who sat cross-legged on his bed, staring at Harry expectantly. Harry just shrugged and looked up at the ceiling.

“I just,” Harry started, trying to get the exact words from his mind to make it all make sense. Tom asked his question multiple times before; it was just a matter of what happened and when he asked it. “I just deal with it, you know? I- I can’t explain the process how I do it, Tom, you know this. I just cope with it when it’s fresh and- and it starts to heal itself like it was just hurt by nothing.” Harry leaned forward and ran a hand down his face. “I can’t explain it but it’s working miracles.”

Tom took a sip of his water again. “That’s going to damage you more than the nightmares do.”

Harry bitterly laughed. “I know,” he said, words seemingly more faded and echoey than before, as if he hears himself talking from the outside. “I keep wondering what’s going to kill me first.”

Harry let out a shaky laugh. He hated talking about this. This is why he distracted himself, to block out all the insecurities and false hope he felt clinging to his skin and into his soul.

Harry absently wondered if Tom knew that too.

He felt himself be lightly carried and brought into Tom’s lap, knees on either side of his best friend. Harry felt his face heat up too, like he was some soup Mrs. Cole reheated on a cold day.

Why did Harry even think up that analogy?

Harry’s face felt too close to Tom but the other boy didn’t seem to question it as much as Harry did. Both of his hands cupped Harry’s jaw and cheeks, making Harry heat up even more. Why was Tom not affected by this? Sure, they cuddled a lot but that was normal! Harry on Tom’s lap wasn’t a common occurrence.

“You won’t die on my watch,” Tom let out, voice barely above a murmur. “You can’t.”

“And what if I did?” Harry breathed. This was too embarrassing for Harry, even if it was just the two of them in the room, but Harry trusted what Tom wanted to do. Harry would trust Tom even if it was a ballsy move to do.

“You won’t,” Tom rebutted. “You can’t. Now answer the question, please, mamour.

Harry’s nose scrunched up and Tom squished his cheeks because of it, making Harry swat Tom’s shoulder in retaliation. It was Tom’s fault to keep tossing nicknames like that so carelessly.

“I joke about them to help me cope, okay?” Harry huffed. Seriously, why was Tom so adamant about not joking about it? It didn’t mean anything to Harry. It meant nothing. “Or would you rather have me talk to myself like I’m that ‘Sir’ guy my vision keeps showing?”

It was Tom’s turn to scrunch his nose up. Cute. “That old geezer has nothing on you. Come talk to me about it then.”

Harry grinned at the statement and wrapped his arms around Tom’s neck before burying his face in his best friend’s neck. Tom's arms tightened around Harry’s waist.

Why did it feel so comforting?

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”


Tom played around with a small orb, twisting it around his fingers and throwing it up in the air.

They just had lunch with the other kids in the orphanage, all pretty excited about what they were going to do in the rain. Tom thought it was inconvenient. What was the point to run around in the rain with no sense of purpose than to just get wet?

Harry just thought Tom’s opinion sounded amusing.


“We’re gonna go to park,” Tom heard Billy declare, soup dripping down his chin as if he hadn’t just eaten a memory of his pet rabbit. It was disgusting. “And we’re gonna play in the mud!”

The rest of his cronies cheered Billy on with that idea, as if Billy just announced he won the lottery and had figured out the cure to cancer.

As if Billy had enough brains to figure out how to use a pencil, let alone fold paper. 

“Think of it this way, Tom,” Harry whispered, sticking a piece of meat into his mouth. “You can finally see pigs rolling around in mud in real life! Those idiots finally get a good cleaning while you get more information on Billy Stubbs. Win-win for both parties. Well-” Harry waved his fork around like it was a magic wand Tom could wish all his problems away. “It isn’t really informative; we already know Billy Stubbs is a disgrace of a pig. A win for our amusement then.”

Tom snorted. “If he was a pig, then why haven’t we eaten him yet? Mrs. Cole’s a good enough cook, she could probably get good enough food for the orphanage.” Tom stabbed a piece of meat from his plate, imagining it as Billy Stubbs. “We could save money for the orphanage too. Less kids to take care of.”

Billy Stubbs still continued to laugh and make a mess at the other end of the table. 

“True,” Harry said. “It’s a shame that she’d probably waste resources trying to cook Billy.”

Tom had to concede to that point.


Tom tossed the orb again, his eyes following the movement.

Harry was on the other side of the room, on his own bed, sketching away. Tom didn’t know what inspired Harry this time. Was it Mr. Scamander’s book? Or was it the rain that still steadily tapped against the glass of their windows?

Maybe it was Tom. He won’t be surprised if it was him.

Tom already finished all the books in his small collection. Maybe he’d go down to the corner shop and nick some books or even borrow some from the local library tomorrow.

It was all circumstance according to the weather tomorrow.

Tom stared right ahead of him, watching Harry work. His best friend’s hair was messier than usual and his position on the bed didn’t look all that comfortable. Still, Harry probably might give Tom some excuse on how comfortable it was.

As he always did.

Tom wondered why it was always so different with Harry, he’d been wondering that fact since the day they met. Why was Harry so different? What made him so special to warrant Tom’s interest and worry?

Tom bounced the orb from his bed and watched as it flew.

Something just pulled Tom to Harry, a push-and-pull game Tom sorely lost to. When Tom’s interest- or even his concern- piqued, there was this tug that just pulled Tom to Harry or even just a slight jerk to Harry’s direction. As if Tom himself couldn’t bear to stand away from Harry.

Why was it always Harry?

If it were Billy Stubbs or even Dennis Bishop, Tom could handle it. He hated, no, loathed , those idiots. He’d rather get exorcised more than once every single week if it meant not seeing those inarticulate, demented, devolved monkeys every day.

Tom sighed.

He’d already had this conversation with himself countless times before, so why start it again now? Maybe it was just in his best friend’s nature, Tom mused but that was an argument he kept on using every single time Harry came to his mind. Or maybe it’s because there’s something at play here.

Maybe that was it, Tom didn’t like being all that patient, after all. It was a hassle.

“Tom,” Harry called and Tom’s head snapped up to meet his best friend’s eyes. Harry grinned at him. “Come see what I made.” He hugged his sketchbook to his chest as if Tom hadn’t already guessed that it was another masterpiece to grace Tom’s gaze.

Tom stood up from his bed and walked over to Harry, a bit more eager than he thought he was.

Maybe the reason why Tom kept on wondering why Harry was different was because he was supposed to be different, like he’s slightly different from the others but still made Tom wander to only him. Only him, and nobody else, not even himself.

Maybe that was it.


“He is half of my soul, as the poets say.”

-Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

Notes:

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Chapter 9: 1938 [Veni, Vidi, Vici]

Summary:

“All the details are on the second piece of parchment in your envelopes,” said Dumbledore. “You will leave from King’s Cross Station on the first of September. There is a train ticket there too.”

Tom was about to say something but Harry’s hand tightened around his.

Don’t say it, Tom.

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

 

“Distrust is like a vicious fire that keeps going and going, even put out, it will reignite itself, devouring the good with the bad, and still feeding on empty.”

― Anthony Liccione


August 1, 1938
Wool’s Orphanage London, England

[Veni, Vidi, Vici]

 

Harry blinked and suppressed the vomit that quickly rose in his mouth. At least Harry proved to Harry he had a little bit of control over his visions.

“…near the end of her pregnancy, Merope was alone in London and in desperate need of gold, desperate enough to sell her one and only valuable possession, the locket that was one of Marvolo’s treasured family heirlooms.”

Marvolo.

So this was a vision about Tom then? Or was the world vision Harry was in had many people named Marvolo?

“But she could do magic!” said Vision-Harry impatiently. Harry didn’t understand why he was angry. Who was Merope? “She could have got food and everything for herself by magic, couldn’t she?”

“Ah,” said Sir, or should Harry say, Dumbledore, “perhaps she could. But it is my belief— I am guessing again, but I am sure I am right— that when her husband abandoned her, Merope stopped using magic. I do not think that she wanted to be a witch any longer. Of course, it is also possible that her unrequited love and the attendant despair sapped her of her powers; that can happen. In any case, as you are about to see, Merope refused to raise her wand even to save her own life.”

“She wouldn’t even stay alive for her son?” Who was Merope’s son? Was it Tom?

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “Could you possibly be feeling sorry for Lord Voldemort?”

Of course. Who wouldn’t with a backstory like that? Dumbledore was already in his bad books, him saying that only dragged him down further.

“No,” said Harry quickly. Why aren’t you sorry, Harry? “but she had a choice, didn’t she, not like my mother —”

“Your mother had a choice too,” said Dumbledore gently. “Yes, Merope Riddle chose death in spite of a son who needed her, but do not judge her too harshly, Harry. She was greatly weakened by long suffering and she never had your mother’s courage. And now, if you will stand…”

The pieces clicked in place. Riddle? Harry needed to talk to Tom immediately.

“Where are we going?” Harry asked, as Dumbledore joined him at the front of the desk.

“This time,” said Dumbledore, “we are going to enter my memory. I think you will find it both rich in detail and satisfyingly accurate. After you, Harry…”


As Harry rose from his nap, Mrs. Cole knocked on the door twice before opening it. Why did Harry have a feeling something was about to happen? A chain of events, maybe?

Tom glanced at him expectantly but Harry only shook his head. He could tell Tom later. Tom’s lips pursed at the response but stayed silent and closed his book.

The rain in the background rhythmically tapped against the window.

“Tom? Harry? You’ve got a visitor. This is Mr. Dumberton— sorry, Dunderbore. He’s come to tell you— well, I’ll let him do it.”

Dumbledore? Harry’s paranoia and curiosity heightened when the man himself, the ‘Sir’ in his vision, slightly younger, stood in the doorway of their room. He seemed surprised that there were two of them.

Why?

Harry’s eyes flickered to Tom and saw the suspicion in his narrowed eyes at both Harry’s reaction and Dumbledore’s eccentric appearance. 

“How do you do, Tom? Harry?” said Dumbledore, walking forward and holding out his hand.

Tom hesitated, then took it, and they shook hands. Harry did the same thing. Dumbledore drew up the hard, wooden chair beside the cabinet, so that they looked rather like hospital patients and their visitor.

Harry didn’t like the implications of that.

“I am Professor Dumbledore.”

“‘Professor’?” repeated Tom. He looked wary. As he should, Tom knew the name of the man in the visions Harry kept seeing. Harry knew Tom would forever ingrain the name in his mind after he told him all the things that happened in the visions.

Harry butted in. “Is that like ‘doctor’? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at us?”

Harry pointed at the door through which Mrs. Cole just left. They couldn’t be caught suspicious of him. To everyone else, they had just met the man today. There was no need to be suspicious of him, is there?

“No, no,” said Dumbledore, smiling.

“I don’t believe you,” said Tom. “She wants us looked at, doesn’t she? Tell the truth!”

He spoke the last three words with a ringing force that was almost shocking, not to Harry himself at least. It was a command, and it was one that Harry heard many times before. His eyes had widened and he was glaring at Dumbledore, who made no response except to continue smiling pleasantly. After a few seconds Tom stopped glaring, though he looked, if anything, warier still.

Harry let out a long sigh, the only break in his composure that he’ll allow himself. Why was Tom so demanding? Especially in front of a man they knew to be dangerous.

Harry needed to reign him in. 

“Tom, it’s fine,” he said, smiling. Tom wavered but narrowed his eyes at Harry. Harry just widened his smile and raised his eyebrows a bit, he had this handled. “He might be who he says he is. You don’t have to be so suspicious.” Harry looked at Dumbledore but held no obvious sign that he was as suspicious as Tom was. “Sorry sir.”

“It’s quite alright, Harry.” Harry’s smile tensed at the casual use of his name.

“Who are you?”

“I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school— your new school, if you would like to come.”

Hogwarts. The name sent a warm feeling in Harry’s chest. It sounded like home and heaven at the same time but there was this… tug. A tug of something that Harry couldn’t describe. What was it?

“Is that some kind of asylum then?” Tom asked, “The old cat should be the one in the asylum. Did she tell you about Dennis and Amy? We did nothing to them, you can ask them, they’ll tell you.”

Harry didn’t know what plan Tom had in store for the both of them but Harry decided to play along. “Tom…”

Tom’s eyes snapped to Harry, softening a bit but it still blazed with something akin to anger and disgust. Anger and disgust to Dumbledore but it was thinly veiled with different intentions.

“What?” Tom snapped. “I’m not wrong. We did nothing to them!”

“I am not from the asylum,” said Dumbledore patiently. “I am a teacher and, if you will sit down calmly, I shall tell you about Hogwarts. Of course, if you would rather not come to the school, nobody will force you —”

“I’d like to see them try.” Harry’s voice was above a whisper, almost as if he was just a shadow passing. Despite this, the way he said it held a pillar of determination and a promise of something else. Even Dumbledore flinched a bit.

“Hogwarts,” Dumbledore went on, as though he had not heard Harry’s words, “is a school for people with special abilities —”

“We’re not mad!”

“I know that you are not mad. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic.”

There was silence. Tom had frozen, his face expressionless, but his eyes were flickering back and forth between each of Dumbledore’s, as though trying to catch one of them lying.

Lying with his intentions, maybe, Harry thought. Harry knew that Tom knew there was a truth to Dumbledore’s words, even if it’s just a little. The visions were enough proof.

“Magic, sir?” Harry repeated.

“That’s right.”

Tom’s voice cut through with faux disbelief and wonder. “It’s… it’s magic? What we can do?”

“What is it that you can do?”

“All sorts,” breathed Tom. A flush of excitement was rising up his neck into his hollow cheeks; he looked fevered. Harry worried what he was going to say. “I can make things move without touching them. I can make light out of nothing. I- I can make the temperature colder if I want it to.”

Harry had no doubt Tom wasn’t acting that when he said it.

Harry swallowed. Compared to Tom, Harry was much more cautious than Tom was with Dumbledore, and Tom was suspicious of every single thing they saw. Harry knew that he had to tell at least a little bit of truth to tell this act.

“The drawings I sketch sometimes feel like they’re moving,” Harry said, a small smile etched on his lips. Dumbledore sent an intrigued glance at Harry. Gotcha. “I always knew we were different, special. Always.”

“Well, you’re quite right, the both of you,” admitted Dumbledore, only the ghost of his smile left. What made Dumbledore suspicious of them? “You are both wizards.”

Tom looked up at Dumbledore. There was something to his face that tugged Harry, a wild happiness that made Harry’s stomach turn sour. He knew it was all an act but it hurt Harry that he only saw Tom’s face like that only once or twice and it took attempts for Tom to react like that. Dumbledore’s words only took seconds to utter.

“Are you a wizard too then?” Tom asked. “Wand and everything?”

“Quite right, Tom.”

“Prove it then.”

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. “If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts —”

Tom glanced at Harry before answering, “Of course we are!”

“Then you will address me as ‘Professor’ or ‘sir.’“

Tom’s expression hardened for the most fleeting moment before he said, in an unrecognizably polite voice, “I’m sorry, sir. I meant— please, Professor, could you show me—?”

Harry was sure that Dumbledore was going to refuse, that he would tell them that there would be plenty of time for practical demonstrations at Hogwarts, that they were currently in a building full of non-magical people and must therefore be cautious. To his great surprise, however, Dumbledore drew his wand from an inside pocket of his suit jacket, pointed it at their shabby closet in the corner, and gave the wand a casual flick.

The closet burst into flames.

Both Harry and Tom jumped to their feet. When Tom rounded on Dumbledore as Harry flew open their closet, the flames vanished, leaving everything completely undamaged.

Tom’s expression grew a bit greedy before Harry poked him in the back and settled. “Where can we get one?”

“All in good time,” said Dumbledore. “I think there is something trying to get out of your wardrobe.”

And sure enough, a faint rattling could be heard from inside it. Harry’s face grew panicked but then calmed when he remembered Tom moving their box of trophies under his bed before Harry had taken his nap. The only things left that resembled trophies were practically useless stuff they stole from the store or from the street.

On the topmost shelf, above a rail of threadbare clothes, a small cardboard box was shaking and rattling as though there were several frantic mice trapped inside it.

“Take it out,” said Dumbledore. Tom took down the quaking box. He looked a bit unnerved but Harry knew it was all for show.

“Is there anything in that box that you ought not to have?” asked Dumbledore.

Breaking character, Tom threw Dumbledore a long, clear, calculating look. “Yes, I suppose so, sir,” he said finally, in an expressionless voice.

Tom took off the lid and tipped the contents onto his bed without looking at them. A mess of small, everyday objects: a yo-yo, a silver thimble, and a tarnished harmonica among them fell onto the bed. Once free of the box, they stopped quivering and lay quite still upon the thin blankets.

Nothing of importance.

“You will return them to their owners with your apologies,” said Dumbledore calmly, putting his wand back into his jacket. “I shall know whether it has been done. And be warned: Thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts.”

“But sir,” Harry interjected, “found them down the street!” 

“Then donate them and give them to other kids.”

Tom did not look remotely abashed; he was still staring coldly and appraisingly at Dumbledore. At last he said in a colorless voice, “Yes, sir.”

Harry echoed his best friend’s words. “Yes, sir.”

“At Hogwarts,” Dumbledore went on, “we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have— inadvertently, I am sure— been using your powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school.” Harry’s expression tightened at the statement. “You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to allow your magic to run away with you. But you should know that Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry of Magic— yes, there is a Ministry— will punish lawbreakers still more severely. All new wizards must accept that, in entering our world, they abide by our laws.”

“Yes, sir,” they both said again.

Tom was quiet when Harry gathered the objects back into their box and set them on the table. When he had finished, Harry turned to Dumbledore and said, “We haven’t got any money.”

“That is easily remedied,” said Dumbledore, drawing a leather money-pouch from his pocket. “There is a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance to buy books and robes. It might not be enough and you might have to buy some of your spell books and so on secondhand—”

“Where do you buy spell books?” interrupted Tom, who had taken the heavy money bag without thanking Dumbledore, and was now examining a fat gold coin.

“In Diagon Alley,” said Dumbledore. “I have your list of books and school equipment with me. I can help you find everything —”

“You’re coming with us?” asked Tom, looking up.

“Certainly, if you—”

“We don’t need you,” said Tom. “We’re used to doing things for ourselves, we go around London on our own all the time. How do you get to this Diagon Alley— sir?” he added, catching Dumbledore’s eye.

Harry thought that Dumbledore would insist upon accompanying them, but once again he was surprised. Dumbledore handed Tom two envelopes, explaining that it contained their list of equipment, and after telling them exactly how to get to the Leaky Cauldron from the orphanage, he said, “You will be able to see it, although Muggles around— non-magical people, that is— will not. Ask for Tom the barman— easy enough to remember, as he shares your name—”

Riddle gave an irritable twitch, as though trying to displace an irksome fly. Harry led him to sit on his bed instead. Dumbledore followed the movement.

“You dislike the name ‘Tom’?”

“There are a lot of Toms,” muttered Riddle. “Only Harry gets to call me that.” Then, as though he could not suppress the question, as though it burst from him in spite of himself, he asked, “Was my father a wizard? He was called Tom Riddle too, they’ve told me.”

Harry’s hand tightened around Tom’s. Tom gave him a long stare. “What is it?”

Harry shook his head but latched his pinky finger around Tom’s own. Tom tightened his finger in response before he looked back up at Dumbledore. Harry will tell Tom later, when Dumbledore had already left.

“I’m afraid I don’t know,” said Dumbledore, his voice gentle.

“My mother can’t have been magic, or she wouldn’t have died,” said Riddle, more to himself than Dumbledore. “It must’ve been him. So— when I’ve got all my stuff— when do I come to this, Hogwarts?”

“All the details are on the second piece of parchment in your envelopes,” said Dumbledore. “You will leave from King’s Cross Station on the first of September. There is a train ticket there too.”

Tom was about to say something but Harry’s hand tightened around his.

Don’t say it, Tom.

“Is everything alright?” His tone was casual but his eyes moved curiously over Riddle’s face. They stayed silent for a moment, man and boy, staring at each other. The stare was broken; Dumbledore was at the door. “Is there something you boys want to say?”

Harry answered for both of them. “No, sir.”

“Good-bye, Tom, Harry. I shall see you at Hogwarts.”

And he left.


“What did you want to say to me, Harry?” Tom turned around on the bed and stared at Harry, waiting. Waiting for what exactly? Tom didn’t know.

Harry sat in front of him, quiet as a mouse but thoughts so loud that Tom could practically hear them from the whispering atmosphere of the room itself. His hand was still in Tom’s, pinky fingers still latched onto each other.

Tom was tempted to hold Harry’s other hand too.

After a few minutes of silence, Tom saw Harry gulp and muster himself the courage to tell Tom. Tell what exactly? “It’s about your parents, Tom…”

What?


“I…” Harry grimaced at Tom’s reaction. Eyes full of disbelief and posture frozen in place. Tom’s hand tightened in Harry’s. “I’m sorry, Tom.”

“What did your vision say?” Tom’s question was more of a plea than a question or a demand. A plea of desperation.

“How your mother died,” Harry whispered, voice cutting through the thick silence of the room, “and who your father really is.”

Tom frantically shook his head. A single word on the tip of his tongue that Harry already knew. Intimately. Harry gently grabbed Tom by the shoulders and leaned his head on his shoulder. Tom stayed silent but tugged Harry’s waist and set him on his lap before burrowing his face in Harry’s neck.

Harry couldn’t do anything. Not when Tom’s like this. He lost all the motivation he had to comment about their position.

“You don’t want me to tell you, don’t you?”

Harry felt Tom shake his head. Of course not. Who would after all these years?

“When do you want me to tell you?” Tom’s grip on Harry grew tighter and Harry petted Tom’s curls in response, a silent show of support. What else could Harry even do in his situation?

Tom’s voice was a deathly whisper, so quiet that Harry had to strain to hear it.

“Years later…”

“Alright.”

Harry took that request to heart.


That night, Dumbledore sat in his study, a glass of whisky in his right hand. 

It was quiet, and a bit cold for an August night. The fire was quietly crackling in the small office but its warmth washed through Dumbledore like those summer nights back in 1899.

Dumbledore sighed and ran a hand down his face, stopping right on top of his mouth and holding back a yawn.

Tom Riddle and Harry James were a one-of-a-kind pair.

Dumbledore sipped on his whisky.

It was clear those two had a connection no one else in their life had. Their subtle glances at each other, how they knew exactly what the other is thinking from just a small indication.

It was fascinating how two 11-year-olds could have communication that was clear and subtle while some wizards take years to practice with each other. The level of trust between the two was insurmountable.

It was amazing, incredible even of how much trust two people could put in each other before it broke. Before it collapsed and broke like concrete dust of ruins.

It reminded Dumbledore of himself and Gellert.

He had missed the man quite dearly, even after years of no direct contact. After what happened in France, the man had gone quiet but Dumbledore knew the implications of his ex-partner’s silence. If he could, Gellert would never be that silent. The man was subtle, but not quiet. Not at all.

According to Newt, Gellert had talked about freedom and to avoid another Muggle war, another tragedy upon the world. He had told the crowd that they weren’t violent, the non-followers of his agenda were.

Us. People who support himself, Dumbledore. But how is it violent and barbaric if Dumbledore and the other people of the Wizarding World only fought to preserve the peace Gellert disrupted? Why does he blame the rest of the Wizarding World for being opposed to them if he manipulated poor Credence to lash out in New York?

But that was nearly 11 years ago.

Dumbledore took another sip of his whisky. 

Nevertheless, he should keep an eye on those two. If he saw the same bond he and Gellert had in Tom and Harry, he must keep an eye on them. For the sake of the Wizarding World. He mustn't let another tragedy like his and Gellert’s relationship affect the Wizarding World more than it already has now.

It was his duty and cause to protect the Wizarding World of Gellert Grindelwald and those who will follow in his footsteps.

Dumbledore may have made the plans that shaped Gellert’s agenda when he was young, but he had learnt of his mistakes and mustn't let those plans come into fruition. He may have been young and ambitious then, but he was also quite reckless. The bones of his and Gellert’s plans were pure enough but the skin and muscle that made it strong were catastrophes waiting to be sent down on the Wizarding World.

He mustn't let those rain down on them. For the sake of the Wizarding World.


Billy Stubbs bombarded them the moment they went downstairs for dinner. The other boy smelled like mud and petrichor from the ongoing rain, making Tom scrunch his nose up. How hasn’t Mrs. Cole seen Billy yet and how easily he could be taken as a worm? He smelt and left disgusting marks on the floor with no sense of self cleanliness.

“Finally saw a doctor to get you checked?” Billy spat, saliva and rain flying to the two. Harry reeled at the audacity of Billy when the only one with behavioral issues was himself.

“Shame it wasn’t for you,” Harry retorted, fists slightly balling on instinct from just being around the messy boy. “You would have been someone better if you did get checked.”

Billy ignored the retort again like he always did. Out of habit of not understanding or not, Harry didn’t know. “So you did get checked out then?” Billy’s eyes were filled with glee as he realized the implications of Harry’s insult, ignoring the actual meaning behind it.

Stupid, boar headed git.

No,” Tom spat out, nose slightly nasally from the crying he’d done earlier. Harry wondered how well he coped with the runny nose. “Obviously not. Someone took us back on the scholarship we applied for.”

Billy stood there for a few moments to process what Tom said before he gaped at them, slowly realizing.

“You’re going to a different school then, ah?” There, underneath all that disgust and glee was a thinly veiled blanket of hurt and desperation from Billy, Harry realized. Desperate that he was going to lose his two main victims? Or something else?

“Obviously.”

Billy slowly backed away before his slightly hurt expression turned into one of pure delight and he ran to the dining area.

Both Tom and Harry sat there, staring at the direction Billy ran off to. What even was that interaction?

“Was Billy acting off to you or was it just me?”

“It wasn’t just you, mon cher,” Tom confirmed before sneezing into his hands.


“What do you think about Dumbledore?” Harry wondered, leaning against Tom, sketching as the other boy sneezed into the sheet of tissues from the roll Mrs. Cole gave him. Tom still hasn’t recovered from his cold, despite doing all he and Mrs. Cole could to stop it. “He was a bit more wary of us than he was in the visions.”

As Harry shaded in the shadow of the fallen tissue beside them, a tribute to the rare times Tom got sick, Tom croaked out, “More suspicious than Mrs. Cole was when we got in trouble for Benson and Bishop. He was watching me more than you.”

“Great acting, by the way, Tom,” Harry absently commented, idly shading in more shadows. “I absolutely did not know where you wanted to go with that performance but I am here for it.”

Tom snorted and blew into his nose. “You should have seen yourself,  mon cher,” he pointed out. “You might have set us up for Dumbly-shit’s good books.”

Harry laughed and shook as he tried to recover from Tom’s mocking of Dumbledore’s name.

“What?” Tom questioned, whipping his nose again, a crack of a peeking through the tissue. “What I said was true.”

“Just shut up!”


 

“Achilles' eyes were bright in the firelight, his face drawn sharply by the flickering shadows. I would know is in dark or disguise, told myself. I would know it even in madness.”

― Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles

Notes:

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