Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Individuals aren’t naturally paid-up members of the human race, except biologically. They need to be bounced around by the Brownian motion of society, which is a mechanism by which human beings constantly remind one another that they are… well … human beings.

Terry Prachett – Men At Arms.

Magic in its raw, unbridled form is and remains a terrible and unpredictable force. Wizards have studied Magic for millennia and only managed to wrench mastery over the most insignificant chunk of it. Progress is made, but step by step with the occasional bounds and leaps, as anything more daring is often only rewarded by a swift blast, a puff of smoke and one less inquisitive brain.

It is therefore extremely difficult to understand or predict the effect of a sudden and unexpected blast of wild magic. It is a little like trying to forecast the weather for the next week, but the next week is the next second and the possible outcome is a flood, a hurricane, or the sudden blizzard over the Sahara.

And as children always love to make sure to keep things simple for their parents, it is a well-known fact they are a predilected conduct of raw magic. There is a spontaneity to children, that let them grasp on it and that is lost to boring adults who have a more mature conceptualisation of the idea of ending up as roasted chicken. Still, their loss, right?

Harry Potter was sure of one thing, which all in all was not a lot, but was quite enough for a few seconds filled with relief.

He wasn’t about to be grabbed by Dudley to be put through the second half of the Harry-hunting game. It was quite a scary thing, as the second part of the game depended on his cousin’s mood, and his friend inventiveness. He suspected they had started a competition of thinking especially nasty things to do to Harry in order to entertain Dudley and be -the best friend of the day-, a valued position in the gang.

As Harry’s breath settled from his frantic running, and the panicked haze of relief lifted from his eyes, Harry took in his surrounding, noting the tiles behind his hands and knees, and the fact he was at least one storey up. He blinked, tried to readjust his slightly broken glasses over his nose, and blinked again.

Rain started to splatter as a gust of wind caught him violently.

## # ##

‘What do you mean, he fell from the school’s roof?’

The voice from one or the other girl that worked at the orphanage filtered from under the infirmary door. Tom was casually sitting on the topmost step of the stairs, conveniently within earshot of the infirmary. Skimming through a book while keeping an ear out.

He’d heard the shuffle, last night as Mrs. Cole had been woken up by the local police officer. Not an unusual thing as the night patrol would collect the occasional orphans and bring them in. A mighty thunderstorm had broken with the evening and Tom had been rolling in his bed as sleep eluded him. So, he had paddled to the door of his little bedroom and had peaked out.

The officer was carrying a boy, with Mrs Cole leading the way by candlelight. He was older than Tom would have expected and bleeding from the head. Tom only got to glimpse a turf of unruly black hair and very bright, dazed green eyes before they turned the corner, and the corridor was returned to its black night.

‘Apparently so. Some kids spotted him and ran for the teachers. He has apparently woken up a couple times when he was with officer Smith, but they could not get a coherent statement from the poor child.’ Mrs Cole answered in a worried way.

‘And nobody knows who he is? No name, nothing?’

‘No. The officer has promised to put up notices and send a word to the papers to try and contact his family. Until then we have to make sure he is looked after.’

‘He is such a nice-looking chap,’ the girl, Anna(?), tutted sadly, ‘a little thin though. Perhaps he has been on the run?’

‘I do not know. Look after him, would you?’ Mrs Cole answered, in a conclusive fashion.

Tom closed his book carefully and rose to leave before Mrs Cole caught him being nosy again.

A nameless boy, falling from roofs.

Well, at least it had been an interesting story.

## # ##

The next day a notice was published in the papers, notifying a dark-haired boy with green eyes of about nine had been found, and that any relatives were to inquire at Wool’s orphanage.

Tom had sneered, fully expecting tearful parents to show up to collect their precious little boy.

The hours of the day ticked by, one after the other, and no one showed up.

And neither did they on the morrow, or the following days or weeks.

## # ##

After a couple days, Harry had been told he was fit enough to leave the infirmary. Anna remained concerned the boy seemed to have suffered quite the choc during his fall. He remained confused, and confusing.

He had been quite sure his name was Harry Potter. They had managed to parse out his parents were long dead, but he had been in the care of his aunt and uncle, named Dursley. Things got a little more complicated then as the boy affirmed, they were living in Little Whinging, Surrey -which did not exist- and that he had not the faintest idea how he had ended up in London. Only that he had been running from his cousin, which seemed to be indeed quite the motivation from his description but not quite enough to justify the trip.

Mrs Cole had ended politely nodding, concluded to herself the boy was lying, but agreed with Anna the fall must have rattled his head and that perhaps with time and care he would recollect the proper address.

He had been bunked with a nice, reasonable childe names James Coot, given a pair of old, but well cared for second-hand clothes and shoes. Smoothly, the life in the orphanage had clicked back into its little normal rhythm.

When it had become apparent Harry would be staying, and thanks to the rather awesome tale of his arrival, many of the other child dragged him into their little groups and games.

Harry, after a couple of days, found himself quite happy to be staying at Wool’s. The chores were not so bad, and the other children were not afraid of him because of Dudley.

It was… weird somehow in a fashion he could not place. The clothes, the building. Something nagged from the back of his head. But his memory was quite fuzzy since he had woken up. He could quite remember some precise things, like his relatives, and living with them. But apart from that, everything was very blurry.

His clothes scratched, the material rough against his skin. On the other hand, he felt like they rather fitted, and was happy about this innocuous fact.

## # ##

‘Who is he?’ Harry asked the girl that was currently seating next to him, Susan he thought her name was, pointing toward the carefully combed dark haired boy that was currently crossing the courtyard a little way from them.

He held a stack of books, and was carefully looking, Harry thought, at nobody.

Among all the other kids, Harry couldn’t help but feel rather curious about the bookish, discreet boy he had only come across a few times. He just caught his attention, like a passing lamp in the dark.

Susan peeked to try and see who Harry was inquiring about, before pouting a little.

‘That’s Tom Riddle, Harry. I wouldn’t try to speak to him if I were you,’ she affirmed vehemently.

‘Why so?’ Harry asked, genuinely curious.

‘He is mean, and he doesn’t have any friend.’ She answered very fast, before stopping to ponder her next words. ‘He does weird things. Freaky things.’ She confided like she was trusting Harry with a juicy secret. ‘I even heard Mrs Cole call him the Devil’s child, one night when she was talking with another adult and thinking nobody was listening.’

The girl seemed to puff in pride at being daring enough to wander after hours and hearing such a secret. Harry though, bristled.

‘That’s not a very nice thing to say!’ He accused with a frown.

‘I can’t help it that he is a freak!’ She snapped, vexed. ‘Everyone says so, it’s not just me you know.’

Harry suddenly felts sick to the stomach, not really sure why. The word ‘freak’ tasted sour in his mind, like a slap against his face.

‘Well, perhaps everyone is an idiot then!’ He snapped back, before snapping his book shut and storming off.

## # ##

Harry Potter.

Tom couldn’t quite place what it was about the new boy that both irked him and pushed him to want and clutch him closer. It was odd, and he had never felt that way toward any other member of the orphanage before.

The closest he had felt that way to, was when some kid would come by a new toy, or object that he would want for himself. Coming into their possession was never too difficult.

Thing is, he couldn’t get rid of the itch so easily with the new boy. He couldn’t quite come up to a boy and steal him.

Tom Riddle stopped and took in the sight of Harry Potter storming off from one snotty little girl that had been following him like a lost puppy for the past few days.

A way of possessing someone. Like a toy, to play with.

Was it how people felt? When they got the impulse to… Make friend?

Chapter Text

‘Mr Potter, what is the meaning of this?’ The stern man that taught the class asked sharply.

Harry looked miserably from the blotched mess of ink he had made on his notebook to the severe face of his new teacher.

‘I … Sir I don’t think I can use this…’ He stammered, looking at the pen and inkwell, ashamed of himself.

The other kids all seemed to manage all right. He remembered his teachers had always complained about his writing, but he was quite sure it had never been that bad. The nib was a devilish stuff, as it kept catching into the paper, poking holes and staining through the sheet.   

‘Have you not learned to write?’ The man asked, with a pinched expression.

Mrs Cole had assured Harry, before his first day of school, that his teacher had been informed of his condition. His apparent memory loss. Which seemed to be the only reason he refrained from being too harsh on him.

‘I have sir, I think I could with a pencil…’

A few snickers broke out and Harry felt his face redden in shame. The man clapped in his hands for silence, failed to spot the unruly students, and returned his attention to Harry.

‘Fine. We will have to solve this. You will copy line as an extra homework every day until you can use a proper pen as the rest of your comrades.’

## # ##

Classes were hard. Harry couldn’t remember being an especially bad student, but here it seemed like he couldn’t get anything right. Everything was so strict, and the teachings were focused on remembering certain things precisely right.

And he was not good at remembering anything precisely right at the moment.

He had, though, impressed their teacher one or two times during their arithmetic lesson by answering rightly but with an odd turn of thought. So, at least, he had not been categorised as a complete moron on his first day, which he was mighty glad of.

They were having a short break between the afternoon lessons, but Harry had elected to stay inside. He still felt very bad for not being able to use his pen properly and had decided to throw all his efforts into solving this problem as soon as possible.

He did not want to stend out. To keep standing out. Being known as -the kid that fell from the roof- was already bad enough. He wanted to be normal. Harry. Just Harry.

He painfully traced the characters of his first line, careful not to apply too much pressure that would break the nib. The ink kept running out, and when he dipped the pen in the inkwell, he would soak the paper with its next scratch.

It was all very irritating.

‘That does not look very nice.’ A boy’s voice lilted from behind him.

Harry gave a startled jump on his bench and turned around. He had thought he was alone left in the classroom. But Tom Riddle was standing a few steps behind him, looking with careful curiosity over Harry’s shoulder.

Harry wanted to bristle, feeling bad for having been found out practicing and failing anyway. And by Tom Riddle, whom he had wanted to talk to for a few days at that. Trust Harry to have himself look like a moron when he least wanted to. Something in Tom’s expression though, prevented him to snap back defiantly.

Riddle looked curious, and not here to nag Harry in a bad way. His face was very neutral, but his eyes were sharp. Harry felt a little pang of envy. Riddle looked neat, well put together. Harry had needed to ask Anna to help him with his tie this morning because he couldn’t do the knot properly.

Tom looked like someone who didn’t need anybody’s help.

‘I know…’ Harry finally sighed. ‘It feels like I have never held a pen. It’s hard.’ He admitted.

Tom looked at him and seemed to ponder things for a second. Like Harry was puzzling him.

‘I could help you, if you want.’ He finally proposed, with a guarded tone. ‘It would be easy since we both live at the same place.’ He added as a justification.

‘You would?’ Harry perked up excitedly.

A tension seemed to leave Tom’s shoulders with Harry enthusiastic answer.

‘Yes. My name is Tom Riddle, by the way.’

‘Oh, I know!’ Harry quipped excitedly. ‘I am Harry Potter.’ He added as an afterthought.

A slight smile seemed to tug Tom’s lips, which was not an unpleasant sight, Harry thought.

‘Yes. I think everyone at the orphanage knows of the boy who fell from the sky.’

## # ##

Harry was seating at Tom’s little desk and painfully going through his assigned lines. Tom was working from his bed, trying to memorise his lesson but his attention kept being dragged back to Harry.

He had been hesitant to open his room to Harry, as a private space was a very hard thing to come by in the promiscuity of the orphanage. But he had grown jealous of his time with Harry. Out of this room, the other children kept trying to get Harry’s attention, and to drag him away. Despite Harry usually shooing them off, as he had taken very seriously to catch back with his school problems, it irked Tom to no end.

He did not like the competition.

In Tom room it was just the two of them, and the occasional scratching of quill. It felt right in an unexpected way, as Tom had never felt at ease with other people. They had not even had a proper conversation yet, only snippets of chat about school and the orphanage.

Harry seemed content to just share his time with him. And Harry felt all right to him.

It was not normal, he thought, worrying a bit of pencil between his fingers.

Harry yawned and stretched his hand, before turning to Tom with a smile and thrusting his sheet on the bed.

‘I think I got the hang of those letters! I am not even that slow anymore to write them.’ He beamed proudly.

In Tom’s opinion, they were still a bit wobbly and would definitely benefit from some more practicing but there was no denying a few days of practice had done wonder to his handwriting.

‘It’s better. You won’t need the pencil anymore soon.’

‘I know right?’ Harry smiled, starting to collect his things.

‘You’re leaving?’ Tom asked, a little foreign pang hitting him in the chest. ‘What about our lessons?’

Harry gave him a guilty pout.

‘I’ll do that tonight, before bed. I promised Amy that we would go and try to find her comic book together. She has been keeping her pocket money all week for it.’

Tom watched him silently from the bed, as Harry dashed out to meet his other friends.

When Harry was gone from the tiny bedroom, the door resolutely shut behind him, Tom grabbed the discarded sheet of paper. He smoothed out the wrinkles and let his eyes roam the unruly lettering absentmindedly.

Harry other friends.

## # ##

‘Tom?’ Harry asked, his question hanging in the air like an offered hand.

They were cooped up by a little window, watching the snow fall over the courtyard in the night. Tom had managed to sneak out to warm cups of tea, and they had escaped the bustling of the common room. It was colder here, away from the fire, but it was quiet. The snow seemed to blanket the world, muffling out every sound.

In this moment it felt like it was only the two of them.

Tom let it hang, observing the famished shape of a dog digging around some waste, before padding away in the frozen landscape.

He shuffled closer to Harry under their shared blanket, not admitting to being grateful for the warmth and comfort provided by the other boy.

‘What?’ He finally whispered.

Harry was also looking out of the window, pensive.

He had filled up a little on the thin grub of the orphanage. Three months had been enough to erase the bruises and cuts from his fall, but his memory was still playing tricks on him. It did not seem to affect what he learned since the accident, showing that his brain was thankfully working just fine. The accident had only erased things, which was good by Tom’s.

Harry did not need any of those memories. If he got them back, there was a chance he would leave.

Harry did not need a family when he had Tom.

The only thing Tom was admittedly curious about with Harry’s past, was his scar. It was too old to be from his fall, and very strangely shaped. Like a lightning, cut with the sharpest blade on his forehead. It felt strangely appropriate, given how Harry had come to Wool’s on the night of one of the biggest thunderstorm Tom had ever seen. Strangely… fitting. Tom had decided this scare did not need its real history. It only needed to be a reminder of this night. Of Harry being brought to Wool’s.

‘Why are the other afraid of you?’ Harry asked, flickering his eyes to Tom’s.

In the night and against the strange snowy light, they looked steely green. Almost otherworldly.

Tom rather liked their colours.

‘They do not like me because I do not let them hurt me,’ Tom answered smoothly, shrugging against Harry.

Harry seemed nonplussed by his answer, and pouted slightly, ready to raise an objection.

‘No don’t. You don’t understand,’ he spat with some more ire. ‘You have just come in here, but I have grown in this place. The others…’ Something seemed to squeeze in his chest, shortening his breath slightly, ‘I am not like them. They are stupid, gross. They are brutish. I am different.’ He finished, peering into Harry.

Looking for lies, for recoil.

But Harry seemed, strangely, to let a tension slip from him. Instead of accusing him, or berating him, he seemed thoughtful.

‘I think I understand,’ he finally answered, the snow falling slowly by the window, ‘I am different too.’

Oh, Tom though, if only Harry knew. Tom was different, and there was no way Harry could understand. A sick thought wormed its way in, then. If he knew, would Harry recoil? Would he push Tom away? Call him a freak and denounce him to the priest to be exorcised, as Billy had tried to do?

Harry was observing the falling snow, and Tom was observing Harry.

No.

He would not let Harry push him away.

Even if he had to push Harry again from the top of a roof, so that he’d forget, or play with his head.

He would keep Harry. They belonged together.

Chapter Text

Tom was in a bleak mood. The church was freezing, it seemed like the priest had been drowning on his sermon for hours and he was no closer to solve his problem.

He was quite resolute to have Harry for himself, but it seemed like most of the other orphans were quite resolute that he wouldn’t and held onto Harry like a mob of kids to a brand-new football. And Harry, ever obvious and infuriatingly content, seemed happy to simply bounce around without a care in the world.

He knew he needed to be careful. A false move could end up very badly. But it felt like life was purposefully holding back on any opportunity that he could work around with.

He had therefore been stuck in watching Harry run away from him like a bumbling idiot every so often, to Susan, James, Alan…

He let his eyes trickle down the crumbling paint on the vaunted ceiling and his mind wander. There were shadows playing there, flickering from the candle lights in the biting cold. It draped the goldish wooden ornaments and the stern faces of the other parishioners…

‘Tom,’ Harry whispered, tucking discretely on his sleeve to get his attention.

‘Hush.’ Tom answered, trying to pretend paying some sort of attention.

It was the thing. Mrs Cole was always very strict that they would behave properly during the Sunday office. She explained at length that they must be on their best behaviour in God’s presence. Tom suspected the real reason was that she hoped a well-groomed and behaved orphan might catch the eye and pity of a local good soul.

Tom just kept to himself so that the reverent would not be in any need to stare him down anything more than he already did. The man had known Tom as a baby. In the sense that he had apparently tried, and obviously failed to exorcise him a couple time then. A third try, rather unpleasant but somewhat memorable, had been attempted when Tom was around six.

The old, grey and crumbling man belonged to the number of those that had grown up not being taught so much of God’s mercy as of the divine punishment.

Since then, they had kept a safe distance from each other. Tom, with reserved loathing, and the reverent with barely concealed disapprobation. Mrs Cole liked to simply pretend nothing strange had been happening.

When it became apparent Harry’s nagging would soon become more of a giveaway than a hushed conversation, Tom snapped.

‘What?’ He hissed as silently as possible.

‘Who is that?’ Harry asked right away.

Tom flickered his eyes to see what had grabbed Harry’s volatile attention. It was a large painting, that Tom himself had already observed at length. It showed a mighty and noble winged warrior in a bright armour, smiting the prostrated and seething form of another winged man, with red eyes and scales eating up its pale skin.

It was fascinating.

‘It is Saint Michael, striking down Lucifer from heaven.’ Tom whispered in Harry’s ear.

## # ##

On their way back through the grim smeared streets of London, and under Harry pouncing insistence, Tom continued his story. He had been rather gobsmacked when Harry had told him he had never heard much of the bible, nor been to church, and he had thankfully been fast enough in warning him into keeping this a secret. The threat of bible study session with the reverent had been quite enough to discourage Harry from babbling when he had come across the stern, old man on his first church outing.

‘Lucifer was the brightest, fairest and most powerful of God’s angel. In the beginning, he was his most beloved. But then, God decided to create the humans, mortals who were inferior in everything to the angels. When God instructed his angels to serve the humans, Lucifer refused.’ Tom pinched his lips, thrilled to see Harry hanging on his every words with wide, attentive eyes. ‘So, God sticked Lucifer down from the heavens, condemning him to crawl the earth. The painting was just showing the Archangel Michael fighting him.’

‘The Archangel was beautiful…’ Harry commented.

‘He was a moron.’ Tom spat, with ill-founded irritation.

Harry blinked a couple times in surprise.

‘Why so? If Lucifer disobeyed…’

He could see Harry was unsure, as the whole matter of religion was still uneasy waters to him. Tom was glad of it. The other people in the orphanage were insufferably keen on religion, but Harry was all right to talk about it to, as the new lot being dumped on him made it hard to take it as anything else than stories.

‘Why fight Lucifer? Why should the angels have bent and bowed to serve their inferiors?’ Tom pressed with vehement spit.  

It was something that had been bothering him for a long time. And at some point, it had taken quite the personal turn.

Why should he bow to them, indeed?

‘But if they had all this power,’ Harry refuted, ‘surely they could make life better to the humans?’ He continued, his gaze mournfully taking in the various shades of grey splashed around this cold London morning. His fingers caught the hems of his thin coat, trying to bring it closer to himself in hope to be a little warmer.

Tom considered this a little.

He could understand the comfort sought in the idea of something powerful acting for the best.

His reality though, was too little food, a biting cold wind, and too thin clothes.

And his gift. His precious secret.

‘If they wanted to help, let them,’ he answered darkly, ‘but I do not see where God had any right to force them into it,’ he finished bitterly.

Unbeknown to the two children, engrossed as they were in their conversation, a third party had been privy to the exchange. A round faced boy, with quivering lips and two little beady, watery eyes.

## # ##

Life had been keeping her cards close to her chest these past few weeks, as there it knew there is only so much you can rattle before some kind of universal scale begins to get severely unbalanced. From experience, the fun was not worth the pain to pick up the mess afterwards. It smiled, the kind of smile chiselled on ancient Greek statues that either makes you want to kiss them silly or twat them for being pompous arse, and flashed its hand.

## # ##

Billy Stubbs was courageous young man, at least according to Mrs Cole. Any kid, and some of the staff would have rather gone for ‘runny’ or even ‘sticky’ on bad days, if asked for the proper adjective to describe Billy Stubbs.

But keeping in mind he was a courageous young man, he had decided to Interfere. That meant talking to Harry and explain him why Tom Riddle was Bad.

He was not sure repeating the conversation he had eavesdropped between Tom and Harry to Harry’s roommate James Coot, and his friends, but he had not felt quite like launching in this Noble Enterprise alone. James was brave, and he was sure that if something nasty were to happen to him now, Mrs Cole Would Know.

Billy Stubbs was the kind of kid whose thought processes consisted solely of ruffling through a set of pre-printed concepts and ideas that had been faxed to his brains by more or less exasperated adults, to pick the seemingly appropriate one at any given time. He though in capitals and sometimes even, serifed prints.

Tom Riddle was a source of terrible fright to young Billy. Therefore, he was mighty glad, when spotting Harry across the courtyard and making a beeline for him, to see he was not in the company of the dark eyed boy, but instead discussing with sweet Susan.

## # ##

With a dark expression and smouldering anger, Tom watched as Susan dragged Harry away from him. She had snatched him the moment they got back to Wool’s, again. His attention solely focused on them and he did not pay attention to what was coming from behind him.

A rough shove sent him tumbling forward, hitting the gravel hard.

He was not sure wherever his knees and hands hurt more than the snickering laughter. It’s been a while since he had last gone through this. He thought they had learned.

Apparently not.

James Coot was the first to break rank from the little group and advance on Tom before he could fully get up.

‘Listen here freak. You don’t go and say your weird stuff to Harry. In fact, you don’t speak to Harry anymore.’ James quipped, with a hard face.

Tom did not grace them with an answer. He did not even grace them with a scalding look. He just turned and walked away.

They would regret picking onto him, but not now. They would regret when they’ll be alone, without their friends to have their back.

## # ##

‘Susan, it was rude.’ Harry reproached.

‘Yes, perhaps.’ Susan had learned not to contradict Harry when it was about Tom. Harry was oddly protective of him. ‘But I don’t care being polite to Riddle.’

‘I do!’ Harry retorted in an exasperated fashion.

His eyes scanned the yard, looking for the familiar shape. He frowned when he spotted him all the way across, picking himself up from the ground. He frowned further when he recognised James talking to him.

Not in a friendly way.

Before Harry could have thought of running over, his path was blocked by a resolute blob, in the shape of Billy Stubbs.

Chapter Text

‘Harry!’ Susan squeaked indignantly. ‘Harry, where are we going!?’

Harry had not exactly registering grabbing Susan wrist and dragging her along, but things had turned a little confusing after he had punched Billy squarely in the face.

His hand hurt.

‘I heard what he told you!’ Billy had blurted in a righteous stutter. ‘Lucifer is the name of the De-devil Harry! Riddle, he is defending the devil because he knows he is cursed and going to he-ell and he wants to drag you there too!!’

Susan had gasped in horror, and Harry… Harry had experienced a quick succession of unprocessed raw emotion, whose short-term consequence had been the blunt contact of his fist with Billy’s round and flabby face.

Confusion. Dismay. Indignation.

And then a kind of righteous fury had blazed on.

‘You have just come in here, but I have grown in this place.’ Tom’s words came back to him, as he had run up the flights of stairs, ‘I am different.’

‘They are stupid, gross. They are brutish.’

Harry ought to have listened better. He ought to have paid attention.           

Tom had not been in the courtyard when Harry had tried to spot him above a wailing Billy. The thing was, neither had been James Coot. And this, in Harry rather extensive experience being shoved around by Dudley, did not bode well.

‘Harry!’ Susan cried, snatching her wrist back and stopping them.

‘It’s Tom, I am worried he might be in trouble!’ Harry pressed, trying to get his friend to move faster.

Tom had not been in his room, which they had checked in passing, but Harry had a fair idea where to look. Tom had shown it to him, once. It was an old storage room, in the attic. A quiet place where the other kids did not venture, except on a dare.

‘Come on!’ Harry quipped, looking urgently toward Susan.

Her eyes were wet, and her breath coming in fast, little, short sobs.

‘Billy’s nose was bleeding, Harry… All for… for Riddle?’

She started crying for real, and Harry stood frozen, not knowing what to do.

‘Billy was mean to Tom.’ He answered mechanically.

And it was true.

‘TOM RIDDLE IS MEAN HARRY!’ Susan shouted with surprising force, which startled Harry. ‘He steals things, he –‘ she sobbed, ‘Denny and Amy, they tried to play with him. Amy was my friend, and she- she won’t talk about it, but – but…’

Harry didn’t know what to do or say. Everything was so confusing.

Something felt… muted. Like he couldn’t quite focus on Susan’s obvious distress. He felt like something was going to go wrong, like he was both afraid and angry… and trapped.

The sensation tweaked his chest and felt oddly foreign.

‘I have to go.’ He finally said, turning on his heels and leaving behind the girl and her pleading eyes.

She called after him, but he did not listen. He did not even hear her.

He was too focused on the urgent tugging in his chest.

## # ##

Tom cursed his stupidity. He had not thought Coot and two of his baboon-y friends would have the gale to follow him. Normally courtyard bravery didn’t survive a sharp reduction of witness and backup. But Coot must have been very determined to press his message on him.

And now Tom was press-ganged by the three of them, and a bunch of clothed old furniture lonelily gathering dust. Alone in the farthest corner of the orphanage.

His mouth tasted of copper already and had to refrain from feeling his split lip.

Never show weakness in the face of a bully.

‘Three to one? How courageous.’ He sneered.

They would pay. He would hurt.

But not now. Three at a time was too dangerous. He could get caught. He tried to rein in his temper, but it wanted to lash out so badly, he ended up shaking all over. It was like trying to keep a rubber band from snapping, like a crackling fire was trying to burst from his veins and fingers to protect him.

Coot grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him against the nearest item in the room. A wardrobe by the feel of the wood digging in Tom’s back.

‘You promise not to talk to Harry again Riddle, or …’ he menaced.

The courtyard intimidation would have seemed ridiculous to anybody not familiar with how truly vicious unsupervised children can be. Tom knew, from a lifelong experience.

With a face twisted in anger, and an ugly possessive feeling rearing up in his chest, Tom threw self-preservation to the wolves.

‘No.’ He spat, feeling his tenuous control starting to fray.

He would not yield Harry to them. And he would take any beating necessary until he had secured him. For good.

As Coot raised his fist to hit Tom in the face again, a kind of inappropriate euphoria bubbled in Tom’s stomach. It raised into a sort of sharp, staccato of laughter.

In a grand, unexpected and exhilarating entrance, Harry collided his weight at full speed with Coot, sending both of them rolling to the floor in a hopeless tangle of limbs and dust crusted cloths.

## # ##

Harry had had to try several doors (frantically) before he could locate the old room that Tom had shown him.

The room he used to ‘practice’.

‘Perhaps I’ll show you, one day.’ He had told him once with a secret smile, refusing to reveal anything further despite Harry’s insistent nagging.

It was a room where objects went to die. Old things and ends. Broken beds, wardrobes, and desks, that were kept so that they could be disembowel for piece when needed. Piles of moth-eaten clothes judged too ragged even by the standards of the poor orphanage.

Finally, he had pushed the right one, and his breath caught in his throat. James had Tom against some piece of furniture, his fist hanging in the air. There were Alan and another boy, hanging behind James making sure they had Tom cornered. Everyone was so focused, it seemed like no one heard his gasp.

‘You promise not to talk to Harry again Riddle, or …’ James menaced, clearly worked up.

Tom’s cheek was red, blueing slightly. Blood was trickling from his nose.

Harry felt like all the air had been wrenched from his chest, which squeezed painfully in betrayal. He could not believe it. James had been his friends. They shared a room, and they laughed every morning and night. James was kind and good natured. He was…

He was a bastard. A bully. He was making Tom miserable.

Tom had been right all along.

Harry’s temper flared. The element of surprise had this going for him that people hardly ever saw it coming. Despite James being taller than him, he was flattened into the dust.

An awkward tangle of limbs later and Harry had risen, and James had crawled back, only to roll in some of the fabric laying around, tugging free a desk and an impressive cloud of dust.

His scowl evaporated when taking in exactly who it was who had sent him into a tumble.

’Harry!’ James exclaimed in a friendlier and slightly contrite tone.

He had the decency to look guilty.

‘It’s not what you think…’ he tried to add, his voice edging on pleading.

A hiccupped laughter reached through the buzzing in Harry’s ears. It was Tom, picking himself up from where he had collapsed. His eyes were dark, jumping from James to Harry and his expression switching from hatful to … something else.

His lips were red.

Harry’s temper flared anew. A rough gust of wind blasted through the room, coiling around them in an angry fashion. It rattled the old furniture and upset the clothes, flinging them like so many wraiths. It raised the dust from everywhere in chocking twirls.

Tom was startled into a state of pure shock.

James and his friends in one of pure terror.

The two not cowering at Harry’s feet felt their loyalties tested and took off running.

‘You,’ Harry hammered, seemingly oblivious to the pure chaos winding up around him, ‘don’t touch Tom.’ James squeaked in terror as Harry stepped closer. ‘You leave him alone.’ He stated.

Tom was speechless. What was happening was none of his doing. Or at least he thought so. Either it was it getting out of control or Harry … Could it be that Harry …

Could it be?

A shriek tore through the room. It seemed to break through the heavy haze that had blanketed Harry’s perception, and he snapped out of it. Light objects that had been sent flying clattered to the floor, clothes settled in floating motions. Disturbed dust hang in the air.

Susan was standing in the doorframe, wide eyed, and both hands clasped over her mouth.

Harry startled, looking in turn to a cowered James, to Susan, and around the room. To his shaking hands. And toward Tom.

Tears welled up in his glass rimmed eyes, blurring his perception of the room and their shocked expressions.

‘I am sorry. I am sorry,’ he whispered desperately.  

Chapter Text

Mrs Cole, in the privacy of her little cramped office, let out a short sigh. She hugged closer a cup of very black tea, and mournfully contemplated the thin whisp of steam curling up from the warm rink in the cold air of the room.

It had not been so far a bad day, if one were to be truthful. Not that they were, in Mrs Cole rather terse opinion, many good days to properly scales things. Life at the orphanage painted itself in grim shades of muddy greys, that the kids somehow managed to find colour in.

The money was thin, and the orphanage stretched.

There were so many kids to care for.

Life had dealt those poor little souls an empty hand, and it was Mrs Cole slight comfort that perhaps she was helping them out create a better future for themselves. Not a great or pleasant one, she knew with a grim certitude, but at least a better one.

She was aware she would not be leaving a pleasant memory of her to most of the kids. Keeping an orphanage in line was not, after all, a task for the faint hearted.

A faint knock rasped against the door, and she put herself together, righting her back and pushing her cup aside.

‘Enter,’ she called out.

Tom Riddle politely made his way into the room and sat on the chair across her desk. His face was closed off, but you didn’t go about being around kids for a lifetime without developing a keen instinct about their mood. She had a knack for spotting Alan and James when there were fomenting their next ludicrous prank for example.

Tom was tense and distrustful but waiting to see how she would go about the conversation.

Tom was a quiet kid. A very quiet kid. She remembered him as a baby, never crying much, always staring with wide eyes. He was intelligent too. Very bookish. Many of his teachers had penned to her praises about him. But there was the matter of the other things.

Mrs Cole could tell the other orphans were scared of him. Tom was never caught doing anything that could earn him a serious scold. Despite being seemingly a very polite and behaved boy, he was also odd in an un-identifiable kind of way. You could never quite put your finger on it.

When he was younger, she had had the most disturbing experience, seeing things happen that were not possible around Tom. It usually only took a blink of her eyes to clear her mind, but the oddness crept on you. It made you doubt. And rethink your drinking habit.

Mrs Cole hated to discriminate among children, but Tom Riddle felt wrong. On bad days he even creeped her out.

Perched as he was on the tall chair, he was uncharacteristically fidgety. His eyes were sharply focused on her, in an oddly intense way in such a young face. It’s like they could build a pressure of their own.

‘Why is Harry being punished?’ His voice whipped.

‘For punching Billy and frightening Susan, James and his friends,’ she answered mechanically, before gathering her wits and frowning toward the young man. ‘And that is no way to ask a question.’

Surely, the surprise must have loosened her tong. She kept a scold firm on her face and her lips pinched in disapprobation. Tom, clearly, was not pleased by her answer but kept silent, his face sour.

He was worried about Harry.

She had been most happy to see Tom finally opening himself to someone his age. Notwithstanding the little accident that had happened earlier, Harry had seemed to be a good humoured and friendly boy, that had fit right away at the orphanage.

She had been very surprised by Harry’s violent outburst (Billy was still being patched up, but thankfully nothing was broken), but many kids in a small space tended to make conflict resolution a short affair. Harry was currently being punished for it, and she would have a talk with him afterward.

The rest of the affair was somewhat a little more confusing. James’s little band and Susan, in a clear panic, had claimed most extraordinary things. Of course, she had taken it with a pinch of salt, as kids could have very wild imaginations.

It stood as a fact the storage room in the attic was in utter disarray. And that James Coot had begged her not share his room with Harry any longer. He had been very weepy about it.

She would not, on a normal day, have indulged such childish behaviour. But as things stood, she had decided to try and see if she could kill two birds with one stone.

‘I wanted to ask you, Tom, if you would mind sharing your room with Harry?’ She asked evenly.

She was pleased to see Tom perk up with undisguised interest.

## # ##

Tom sat in his little bedroom, his eyes loosely roaming the new bed that had been brought in. The room was cramped now, but Tom could not bring himself to mind.

His thoughts were recalling the events of the past few hours on loop.

Before anyone had time to recover from their shock, Harry had bolted from the room with surprising speed. Tom had set off after him, a little bothered by his hurting ribs, and obviously not fast enough.

By the time he had made it down the stairs, Mr. Ferras had caught Harry and was bellowing in his face about getting him a good wallop for being a little ruffian.

And Harry was just standing there, letting himself being manhandled like a rag doll, with empty tearful eyes and a regretful look to his face.

Letting his excitation carry him into action, Tom had rushed forward, yelping that Harry had done nothing. Grabbing onto Mr. Ferras arms to try and have him release Harry.

It had owed him a sharp backslap on the cheek, that had sent him tumbling to the floor.

A little stunned, he had to look Harry being dragged away with a burning feeling to his face, and something fiercer crackling in his soul.

Tom kicked his feet back and forth on his bed. Thinking. Mr. Ferras might be a violent, stupid man, but he would not punish Harry more than Mrs Cole would allow. Probably just a couple swipe with his belt or cane, and then Harry would be sent to stand in a corner for the rest of the day.

Harry would be back tonight.

There was a bubbling feeling of excitation and anticipation in his chest. When he thought about what Harry had done… He needed to keep his head cool, to remember that perhaps it was all a coincidence, that perhaps he had just lost control.

But if not…. If not and he really, really did not think he had lost control…

Then Harry was like him.

Harry was different.

## # ##

Harry was not sure what was worse. The pain in his back from his punishment, the pain in his legs for standing in a corner all afternoon, the headache, or the anxious churning in his stomach.

Mrs Cole had come to him to explain that, given the fright he had given James, she had thought perhaps moving Harry to another bedroom would be for the best.

A heavy feeling had dropped in his chest then, Harry could feel it in the back of his throat, bloating to constrict his chest.

Freak, the voice of his aunt seemed to accuse him from across time and space.

‘I took the liberty to ask Tom if you could share his room. I have noticed the two of get along.’

Harry had perked up then, not daring to hope.

‘He is not afraid of me?’

Mrs Cole had smiled benevolently.

‘No Harry, Tom is not afraid of you. He has gladly accepted. Is it all right by you?’

Harry was standing, very still in the dark corridor, in front of Tom’s door. His hands were clutching tight the little box he had hastily packed his belongings into.

Perhaps Mrs Cole had not really asked Tom. Perhaps, Tom was also thinking him a freak after what had happened. Perhaps he had been forced to take Harry in.

He did not want Tom to reject him.

Harry was tired. He was hurting. He did not want to hurt more.

Slowly he collapsed against the wall by the door, letting go of the box and clutching his knees to his chest. The corridor was cold, but so were the rooms and the rest of the orphanage. Perhaps he could just sleep here, and nobody would notice.

He would not be bothering anyone. He had never wanted to be a bother to anyone.

As the minutes ticked and the cold started to numb his tired limbs, Harry was forced to admit his chosen spot was not very comfortable. The old grandfather in the hall struck the hour. Everyone had cooped up inside their rooms for the night, leaving the noise echo and creep along the deserted corridors.

Harry shivered, and tried to close his eyes.

The door in front of him creaked open, to reveal Tom standing in the doorframe.

Tom looked down at Harry, with a flat look on his face.

Harry looked up to Tom, feeling rather silly.

‘Harry,’ Tom deadpanned, ‘what are you doing?’

## # ##

Apparently, Tom had grown tired to wait for Harry to show up and had decided to go rescue him from his time out.

Harry felt like butterflies were dancing around in his chest, their wings brushing his heart in their joyful dance.

Tom did not think he was a freak. Tom actually wanted to keep him close. They would still be friends despite is oddness.

‘So, it really was you? You did it?’ Tom asked in an urgent, hungry tone.

He had kind of grabbed Harry off the floor, and shoved him into the tiny, dark bedroom, which given the size and arrangement of the room, meant they were kind of cramped each on one bed and very close to each other.

‘I don’t know if it was me but… Sometimes things like that happen around me. When I am angry, or afraid. That’s how I got on the roof of the school, I was trying to escape from Dudley, you see, and suddenly I was there. I don’t know if I did it or… It just happened.’ He finished lamely.

‘Did you do other things?’ Tom asked excitedly.

‘One time I turned my teachers’ hair blue.’ Harry deadpanned.

There was a beat of silence, into which Tom played the scene in his head.

Then Tom started laughing. It was a nice laugh, Harry thought, and it was probably the first time that he’d seen a real smile on Tom’s face and not just his usual knowing smirk. It was good to see Tom, usually so neatly composed, laugh so freely and soon the mad fit of giggle was running circle between the two of them.

When they had calmed down a little, some worries came back nibbling Harry moral.

‘Tom,’ he asked cautiously, ‘you don’t think I am weird?’

Tom gave him a puzzled look, before the usual smirk was back.

‘Wait,’ he just answered.

Tom scrambled out of the bed and to the desk. He grabbed a cup there, and a tissue from a box in his wardrobe. He stuffed the tissue in the cup and made his way back to Harry, with an excited look on his face.

‘Look,’ he just said, presenting the cup to him.

The tissue was pink, with little flowery patterns.

‘What-‘ Harry started, with a confused frown.

The tissue took fire.

‘WOW!’ Harry shouted in alarm, scrambling backward.

‘I can do it too!’ Tom exclaimed, keeping his hands well secured around the cup.

‘You did this?’ Harry quipped, awed.

‘Yes.’ In the darkness of the room, the embers were lighting Tom’s dark eyes in smouldering colours. ‘I am sure you can do it to,’ he added confidently.

Chapter Text

Harry was nervously tapping his feet against the worn wood of the floorboard. His eyes were riveted on the door Tom had disappeared behind. A little more than an hour ago now.

Was it supposed to take this long?

It was a nice and sunny Saturday afternoon, and most kids were playing outside. May was edging toward Jun and Spring was lazily draping itself in summer clothes. Today, even the bleakish London air felt like breezing through the little courtyard in a jolly way.

The light did not quite reach the little hall Harry was seating in, facing the office’s door. The orphanage was still damp from the constant raining that had soaked up the building up until a few days ago.  

It was chilly.

Any adult spotting Harry inside on such a nice day would send him off to play outside with a gentle, but firm word. It was good, therefore, that none of them had spotted him in his little shadowy corner by the stairs, set on the idea as he was to wait for Tom.

It was a trick Tom had shown him; if you focused hard enough on people not noticing you, they just wouldn’t. It worked especially well on adults, and Tom was sure it was because they didn’t really want to notice kids to start with. Tom was very good at it, he could make people not notice him for hours, sometimes even if they were looking for him.

Tom was impressive in so many ways, Harry thought, throwing a worried look to the clock’s ticking hand as it counted away the time.

They could not take him away.

## # ##

After the Accident, as Harry thought about it, things had changed at the orphanage. Well, mostly, Harry’s life had changed at the orphanage. James was now terrified of him, which he showed in his attitude turning aggressive and vicious. Now, what Harry had failed to spot before was that James was a golden ticket of sort. If you were liked by James, people liked you. Otherwise, things were not so fun. And Susan was a gossip. And a frightened Susan gossiped fast.

It felt odd, and lonely to be given the cold shoulder. Back in St. Grogory’s, he’d mostly been ignored by people in the wild hope that ignoring Harry would keep them off Dudley and his gang’s radar. Here, it did not feel the same. Being treated as a piece of furniture felt less personal than the angry whispers and looks that trailed him, or the turning backs when he tried to get close.

In retrospect, being transparent didn’t feel that bad.

But then, there was Tom.

Tom who had gushed into the free space left in Harry’s life and taken residence there. Being with Tom felt good, it was thrilling. It was interesting. Tom had gotten the hang of his freakishness and could do incredible things with it.

They had tested it, and with effort, Harry was able to do some little things too.

Magic, Harry had concluded with unabashed awe. Tom and he could do magic.

Tom was far better than he was, of course, but they were working hard so that Harry could control it too. Right now, he was proud to say after all this work, he could always make something happen whenever he wanted to. The tricky thing was that whatever was happening rarely ever was what he intended for to happen. Random events of varying destructive potentials replaced the gentle levitations and lights that Tom could produce. On a memorable occasion, a leather ball that Harry had simply been trying to push away from himself had started to flash with colour changing lights for a full five minutes before exploding in little sparkles.

Harry would have felt bad for destroying Tom’s thing, but it seemed that Tom couldn’t have cared less about it. Instead, he had bombarded Harry with questions, bouncing up and down the mattress of his bed in barely restrained excitement. The next day their room was full of sparkled lights. Some of them were slowly changing colours.

Harry was happy to say, he could always see that secret Tom now, the one that could burst out laughing and that would keep watching Harry practicing magic for hours with always the same hungry and excited look in his eyes (it was almost always worth it since there was no way predicting what way Harry would screw up his current exercise, and sometimes necessary to prevent the orphanage going up in flames), even when they were not alone.

With other people, Tom wore The Mask. Harry liked to think of it this way, since it looked like Tom’s face was set in wood, and all his expressions were fake. But now that Tom had let him in, Harry had learned to spot the little telling details, that lay beneath the mask and betrayed his current mood.

It had not been good, just earlier.

The pair of them had been quietly discussing in a corner of the courtyard how it was that Tom could make things fly, when Mrs Cole had come up to them to take Tom away. There was a gentleman she wanted him to meet.

‘Who is he?’ Tom had demanded, with that stony tone he used to get answers.

‘A doctor from Claybury hospital.’ Mrs Cole had answered right away, before gathering her wits and frowning. ‘You will speak to him,’ she had added rather more tersely.

Tom had set off behind her, well aware making a fuss would not play in his favour, his face a smooth and unreadable mask.

Harry had snuck off a little way behind, not keen on being caught snooping. All the good grace he may have once got from Mrs Cole was vanished, since he kept running into courtyard fights and scuffles. Despite keeping mostly to themselves, Harry and Tom seemed to be the focus of nasty pranking where Harry would not hesitate to retaliate in spade, thus getting himself in endless trouble. Tom, on the other hand, preferred delayed payback.

The man Mrs Cole had dragged Tom before looked sturdy, and had a fatherly, smiling face. Something of Tom’s distrustful nature must have rubbed against Harry’s because he caught himself thinking the man looked too friendly and nice for it to be true. The doctor introduced himself to Tom with a firm handshake before gesturing him into the little office Mrs Cole had cleared for the occasion. Behind Tom’s back, he gave a professional reassuring nod to Mrs Cole before closing the door. Left alone, she gave a weary sigh and left off, leaving Harry standing there, hidden in the shadows, with a churning worry knotting his stomach.

They had no proof that Tom did it, Harry had kept on repeating to himself, as minutes of Tom being locked behind the little office door had ticked by. He had been too careful, he always was.

But Mrs Cole had her suspicions.

And Tom had been angry enough that his payback had attracted the adults’ attention this time.

## # ##

On the first warm day of Spring, courtesy of the weather so early in the year, Tom had excitedly taken Harry to a little isolated shack at the end of the courtyard. It was a crumbling thing or rotten wood, that hardly kept gardening tools from the damp of the weather. There, in a crooked nook, Tom had introduced him to a still groggy from hibernation but altogether pleased little garden snake. It was of a brownish grey colour, and very enthusiastic of the little mice they were bringing along as a calling gift.

Tom had looked with sharp interest as Harry engaged conversation with the little snake, gobsmacked that he had the ability to do so.

They had left soon after, leaving the snake to do what it is they do after so many weeks of sleeping. The evening had been spent discussing whyever it was they could speak to snakes and not to other animals and trying to speak in snake-tong between the two of them.

‘I thought it perhaps would be just me, you know,’ Tom had whispered, right before they fell asleep. ‘Talking to snakes. I don’t know why I did. I had a feeling... But I am happy you can do it too. It’s something only the two of us can speak, and that’s good,’ he had concluded, satisfied.

‘Snakes can speak it too.’ Harry had answered sleepily.

‘Snakes are not people.’

They had gone back to the little nook every two day or so to chat the snake up. Tom was trying to convince it to let them bring it inside the orphanage. Tom wanted to keep it as a pet, but the little garden snake was weary of the house where so many none-speakers human child had made their nest.

‘Perhapss-ss next time, if cold water keepss soaking the soils-s.’ It always answered.

Then one day, they had found the little snake smashed on the stone it usually lazed on to warm itself in the sun. Red blood smeared the rock, its body disappearing between the flat stone and another rough one that had been used to kill it.

Harry had cried a lot then. Tom had just stood there, face white and knuckles whiter.

‘What are you doing?’ Tom had asked when Harry, after fussing around in the shed had come back with a rusted trowel and started digging up muddy earth by the rock.

‘I’m burying it.’ Harry had answered, resolutely, happy to be doing something with his hands instead of having to think.

‘It doesn’t make sense.’ Tom had pointed out blankly.

‘I don’t care.’ Harry had retorted between clenched teeth, tears running down his face and plic-plocking into the mud.  

After that, Tom had helped him around silently, folding a leaf around the mangled body before Harry could see it in full, and placing it in the hole.

They had set the stone it to remember where it was buried.

## # ##

Two days later, Billy Stubbs was wailing hysterically, and the orphanage was in a state of turmoil. There is no real way to prevent the story from a bunny being found hanged to the rafter from spreading like a wildfire in a place like that. Little boys fascinated by the morbidity of the event were avidly discussing it and trying to peek at the scene, and little girls were pretending to be afraid and disgusted while also trying to peek from under their curled locks.

There was no consoling Billy, and neither shutting him up. Despite Harry’s darkest glare, he kept accusing Tom over and over again between sobs, which inevitably brought Mrs Cole attention to him.

Despite chiding Billy for his accusation, pointing out Tom could not have climbed high enough to do it, her eyes had taken to trail Tom around, with pinched lips and a slightly queasy look on her face.

The door of the office creaked open, to reveal the doctor benevolently guiding Tom out.

‘Here you are lad, I was happy we could talk. There are no worries to have, I’ll just need a word with your caretaker before leaving you to it.’

Harry froze, unsure whether to move or let Tom be. He seemed to do fine by himself and Harry did not want to spurt trouble.

Tom eyes flickered to him, and a big, open smile split his face. It didn’t look quite right to Harry. It was too vulnerable and naïve to be really Tom. But Harry also knew that Tom must have picked it for a reason.

‘Harry!’ Tom chirped joyously.

Blinking in a confused fashion, the man took notice of the little boy that had been discretely waiting by the stairs. Then the friendly smile was back, this time turned toward Harry.

‘Oh! You are Mr Riddle’s friend then?’ He asked politely.

‘Yes sir,’ Harry answered shyly, ‘is he in trouble, sir?’ He added with a little more resolve.

The display of friendly concern between the two boys seemed to soften the man’s eyes, and with a gentle tone he reassured Harry.

‘No, my lad, your friend here is not in trouble. I would keep an eye on his back if I were you,’ he winked, ‘that’s what friends are for, eh? You keep him out of trouble.’

He patted Tom on the shoulder in a fatherly way. Harry winced internally, knowing full well how Tom despised being touched. But Tom let nothing of it show, only giving the same bright smile as before.

‘Yes sir,’ Harry answered straight away, ‘I will.’

As the steps from Mrs Cole making her way back resounded on the creaking floorboard, they were waved away and Tom simply trotted off, grabbing Harry’s sleeve so that they’d move together.

Tom turned the corner and stopped them, flattening himself to the wall and gesturing to Harry to be silent. Together they listened intently to the conversation that was happening between the two adults. They could only make out small bits of it.

‘Very bright young lad…. no issues… normal difficulties with kids his age, I wouldn’t worry… friend, is a good thing… proves he can connect… no need for…’

Tom was standing very still, until they heard the steps fall away. Then he let out a shaky sigh. His grip on Harry’s wrist was almost painful, but Harry couldn’t bring himself to complaint about it. Then after a few moments of silence, a little smirk pulled on his friend’s lips. He gave Harry a satisfied look.

‘Good job,’ Tom whispered.

And Harry could perceive the grateful touch to it.  

Chapter Text

‘She wants to get rid of me,’ Tom had explained, shaken, once they were back to the relative privacy of their room. ‘She wants to send me to the madhouse, so she does not have to deal with me anymore.’

There had been a slight tremor running under the bitterness in Tom’s tone. Something lurking under the shadows, that he was trying to snuffle before it bloomed out of control.

Afraid. Tom was terribly afraid. It was like the loop of a hanging rope had been passed around their neck, the knot pressing against his throat. Any moment now, they could break the illusion of control given by their bedroom sanctuary. Barge in and take him away to lock him up.

Devil’s child. Demon.

Freak.

Harry had embraced him, nesting Tom against his thin frame to keep him close.

Tom was a complex person, Harry knew, but despite this he felt keenly aware of the raging emotions clashing behind his dark eyes. He rested his chin on Tom’s shoulder and let them pour out of him.

They were trapped. It was the two of them, and nowhere to run.

But at least, they had each other.

‘You need to be careful Tom,’ Harry had whispered, ‘we can’t let them find out.’

## # ##

There was now, in Tom’s box, a little pouch that Harry tried very hard not to touch nor look at when he ransacked it for one thing or other. It contained, Harry knew, a soft rabbit paw.

For luck, Tom had said, with a rather twisted smile.

Harry had refused to speak to him for a whole day when he found it the first time, before the guilt of casting Tom out gnawed his heart enough that he gave it up. Tom had been rather cross about it for a few more hours.

‘Billy killed the snake. He was proud of it! I heard him boasting!’ he had explained with venom, ‘so I killed his beloved, disgusting rabbit.’ His expression had softened, the angry knots in his face dissolving. ‘So why would you be angry with me, Harry? We had a right to take revenge.’

‘I wish you hadn’t taken revenge on the rabbit.’ Harry had admitted, his heart still sore for the fluffy little thing he had seen hopping around on occasions where it managed to escape Billy’s affections.

It had not seemed very bright, mostly concerned with greenery in this world of grey. It was, somehow, comforting to know it was at the orphanage.

Tom’s face had hardened, and he had carefully looked Harry in the eyes.

‘Would you rather I had taken revenge on Billy?’ He had asked, his voice smooth and calm.

No. Absolutely not. Even the souvenir of the conversation was enough to send a cold shiver down Harry’s spin. Harry loved Tom, but he was not stupid. Tom was intelligent, but he also was cruel. The few months he had spent living at the orphanage alongside Tom just meant Harry could not exactly bring himself to resent Tom for being that way.

It was all about survival, Harry had learned, and making sure you were the one that would end up hurting the least at the end of the day.

In the same line of consequence, Tom was a thief.

The fact had just struck Harry in the face, one day that he was practicing magic by pushing about a little toy train he had fished out from the box. He had been more careful after that. Not long after, Tom had given him a scarf.

It was an old, but soft, thick and well cared for brown thing.

‘You always look cold,’ he had said with a serious expression, ‘it should help.’

There were a lot of kids at the orphanage, but Harry was sure he remembered a boy their age had owned such a scarf. Consequently, Harry had worded some strong objections towards Tom’s ‘gift’ and habit. It was the first real blazing row they had. In the end, Harry had stormed off, scarf in hand, and combed every inch of the orphanage until he’d found the person to whom it belonged.

The restitution did not go the way he had expected it would.

See, it stands to reasons to any adult that a kid who just lost, or more accurately got stolen a belonging would be weary or outright aggressive to someone having said belonging in his possession. Especially when living in such close proximity to a large number of other pranking or jealous children. Harry, being the good natured and still rather innocent being he was, expected gratitude. Or at least relief. 

The boy had given him a flat look, immobile as Harry muttered an apology and half-lie about finding the scarf laying around. Then, without a word he had snatched the scarf and run off. If it had been the end of it, Harry would have branded this a success. But no. The end of it came several hours later, when the boy and a number of older ones cornered him as he was sulking around. They drenched him in freezing water and sent him to tumble down in the mud. The scarf boy was the one to push him, while the others make sure he stayed down.

Tom had not said anything, when Harry had stumbled back to their room, shivering and scarf-less, but covered with mud and a few bruises. He’d only got up and helped Harry out of his drenched clothes, and to warm him up with their blankets.

‘I only wanted you to be warmer…’ Tom had whispered finally, his hand tightening the blankets around Harry.

After that, Harry had not objected anymore.

## # ##

Despite his reassurance to Mrs Cole, the doctor from Claybury asylum came to see Tom a couple more times before he asserted that, in the absence of any more trouble, Tom was fine staying at Wool’s.

Harry took at heart to keep trouble away from Tom and make sure that people got the message the two of them were to be left alone. It earned him a number of off-time and unpleasant, painful punishment for his violent behaviour, but the reward was that Tom’s own brand of persuasion was no more required.

The weeks trickled by in relative quietness, and the knot around their neck eased.

## # ##

‘Are you sure about this?’ Harry asked in a worried, pinched tone.

He did not want Tom to believe him a coward, but the cliff was steep. Despite it being the middle of summer, the 31 of July to be precise, a vicious wind was whipping the cliffside, slapping their face with the salty taste of the sea. Tom looked like he was having a field day, which was true in quite the literal sense.

‘You trust me don’t you, Harry?’ He called from his spot overlooking the sheer drop.

By the bottom, the sea crashing hungrily against the rocks. Despite his goodwill and trust in his friend, Harry could not make out any path down for the life of him. Tom gave him a secret, confident smile.

‘It is worth it, I promise. I’ve gone down there several times, I know it’s not as difficult as it looks,’ he tried to reassure Harry.

‘I don’t know… I mean, I am sure you know what you are saying but…’ Harry answered, wavering between common sense and the thrilling feeling to just go on with Tom’s plan.

They were never boring. And so far, Tom had never put them in danger. Or at least, not in any situation where the danger had been out of his control, which was admittedly not the same thing.

‘Just follow me. Put your feet where I do, and we will be down in no time.’

## # ##

Harry breath caught in his throat.

On the way, he had almost called Tom out for pranking him several times. The climbing had been terrifying, even if, in retrospect, not as difficult as it ought to have been. Tom had climbed down like the cliffside had not been a slippery, razor edged rock and Harry had found himself following down the same way with the same ease. But then they had hit rock bottom and Tom had had them crawling the wet and slippery stones on the sea level, and squeezing between boulders, and Harry had started to doubt whether his friend was not just pulling his leg.

But now, after a rather excruciating crawl, they had emerged in a vast and dark cave. Smirking, Tom that had preceded him lit up a flame from a piece of wood he had picked up at the top of the cliff.

In all his life, Harry did not think he had ever contemplated such a sight. It was magnificent and oppressing, both gigantic and claustrophobic. 

The vaunted ceiling of the cave was so far up he could only guess it by some twinkling of the stone with the movement of the flame. A vast pool of dark water, still, of a velveted black and inky shine, spread like the door to the underworld at his feet.

‘It’s incredible,’ Harry whispered in wonderment.

Tom who had obviously been restraining his excitement so long as Harry needed to let the view sink in, let it all out.

‘There is an island, right ahead,’ he yapped excitedly, with a strange glint to his eyes, ‘let’s swim to it!’

‘What? Are you crazy?’ Harry blurted, not at all so confident.

There was something about the water. It stood to the reasonable mind that it would best be left undisturbed.

Tom jut sent him a cold smirk, before crouching by the water and dipping his hand into the dead waters. It broke the surface without a sound, sending lazy ripples arching languidly away and into the depth of the shadows.

‘It’s quite cold. But we can warm ourselves up afterward.’ He just said, before starting to strip off his ratty clothes.

‘I am not getting in there, Tom,’ Harry retorted with a wavering resolve. ‘There could be… things in the water.’

Nightmares. That was for sure.

His squeamishness just got him a clear laugh from Tom, whose echo got back to them from all sides of the cave and slightly hollowed by the vaunted rocks. It gave Harry goosebumps, but before he could ask Tom to shut up, he got himself unceremoniously splashed by a great deal more water than Tom ought to have been able to cup with just his two hands.

‘Now I really hate you,’ Harry spluttered, his glasses dripping water.

‘Just get out of those clothes. I swam to the island both times I came down here, it’s quite safe.’

‘We need to talk about the meaning of safe,’ Harry grumbled, finally obliging his friend and stripping.

‘Whatever. Besides,’ Tom eyed Harry playfully, ‘I thought you were supposed to be the brave one.’

‘You are the one to keep pointing out I mustn’t act stupide as well.’

They were side by side now, on the brink of the bank. Harry still felt quite squeamish about the whole plan, but Tom was grinning like mad besides him. He looked positively ecstatic, and Harry had seldom seen him so enthralled by something. He did not want to spoil this for his friend.

Besides the itch of the fun was starting to run beneath his skin.

Perhaps this wasn’t that bad of an idea after all.

‘The island is the dark shape just ahead right?’ He asked.

Tom nodded.

‘First one there!’ Harry yapped, elbowing Tom so he’d get a head start, before jumping in the waters.

## # ##

Tom believed that, all in all, this must have been the best day in his life.

So far, he corrected.

Harry was sleeping in the cot next to his, his face relaxed and smooth like it never was when he was awake. There always were transient, fleeting emotions playing on Harry’s face. He just felt so much.

Cared so much.

By the foot of the bed, there were a pile of discarded candy wrappers. Cheap things that Tom had managed to hoard. He had gifted them to Harry when they’d been back to their room from the seaside trip.

He had thought it would wrap up Harry’s tenth birthday nicely.

They had laughed and discussed excitedly of their shared secret. Harry had proudly added his own contribution to Tom’s collection of smooth stones on the windowsill. Smooth black stones, all properly lined up. All taken from the island back in the cave.

Tom shifted in his bed, snuggling the covers closer to himself.

Last year, it had been him, alone amongst them.

But not anymore.

Harry was his now. Now it was the two of them.

They looked after each other.

Chapter Text

From her discreet spot behind the drawn curtains of her office window, Mrs Cole watched, with pursed lips and an ill feeling fluttering in her stomach, the repeat of a familiar scene she was now becoming uncomfortably aware of.

Little Harry, his face set hard for a boy so young. Tense and vigilant. Ready to strike. And Tom, his expression smooth and unreadable, a step behind him and a placating hand on his shoulder. Reining him in from the other children prowling around the pair.

Today, the little party broke up without much fuss, to her general relief. She did not need any more bloodied kids wailing in the infirmary, thank you very much. She looked, , like a hawk in her nest, as all the kids went their own way. The view from her office did give her a good insight of the dwelling of her charges and their playground dynamics.

And she did not quite like the insight she was getting.

She downed what remained of her glass of gin and let mournfully her gaze drift over the courtyard.

She had been very pleased with Tom’s progress a few months ago, when Harry had first come into the orphanage. Admittedly, Harry’s admission had been a little unorthodox, and despite the boy’s initial good-natured ways she had kept suspicions he was simply a runaway and a liar.

But he had been, in the beginning, a good kid. Socializing well and trying to fit in.  Even solitary Tom had taken to him.

She gave a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose in the privacy of her office.

She had no idea where things had gotten wrong. It felt like in the span of a few days, Harry had become a pariah, finding Tom his only remaining companion. Admittedly she had contributed to the dynamics between the two kids by having them share a room, but she had not thought it would come down to this.

The influence Tom had over Harry was worrying. The once mild boy had turned temperamental and defensive. Very protective of Tom she would say. They kept to each other’s side. If some errant or chore separated them, she had noticed Harry would get fidgety and restless, his behaviour only calming when Tom returned.

In all appearance, Tom was not so much affected. But Tom had always been an odd duck to her, and she could not speak with any confidence on his attachment to his friend.

Whether or not the friendship was returned in equal measure, it ought to be stopped. The relationship between the two boys was unhealthy.

She would let the summer pass. September would be a good time to shuffle about the sleeping arrangement of her charges. It was long overdue.

If it proved not enough to disentangle the two boys, she would have to look into sending Tom some other places. It would not have been right to do so for her own comfort, but it was another thing to do so on a proper reason.

That would do.

## # ##

The knock on the door was a quick, demanding one. A prompt rather than a polite inquiry. And without waiting for further invitation, Mrs Cole pushed into the boys’ room.

‘Tom,’ she stated in a perfunctory manner, ‘you have a visitor.’

The intrusion was unwelcome, of course. But the sight of the man, in-between two ages, standing by the matron even more so. Tom’s reluctance must have shown, for the man was careful when he invited himself further into the tiny space.

‘How do you do, Tom?’ He asked, with a calculated cheerfulness.

## # ##

‘You’re a doctor, aren’t you?’

‘No. I’m a professor.’

‘I don’t believe you. She wants me locked up. They think I’m… different.’

‘Well, perhaps they are right.’

‘I am not mad.’

The bitterness and reluctance were obvious in the boy’s voice and composure. Dumbledore was uncomfortably remembered to the behaviour of a wounded and cornered animal. But, he believed, a very prideful one.

‘Hogwarts is not a place for mad people,’ ha answered placatingly, ‘Hogwarts is a school. A school of magic.’

Dumbledore paused, aware of the sudden sharp interest his words had sparked in the young man.

‘You can do things, can’t you Tom,’ he pressed, ‘things other children can’t.’

There was an odd twinkle then in Tom’s eyes. Something hopeful. Something deep and hungry. The young man’s lips parted, but before he could answer, the bedroom’s door was swung open.

In the doorframe, stood another boy. About Tom’s age, with wild black hair and clumsy spectacles. His face was serious, almost… antagonistic toward him, Dumbledore noticed. But the scar on the boy’s forehead distracted him of almost any other consideration.

It stood out, clean cut and red raw in a thin, jagged line. Even from across the room, it was obvious to the rather competent wizard it was the consequence of a dark curse. A powerful one.

His eyes unwittingly drifted back toward Tom before reason caught up with him. It was impossible for a kid this young, especially with his background, to have been responsible for such a mark.

Interestingly, Tom seemed to be beaming with the arrival of the other boy, so far as a quiet and closed off kid like Tom could do so. It was somehow comforting, Dumbledore thought, to see the uneasy child may have just been put off by his presence.

‘Hello,’ Dumbledore finally acknowledged, his gaze sweeping curiously from the newcomer to Tom.

‘Harry this is Dumbledore,’ Tom introduced, rather smugly.

Harry pushed into the room, with a distrustful look in his face, making to close the door behind him.

‘This conversation, I fear, must remain private to you and me Tom.’ Dumbledore stated in a calm but definite way.

Harry froze halfway through the motion of closing the door, his eyes trained on his friend. Waiting for a confirmation, the professor believed. The boys did seem to share an odd dynamic.

Tom’s brow pinched and his smile vanished.

‘Harry is my friend,’ he said defiantly.

‘Tom,’ Dumbledore answered carefully, Harry being still in the room, ‘Hogwarts is a place reserved to people with certain abilities, that are prudent to keep among us. Now if your friend would kindly leave us for a few more minutes…’

A set of conflicting emotions flashed, discreetly but discernibly across Tom face, before setting for open puzzlement.

‘But Harry can do it too. He is not as good as I am, but he is also… different.’

This gave the professor a pause, before he gathered his wits about it. He had not been aware of a second future student residing at this particular orphanage.

‘Oh. I daresay this is unexpected,’ he admitted, ’But, if what you say is true,’ he said with a pointed but altogether friendly look to each boy in turn, ‘then Harry will also be admitted to Hogwarts in due time of course. Students are to be eleven by the first of September to start their education,’ he finished with a gentle smile.

A couple tick of uncomfortable silence swung by before Harry, having closed the door shut behind him, answered mutely.

‘I have turned eleven one week ago, sir.’

## # ##

‘And you are sure the boy is eleven, Albus?’

Headmaster Dippet was walking to and froth the length of his office, while Dumbledore looked pensively through the window.

‘Oh, yeah, absolutely sure,’ he answered distractedly, ‘I am no healer, but I can handle basics diagnosis spells all right.’

‘I am sure you can,’ Dippet sighed, collapsing in his chair. ‘I have owled the other notable schools and nobody seems to be missing a student either.’

‘Mr Potter seems to have escaped notice of the system.’ Dumbledore turned to give a sharp glare to his colleague. ‘This is very worrying.’

‘It is, and I will have an inquiry started on wherever the registers have been tampered with. As for the short-term problems on the case of Harry Potter…’

Armando wearily waved a letter for Dumbledore to grab. The man did so, and perused the text with a raised eyebrow, his face set in mild disapproval by the end of the document.

‘I gather the Potter don’t plan on meeting the boy then?’ His eyes flickered toward the headmaster. ‘Harry does look a great deal like a Potter, Armando.’

‘I suppose Charlus would have at least wanted to have a look. But his wife…’ he sighed deeply again. ‘I have been assured a thorough familial investigation has been undertaken, and that it appears the boy can be the offspring of no one of consequence. A very distant cousin at best.’

‘I suppose they would rather he did not take the Potter family name then?’ Dumbledore asked bitterly.

‘I am afraid they insist that the boy relinquish any claim to the name, yes.’

Name privilege was an old pureblood right. Despicable, but ancient and firmly in place. Every once in a while, a muggle born would have to let go of his own family name, because bad luck would have it that it was too close to one of the pureblood’s family. There was little Dumbledore could do but to notice the boy and advise him not to look for trouble trouble.

## # ##

Harry worried the thick paper of the letter between his fingers. Tom was looking fixedly to the extra sheet of paper that had come with Harry’s letter. Both boys had read and re-read the words, and they were now just letting their bitterness sink in properly.

… unfortunate circumstances… legal procedure… you will be registered under your mother’s name, or, due to your peculiar condition, any suitable name of your choosing.

Yours sincerely, A. Dumbledore, deputy headmaster.

‘So…’ Tom started, to slowly draw Harry back from wherever his mind had drifted to. ’They are not your family.’

‘Or they don’t want me,’ Harry answered flatly.

His finger ghosted forlornly the scratched words in the paper. The words that had scratched his hopes away. He had been so happy when the professor had mentioned that he knew of wizarding people by the name of Potter.

Tom had been very bitter for a few days that there apparently was no one by the name of Riddle. He had been hurtful, but Harry had not taken it personally. He understood. Thankfully, now that it was important, Tom was by his side again.

‘I’m not even sure what my mother’s name is,’ he whispered, his voice on the verge of broke.

It stabbed through Tom in an unexpected, painful way. The feeling was so foreign, that Tom reacted to it the only way he knew how. By taking control.

‘Hey!’ Harry protested, as the sheet of paper was snatched from his numb fingers, ‘that’s mine!!’

Tom crumpled the sheet of paper, and with an irate purpose, set fire to it.

‘Tom!!’

‘These people don’t deserve you, Harry,’ he answered, a tightness in his voice that only Harry could perceive, ‘it’s just as well you don’t share their name.’

Harry gave a mournful look to the smouldering sheet of paper. He knew why Tom had done it. He understood Tom well, and he knew it was his way of showing he … cared.

‘It just feels weird to think as myself as Harry… not-Potter. How do you think I should call myself, Tom?’

There was an odd look on Tom’s face, as he also looked at the last of the ambers slowly dying to ashes. Before his eyes flickered to his friend’s.

‘What do you think about Riddle?’

Chapter Text

## First year ##

The little blond boy scuttles toward the Hufflepuff table, his housemate clapping merrily for their new comrade. Dumbledore eye searched for the next name on the list, the sorting hat contorting in his hand with a grumble at being manhandled.

‘Riddle, Harry!’ He called.

The boy gave him a look about halfway between cowed and defiant before walking up the distance to the stool and letting himself fall on it. The hat swallowed him up, coming almost to his shoulders.

To be honest, Dumbledore was still not completely comfortable with allowing the boy to take his friend’s name. But the letter they had written to him had been touching. The two boys seemed to have forged a very strong bond living together at the orphanage. He had not felt like refuse the orphan this comfort he asked for after he had had to let go of what little he had of his identity. It would be easy, Dumbledore had reasoned while giving his agreement, to change his family name again for Harry given his peculiar circumstances if it came to be a hindrance in the future.

‘Well,’ the hat finally grumbled, ‘better be… SLYTHERIN!’

Harry took off the hat, and gave a meaningful look to his friend, that was standing at the front of the remaining unsorted children with a smug look on his face. Dumbledore did not drop his eyes to the list before calling:

‘Riddle, Tom!’

## Third year ##

Tom flipped moodily between sections of his transfiguration book, trying to fish out information he had not memorized yet. It was a boring task, the stone floor was cold, and his position uncomfortable. It seemed like Harry ought to have been let out of detention ages ago.

Finally, the door of Slughorn office creaked open, and Tom heard the voice of the potion master filter through.

‘This kind of scuffle between Slytherin students cannot continue, Mr Riddle. Of course, I would not see this kind of behaviour happen with any other house either, but I must stress that it is especially inappropriate between Slytherin students.’

‘Yes sir,’ Tom heard Harry answer bitterly.

‘Very well. Now, back to your dorm straight away or you will break curfew. Good night,’ Slughorn finished in a reprobative tone.

The door was shut tight. Harry gave a long, mournful sigh before calling softly.

‘I know you’re here. You didn’t have to wait for me.’

Tom stepped out of his nook, his face set in the pleasant expression that had become his default mask.

‘I did not have to,’ he agreed.

Harry gave him a long look, before shrugging his bag on. They fell into step to make it back toward the dorms.

‘You did not have to break Rosier’s nose,’ Tom stated, matter of fact, after a while.

‘I didn’t do it on purpose,’ Harry bit back.

‘You did shove him against a wall,’ Tom pointed.

‘But I did not mean to use magic to do so.’

‘Harry, we are third year students. Accidental magic should not happen to you anymore.’

‘I know,’ Harry growled between clenched teeth, ‘it’s just… I don’t know. You know how Rosier is. You’ve done so well lately, and he is jealous. He started insulting you and you were not … there,’ Harry line of explanation faltered, and he brought his palm up to massage his forehead absentmindedly.

‘Yes?’ Tom asked inquisitively, a curious eyebrow cocked up.

‘I feel like it’s harder to keep my temper when you are not around,’ Harry acknowledged dejectedly.

Tom hummed in a none committing way.

He had taken notice for a little while now that Harry and he were sharing an odd sort of connection. Not that he had mentioned this to Harry.

He had gone a long time thinking that they were so close that Harry-like thoughts and sometimes voice in his head were a simple consequence of a form of empathetic representation he carried around of his friend. But recent, vivid dreams, of scenes that he could not have either seen nor constructed, but that very much related to scenes Harry had witnessed (he could really not understand his friend’s passion with Quidditch) had shone a new light on their interaction. The way Harry reactions with Tom’s irritation or bouts of anger were almost instantaneous. The way he felt colder and more inclined toward cruelty when Harry was away.

This only served to confirm his hunch further. There was something a little special between them. And it was getting worst, or at least stronger along with their magic.

Apparently, Harry unconsciously relied on Tom’s collectedness to keep his own. That could not be healthy. Certainly, Tom thought, Harry ought to learn to centre himself on his own. To be independent.

A small, self-satisfied smile tugged on his lips.

‘Perhaps you should keep close to me, then,’ he answered simply.

## Fourth year ##

Harry was in a foul mood. He had been delaying returning to the dorms for hours now, hiking (and hiding) around the castle and the grounds, and it was now well past curfew.

The truth is, avoiding Tom required some amount of dedication. And he had been very dedicated to peacefully feeding fuel to the twisted festering feeling he had been carrying around since breakfast.

He could not wipe from his head the smug, gloating look Rosier had sent his way when he had barged in late in the Great Hall only to find his usual spot by Tom occupied. And Tom pleasantly conversing with his new circle of friends.

It had been a slow thing. Tom scheming were usually slow and insidious in a controlled, efficient way. That he had finally succeeded in ensnarled their year mates with his charms and intelligence was no surprise.  

But Harry didn’t like it.

There was this little petty feeling that he could not ignore, this resentment of having taken one or several too many curses from them. One too many insult… Tom could pretend obliviousness, but Harry didn’t quite feel like doing so.

Just thinking about it made his notoriously bad temper flare with the itch to go and give them hell. He was sure he could conjure a thing or two that would wipe Rosier smile from his pretty face and keep him on his toes for a week or two.

With cathartic thoughts of inventive cursing, Harry pushed past the entrance of Slytherin common room to make his way to bed.

A shadow moved in the corner by the dying fire. Harry froze, but let himself relax slightly, recognising the presence.

‘Hello Tom,’ he called with false cheerfulness.

‘You’ve been avoiding me all day, Harry,’ Tom answered reproachfully.

A smile tugged at Harry’s lips when he took the rumpled look of his friend in. Obviously, Tom had fallen asleep waiting for him, and the resulting look was refreshingly different from the perfect one he put so much effort in constantly displaying.

‘I have been,’ Harry conceded, ‘I don’t quite feel like being the butt of the joke.’

‘You are jealous.’

‘Yes, I suppose. And no. Our recent interactions have me look too much like a puppy at your beck and call for my comfort, Tom.’

Harry took one step closer to his friend, who had gotten up to stand in front of the smoking ambers. The room was dark, and the flickering light painted Tom’s face in eerie hues. He looked moody, but Harry knew that beneath the surface, gears were turning fast.

‘I don’t like them,’ Harry said bitterly, ‘they are entitled bastards. They don’t know what we have been through. I don’t like you pretending you are like them.’

Tom cocked his head slightly in acknowledgement.

‘They, their family, hold the reins of the wizarding world.’

‘You don’t need them to accomplish what you want to,’ Harry countered.

‘But it will make things easier.’

Harry sighed, bracing himself against the mantel piece. Tom was right of course.

‘I am not playing this game,’ he finally muttered, ‘I won’t praise and grease my way into this.’

‘You just be yourself Harry, I don’t want you to change for this. I will make sure this morning’s incident does not repeat itself. I was careless.’

This was a nice thing to hear.

‘You understand this means I will keep on hitting Rosier in the face every now and then?’ Harry pointed out jokingly.  

‘I am sure he’ll have it coming,’ Tom answered with a slight smile, before his face set into a much more serious expression.

His voice came ought tight when he asked his next question.

‘Harry. I need to know whether you are with me in this.’ He flickered his eyes to his friend, conveying every unsaid word between them. ‘I need to know if I’m having you by my side.’

Harry took his time to let the demand sink in. The words that he knew costed so much for Tom to say. To ask. To reveal his insecurities and need for him.

‘Always,’ Harry answered softly, over the quiet sound of the lake, ‘wherever you are leading us to. It’ll be you, and me.’

Chapter Text

## Fifth year – June ##

A snooping listener would have found the sounds echoing faintly from the third-floor girl bathroom most disturbing. To the untrained ear, it sounded like two pissed off snakes were having a spitting row.

A snooping onlooker would have found the situation much more disturbing than his aforementioned colleague, as it appears the two aggravated snakes were in fact three, and only one of them actually of the reptile persuasion. And huge. The two speakers were boys, and if by the time the tableau is painted you still have in you to be shocked to find boys in a girl’s bathroom, you have quite the conservative bone in you.

‘This is insane Tom, people are getting hurt. It’s not about you “investigating”,’ Harry quoted, ‘your inheritance anymore!’

‘Our inheritance,’ Tom seethed.

Harry ignored him and continued with his hushed ranting.

 ‘Aurors have been called in, there is going to be an investigation. You, we, are going to get caught.’

‘She is just curious. She has been asleep so long. If she meant harm, there would already be dead students. She is so clever,’ Tom crooned with a nasty kind of look, caressing the soft skin under the frankly monstruous jaw of the beautiful creature.

‘She is a twenty-foot snake,’ Harry answered, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation, and ignoring the rumbling purr coming from the creature, ‘not a puppy. She can kill with a glare. You can’t just leave her go about her business and touring Hogwarts. You need to send her down to stay in the Chamber.’

Tom sent him a look that could only be described as pouting, and Harry took special care to commit this one to memory. He opened his lips to certainly launch in a passionate defence of his beloved pet, when one of the cubicle’s door was opened in a bang.

As one two human and their pet basilisk turned to face the intruder.

It was anticlimactic, really, so far as good dramatic dying goes. She didn’t even yell, or gurgled, or made a sound of protest. She just fell forward, folding like a cloth doll.

Harry and Tom instinctively turned to glance at each other, colour draining equally from their faces, before dashing forward. Harry skipped down to flip the girl on her back but…

‘She is dead,’ Tom confirmed, casting a couple quick diagnosing spells on her.

‘What are we going to do? They are definitely going to close Hogwarts now! Harry seethed. ‘They’ll find her body and there is no way they can continue pretending all of this are just freak accidents!’

‘We must stay calm. Leave,’ Tom answered, white as a sheet, ‘and not get caught. We’ll find a solution later.’

Tom’s voice was even, but Harry caught the shaking of his hands. The flight instinct that kicked in strong and wild whenever control seemed to escape his grasp. That’s when Tom needed Harry to keep him grounded. Tom couldn’t handle cockups, but Harry could bounce from one to the other and do backflips on the way.

Tom turned to the basilisk whose head was still peaking from the Chamber’s entrance, with a rather guilty look so far as Harry could tell, and hastily snapped.

‘Go back to the Chamber. Stay there, and stay hidden!’

The girls’ body was still warm from life, Harry noticed, but soon she’ll be cold. Just dead meat, like the bunny paw. A disgusting, terribly practical idea burgeoned in his head, stuck in his throat like it was chocking him, before finally making it to his lips.

‘No.’ He stated firmly. ‘Stay,’ he affirmed, his gaze and tone hard enough to reach through Tom’s panic.

Tom glanced back to him, still holding the girl.

‘We are going to feed her the body,’ Harry explained, his voice fraying on the hysteric side. 

About fifteen minutes later, Harry and Tom were far away from the third-floor girls’ bathroom, no one the wiser, and shacking and pale as death.

‘This was… disturbing,’ Tom finally murmured.

‘I hate you. This was horrible,’ Harry swallowed heavily, the taste of bile on his tong. ‘You have killed a girl. This was murder.’

‘I haven’t. Not technically. Besides you were the one to suggest we … disposed of the body… that way.’

‘Well, it’s not like we  –‘

Harry had to bite back his retort, as the headmaster suddenly turned the corner of the corridor they were standing in, leading a body of aurors on what must have been a tour of the castle. Both students nodded politely to the passing group, and Tom even managed to pull a rather convincing smile from somewhere deep within his guts.

Close call.

‘No more Basilisk,’ Harry whispered when the company had vanished.

‘No more Basilisk,’ Tom agreed, with a definite kind of tone.

## Fifth year – August ##

‘I think it would be a good idea that you let me accompany you,’ Harry stated, knowing full well the answer that was coming.

Tom twirled absentmindedly the wand he had snatched from Morfin Gaunt, taking in the intricate and elegant carving of the manor’s front door. The place was posh, the garden well taken care of. The whole thing seemed terribly inappropriate given the time of strife wreaking the world.

‘I want to do this alone.’

‘Very well. I’ll be waiting around. Just…’ Harry placed a hand on Tom’s forearm, ‘Just try and leave him time to talk. There is a chance he simply didn’t know.’

Tom gave a curt nod, his eyes fixed forward, and climbed the few steps up to the front door.

## Sixth year – September ##

‘Potter, Fleamont!’

Two pair of eyes flickered up in mild surprise to take in the young boy fencing his way out of the group of first years. He sported a distinctive mop of wild black hairs, fighting their way out of a hastily tied up catogan.

Abraxas Malfoy, the most observant of their little group, cocked an eyebrow up and turned to glance just as the sorting hat shouted:

‘GRYFFINDOR!’

A roar of cheers erupted from the lion’s house, and the boy skipped gleefully toward it. Harry’s eyes continued to trail him until he took his seat among the enthusiastic Gryffindor students. They were clapping the young boy on the shoulder and making him a warm welcome. There was a wistful air on Harry’s face that Tom was not quite sure what to make of, and that he didn’t like.

‘Do you want us to take care of him?’ He asked, his voice low enough that only Harry would hear.

Harry shook his head minutely, refusing the offer. He had no attachment or hatred toward the family that had rejected him. At least, not in the same fashion Tom harboured. He had no interest in ‘taking care of them’.

But the scene that had just played in front of him had been a punch to his gut and left a sour taste in his mouth. It was like being a spectator to a dream of your life.

He shrugged to odd feeling off, and with a lopsided grin, answered Tom’s unasked question:

‘The hat tried to convince me to be a Gryffindor. Said a whole lot of crap about bravery and courage to me. It brings me back, that’s all.’

Tom fingers drummed silently on the table, his face smooth and expressionless.

‘That would not have done at all,’ he finally stated.

‘Don’t worry, Tom. I do not regret choosing Slytherin,’ he said, bringing his cup to his lips to take a sip of pumpkin juice.

The discreet satisfied smile on Tom’s face was not something Harry would have bargained for a houseful of boasting morons.   

## Sixth year – October ##

‘I have been meaning to ask you something for a while.’

Abraxa undoubtedly had been trying to find a quiet moment alone with Tom for at least a fortnight, without expressly demanding it, and Tom had found it most amusing. Tonight, Slughorn had held his second dinner party of the year and was feeling in a high spirit enough to indulge the Malfoy heir.

Harry had left early, like he did every time he managed a reasonable enough excuse. Harry hated theses parties but got along with them for Tom’s sake and amusement. Nobody was really fooled but pretend to in a kind of now a polished dynamic. Harry was, after all, a seeker of incredible talent that Slughorn couldn’t pass on having despite is notorious fickle and difficult temper. He had won Slytherin the cup almost every year since he started playing. Slughorn was convinced he had convinced Tom to make sure Harry would behave. Tom was quite happy with this misconception.

‘You are sensible Abraxas. I am sure what you mean to ask does not trespass on anything I wouldn’t want to share,’ Tom answered, his pleasant tone betraying the warning lingering under his words.

Abraxas pinched his lips, obviously not sure of this himself, before steeling himself to ask his question anyway. Curiosity burning bright behind his practiced mask of indifference.

‘It has come to my attention Harry and you do not exactly look very much alike.’

The unspoken words were that they did not much look alike in comparison to other people currently under the castle roof. Tom fiddled with the idea to curse the hell out of Malfoy for running his tong. But on the other hand, it was only a matter of time before other people added things up and came to the same conclusion. Perhaps clarifying things now would be in everyone’s interest.

‘Harry is my adopted brother. He was informed upon receiving his Hogwarts letter he would have to change his name upon attending.’

Abraxas did not push his luck with further questioning as they walked their way back to the dorms. He did not have to hear more to draw the story up. As a pureblood heir, he was well aware of wizarding customs after all.

Either he would talk, or he wouldn’t. Tom thought that, all in all, it would play in their favour. Potter were not Slytherin, but they belonged to the sacred twenty-eight, nevertheless. Harry’s blood would be respected among pureblood.

Harry wouldn’t like it that the world got out, of course. But he was not going to be pissed off for long. He never was.

Chapter Text

## Sixth year – December ##

Harry cocked an inquisitive eyebrow, but Tom gestured for him to go ahead without him. He had been looking forward to corner Slughorn for a quiet chat for a while. Harry gave a shrug and turned to engage Rosier into a conversation with no other ends, Tom was sure, than to torment him for a while with artfully crafted and painful chattering.

Sometimes, Harry remembered Tom of a cat. They had a vicious streak for playing with their prey before killing them. It was a pleasant thought to entertain, and he let his hand wander about some of the cluttered objects assembled on the potion master display table, waiting for the evening guests to fill out of the room. When he was the only one left with an oblivious Slughorn, he rang a hourglass with a deliberate pinch.

‘Tom! I had not seen you were still there!’ Slughorn exclaimed, startled as he poured himself a liberate glass of brandy. ‘You need to hurry, it’s already past curfew.’

The tone was benevolent, the old man lulled by the pleasant evening, food, and conversation. It was perfect for the conversation he wanted to have.

‘I wanted to ask you a question, professor. I have come across a term, during my readings, that I do not fully understand,’ Tom stated coyly.

‘Well, you may as well ask me Tom,’ Slughorn answered, stuffing himself in his plush armchair and fishing out a piece of candied pineapple with obvious relish.

‘I wonder what you could tell me about … Soul bonds.’

‘Soul bonds, Tom? Been indulging in fairy tale reading then?’ The old professor inquired in a fond paternal tone. ‘I wouldn’t have placed you as interested in that kind of things.’

‘Fairy tales are part of wizarding culture. Some say there is a bit of truth in every story, and the concept seems fascinating.’ Tom flickered his eyes to the potion master to convey his not-all-faked embarrassment. ‘I confess I sometimes find it difficult to part old or rare magic from fairy tale.’

‘Understandable, of course, with your background Tom. I did not mean to dampen your investigative streak. It is rather admirable.’ The man drummed absentmindedly his fingers against his glass, obviously digging up his brain for something relevant to say. ‘Soul bond is a recurring fairy tale element, without being widespread I’d say. Star crossed lovers, unvanquished battle brothers, undying love… You name it. There is always some form of persistence of the involved pair. Nevertheless, it appears quite fictional,’ he added with a chuckle. ‘I have never heard of a piece of magic binding the souls of two persons. Magical binds, like most binding vows or contracts, act on the magic of the people involved.’

‘I see. Forgive me if my question was naïve.’

The professor waved a placating hand toward him, obviously endeared in some paternal way by Tom seemingly childish question. A small smile tugged at Tom’s lips, all too aware his next question would wipe the expression from his face.

‘I have one more question for tonight, if you’ll allow it. I was in the library one night. In the restricted section, and I read something rather odd about a bit of rare magic. It is call, as I understand it, a horcrux.’

Slughorn whole body went rigid as the term passed Tom’s lips.

‘I beg your pardon?’ He asked.

‘Horcrux. I came across the term while reading and I didn’t fully understand it.’

‘Well, Tom, that is dark stuff, very dark stuff you’ve been reading.’ He let out a disbelieving, uneasy chuckle. ‘Let it not be said you are not extensive in your studies and chosen reading material.’

## # ##

‘Everything I know to do it is in there! It’s not even that complicated, you just need the guts to go it.’

‘Tom, this is just one book. If it was all so simple, there would be a lot more immortal blokes going about,’ Harry answered irritably.

‘It requires having killed someone. It’s not simple,’ Tom seethe.

‘It is. It really is. I am sure that for the sake of immortality there’s a lot of people that wouldn’t mind becoming murderers,’ Harry sighed, passing a hand over his tired eyes. ‘We’ve talked about this. You are being obsessed and it clouds your judgement. You need to research this more, before doing anything. It looks good, but black magic always finds a way to bite you in the arse. You need to figure out the price before tearing your soul apart and that book doesn’t tell you that.

Tom harrumphed, closed the heavy volume with a bang, and stormed out of their little nook in the library. Harry sighed and stretched, gazing out the high window to see the moon was well up. It was dark and muffled. Only a few students had slips to work that late in the library and most of them were reasonable enough to be in bed by this time of the night.

Harry did not even get the appeal of immortality that much.  

## Sixth year - August ##

The bell tinkled discreetly in the hushed atmosphere of the stuffed little shop. Rows upon rows of stacked wand boxes, climbing their way to the ceiling and gathering dust, dormant until one wizard’s magic whispered to rouse them.

It was late enough than the shop was empty despite the rather busy time of the year, and Harry was rather happy about the absence of cowed firsties and their preening parents.

‘Ah! Mr Riddle! Eleven inches, holly and a phoenix core. Nice and supple. I believe it serves you right?’ Ollivander piped, emerging from the shadows of the back shop.

‘I am very happy with it, sir,’ Harry answered with a large, honest grin. He really was fond of his wand.

‘What bring you today then, Mr Riddle? Your brother is not with you?’

Harry had dumped Tom in Knockturn alley. Tom always seemed to have one thing or another to do there, and the place gave him the creep. Dark magic was theatrical enough on its own, there was no need to make a show of it.

‘He is busy, and I had some questions concerning my wand, so I took the opportunity to drop in, if you are not too busy,’ Harry explained politely.

Ollivander gestured for him to continue, in his rather terse and somehow benevolent way.

‘How to say this. My brother and I, you see, we have the habit to practice spells together. Over the last year, we have given a go at duelling practice,’ Harry explained, twirling his wands between his fingers absentmindedly. ‘On a couple of occasion, I am afraid some nasty accidents should have happened. But it seems my wand, or Tom’s …. Happily misfired.’

‘I gather these misfires never happened in other circumstances, or you would not have taken notice?’

‘Only when it’s the two of us. Minor accidents did happen with other students.’

It was not technically a lie. Nobody was dead because of those practice sessions, and given his and Tom’s history, Harry believed he could pass any other problem as minor situations.

Ollivander gave him a searching look, before holding off his hand for Harry’s wand. While examining it, he continued.

‘Your brother’s wand also possesses a phoenix feather core. Of the same phoenix. A very rare occurrence. Thirteen and a half inches, yew, if I remember correctly.’

He passed his wand back to Harry.

‘You do sir.’

‘What you need to understand, Mr Riddle, is that both your wands possess a very strong core. Brother wands are rare and their magic severely under documented, but what you have experienced may be a consequence of your wands refusing to work against each other in a significant way.’

Harry replayed the sentence in his head.

‘There is a specific magic around wands with a same core?’

‘If the core comes form the same magical beast, yes,’ Ollivander confirmed with a gruffy node.

Of all the things the man should have mentioned when they first purchased their wands….

‘It’s the first time in my lifetime it has come up, though,’ he added, ‘I believe the link is strengthened by both the natural powerful cores, and the close relation you share with your brother.’

Harry’s eyes snapped right to the old man piercing ones. Ollivander was perceptive, almost hawk like. It crawled under Harry’s skin, like it was searching for a crack in the mask.

‘There are spells,’ he continued, ‘that benefit from several casters being involved. I would advise looking into it. I would not be surprised you obtain uncommonly powerful results by combining your and your brother’s magic. I believe we can expect great things from the both of you, if you set your mind to it, Mrs Riddle.’

Harry gave the man a wooden smile. Exiting the stuffy shop swiftly, and the scrutiny of its owner, seemed like the best course of action. Nonetheless, Tom would want to know more.

‘Would you have any book on wand lore to advise me? I’d like to research this a bit futher.’  

## Seventh year - June ##

Harry had perched himself in a tree, a convenient way off the graduation celebration currently being held on the castle ground. It was a beautiful summer day, the sun caressing his skin in a gentle way. It was a good day. In a few hours they would be packing, and tomorrow, they would take the Hogwarts Express for the last time.

It felt terribly nostalgic.

Taking a bite of his buttered scone, Harry let his gaze drift and fall on Tom, who was currently engaged in smooth talking Lord Malfoy. It was always funny to see Tom wrap those uptight families tightly around his little fingers, while being private to how much he despised every one of them, save for a select few.

Harry, from his secluded perch, was unfortunate enough to catch the eyes of Professor Dumbledore who, seemingly amused to find him hidden up a tree, decided to come and chat him up.

‘Harry,’ Dumbledore greeted cheerfully.

‘Professor,’ Harry answered politely.

‘I must say, I was most pleased with your transfiguration marks. I wished to congratulate you.’

‘Thank you, sir.’

‘I am not sure I’ll have the occasion to congratulate Tom on his own success. He keeps on being otherwise engaged.’ Dumbledore’s eyes flickered up to Harry, and back to Tom. ‘I don’t think I have had the pleasure to be informed on his future projects.’

Ah. That was more of a Dumbledore line of things. Harry had almost thought they were in for a pleasant chat and civil conversation.

‘He was very disappointed to be refused the Defence position sir,’ Harry answered, aware the man was possibly involved in dissuading Dippet from considering Tom. ‘I believe he had in mind to go for a couple odd jobs to kill the time until he could apply again. I dissuaded him.’

Dumbledore cocked an eyebrow up.

‘You did?’

‘He’s received a lot of propositions to work at the ministry. I think he is going to reconsider a couple of them,’ Harry answered, because frankly, he was proud of Tom’s success and flinging it in the mingling professor’s face felt terribly gratifying.

Dumbledore chuckled.

‘You know, I believe most of the teaching staff here will remember Tom as the responsible one. But I rather think you were the one that kept him in check all this time.’

‘I’ve done my best sir, but Tom was a terrible troublemaker,’ Harry jested back.

There was a smile on the professor’s lips, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

He knows, Harry thought, but he doesn’t have any proofs.

‘And you Harry? Any firm plan? Travelling perhaps?’ Dumbledore asked lightly.

‘I have on good heeds my application for auror training is being seriously considered.’

Dumbledore seemed to take and turn the idea in his head for a few moments.

‘That would place the both of you in rather interesting positions within the ministry.’

‘I really couldn’t say, sir,’ Harry chirped merrily.

It would. It really would. That would be playing the long game, but Harry had a good feeling about their chances. Tom was brilliant, and Harry was by all mean a defence prodigy. The positions would allow them to keep close to each other. They could do this.

Dumbledore gave him a rather sad smile.

‘Did you ever consider cutting yourself off from Tom? To try and go your own way?’ He asked, tentatively. ‘I believe I know the feeling, to be close as you are with him. But Harry,’ he continued, something Harry believed to be sorrow in his voice, ‘you don’t have to do this.’

Something went very rigid in Harry’s soul. After all these years, after all these trials, Dumbledore chose now to try and counsel him?

Tom’s eyes flickered in their direction, and a minute frown appeared on his face when he spotted whom Harry was conversing with before he had to turn back to his current interlocutor.

Ah. But before we were only a problem. A monitored one. Now Dumbledore believes we could become a menace.

‘I am sure I don’t see what you mean, sir. Now, if you don’t mind, I believe I should go and embarrass Tom a little. Being obnoxious to uptight society is what I do best.’

The professor watched him go and mingle with the graduates and their families. Harry grabbed a glass of some fizzy drink and inserted himself by Tom’s side.

Tom’s eyes flickered to his, without turning from the scene he was observing. A group of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw students had lured the giant squid to the surface of the lake and spelled each of its tentacles to change colour over a pallet of rather flashing hues. Harry had to admit the sight was distracting.

‘What did he want?’ Tom asked.

‘To snoop. And to talk me away from you,’ Harry answered lightly, taking a sip from his drink. ‘It was a rather lame attempt if you must know.’  

Tom’s knuckles blanched from his sudden grip on his glass. Harry was mildly concerned the thing would break.

‘He is a little late for that I suppose’ he added.

‘I’m not sure he ever had a chance,’ Tom finished.

Harry toasted to that, and Tom surprised him with one of his rare, honest, and broad grins. It had a vicious streak to it, but it brought Harry back a few years.

In just a few hours they would leave Hogwarts behind them.

‘You, and me,’ Harry stated, toasting his glass against Tom’s.

‘You, and me,’ Tom confirmed regally.

Wherever it was they were taking each other.