Chapter Text
The castle was too quiet. Every stone corridor, every flickering torch seemed to mock him with its emptiness.
Tom moved like a storm through the dungeons, cloak snapping behind him. His pulse thundered in his ears, his thoughts narrowed to one name, one absence. Hadrian.
Slughorn trailed after him, still shaken from Tom’s outburst in the office. The man’s heavy steps echoed, his breathing uneven as he tried to keep up.
“Tom—Tom, slow down, my boy,” Slughorn puffed, reaching out but never daring to touch him. “He’ll be back, surely. Professor Hadrian—he isn’t the sort to vanish without explanation. I’m certain there’s a reason.”
Tom didn’t answer. His jaw was locked tight, his eyes scanning every dark corner of the Potions corridor as though Hadrian might materialize there. He threw open doors with violent precision—empty classrooms, cold cauldrons, shelves of dust. Nothing.
“He would not abandon the castle so carelessly,” Slughorn tried again, his voice quieter, more cautious. “Not without… telling someone. Not without ensuring the students were safe.”
Tom’s lip curled. “He could have told me,” he snapped, bitterness lacing every word. His voice broke halfway, and he forced it back under control with a shuddering breath.
Slughorn’s face softened, concern replacing his usual pompous cheer. “You said he was your soulmate.” His tone trembled on the word. “Then you must believe he’ll return. Soulmates do not—cannot—be parted so easily.”
Tom ignored him, stalking up the staircases, into shadowed classrooms, through the library doors that groaned like the bowels of some great beast. He didn’t pause, didn’t slow. His obsession was a fever under his skin. Where are you?
Hours bled together. The silence of the castle grew oppressive, broken only by the echo of their footsteps and Slughorn’s occasional wheezing attempts at reassurance. Tom searched until his throat ached from holding back the roar of frustration that wanted to tear free.
When at last they circled back toward the dungeons, Slughorn stopped, resting a hand against the wall. “Enough for tonight, Tom,” he urged, his voice gentler now. “We’ll look again come morning. You’re exhausting yourself.”
Tom didn’t look at him. His eyes were hollow with determination, his fists clenched. But the man was right—the castle had yielded nothing. Hadrian wasn’t here.
With a final sweep of the corridor, Tom turned and stalked into the Slytherin dorms, ignoring Slughorn’s anxious parting words.
Inside, the common room was eerily empty, firelight crackling against green stone. Tom didn’t go to his bed. He crossed straight to one of the couches near the hearth and collapsed into it, tugging his trouser leg up with trembling hands.
The mark on his thigh still shimmered faintly, mocking him with its incompleteness. The words burned against his skin—𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘦𝘧𝘶𝘭 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦—and Tom stared at them until his vision blurred.
Hadrian. The name echoed in his mind, over and over, louder than the crackle of the fire. His body was taut with the need to keep moving, to keep searching—but exhaustion had other plans.
His head fell back against the cushions, eyes fluttering closed against his will. The last thought that slipped through his grasp before sleep claimed him was not frustration, not rage—only the bone-deep certainty that Hadrian was his.
_____
Morning of 31st of December
Tom woke on the Slytherin common room couch, still in the same clothes as the night before. His body ached from the cramped position, but the exhaustion that had forced him to collapse hadn’t lifted. His hand went immediately to his thigh. He tugged his trousers up, breath sharp, only to be met with the same thing he had seen the evening before—
The words still didn't appear. Careful there. Half there. Not whole.
Frustration surged, a bitter taste in his mouth. He was so close.
The common room was silent. No footsteps, no voices, not even the quiet hum of the fire—just the faint crackling of dying embers. All the others had gone home days ago; he alone remained, the dorms echoing with absence. For a boy who loathed company, Tom found the emptiness unsettling.
He rose, straightened his robes, and went to breakfast.
The Great Hall was desolate in the morning light. Only a handful of students sat scattered at the four long tables, remaining gryffindors and hufflepuffs whispering over porridge, and ravenclaws who kept their eyes firmly on their books even as they ate.
Tom slipped into his usual seat at the Slytherin table. No one dared greet him. The clatter of cutlery seemed louder than usual, bouncing harshly off the stone walls.
At the staff table, Slughorn watched him, spoon paused halfway to his mouth. The professor’s mustache twitched with concern, but he said nothing. Tom ignored him, focusing instead on pushing food around his plate with mechanical precision.
His thigh burned faintly beneath the fabric. Not with pain—but with anticipation.
By late morning, Tom had shut himself in the library. The silence there was preferable, though his mind was anything but still. He pulled volume after volume from the shelves: books on soulmarks, binding magic, ancient bloodlines. Every page promised answers, yet none delivered. The words blurred together, riddles written in the vagueness of long-dead scholars.
Why me? he thought savagely, fingers digging into the parchment.
Why had his mark appeared blurred, different, defective? Why had it taken so long to fix?
The only constant in his thoughts was Hadrian. The man’s face, his voice, the press of those words: Careful there The coincidence clawed at him—too perfect to ignore.
When he finally emerged, it was to find Slughorn waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
“My boy,” Slughorn said gently, peering at him with watery eyes. “It’s your birthday tomorrow, is it not? I had thought perhaps a little gathering this evening—cake, spiced wine, something simple, just us. What do you say?”
“I say I’ve no interest.” Tom brushed past him, sharp and cold.
Slughorn hesitated. “You’ve been… restless of late. Distracted. If something is troubling you—”
“It isn’t.” Tom didn’t even break stride. His pace was quick, controlled, purposeful. But Slughorn’s eyes followed him, suspicion and worry flickering together.
Afternoon bled into evening. The castle felt larger than ever, its halls endless and hollow. Tom prowled them like a predator, searching for something—someone—he couldn’t find. Once, he thought he glimpsed Hadrian’s tall figure turning a corner ahead, but when he rushed after it, there was nothing. Only shadows and the faint whisper of his own footsteps.
He returned again and again to his mark, retreating to his room everytime, pushing his clothes just enough to check, just to see if the other half appeared, even though he knew it'll appear exactly at midnight, he couldn't help himself, and thus he kept checking over and over again.
But each time—disappointment.
As night fell, he ended up in the Astronomy Tower. Snow blanketed the grounds, glittering faintly under the light of the crescent moon. Hogwarts seemed to sleep beneath him, ancient and indifferent.
His thigh throbbed with a dull ache. His heart beat harder with every hour that slipped past. Midnight was approaching.
He had never felt so restless, so consumed, so desperate. He had never felt so utterly certain that something was coming.
Something inevitable.
____
The Astronomy Tower was silent, the December wind sharp and biting as it cut across the high stone platform. Tom stood rigid at the balustrade, black cloak snapping behind him, the night air heavy with tension. He had chosen this place deliberately, far above the sleeping castle, where the stars burned clear and cruel above him.
His thigh ached again. He drew a slow breath, pushing his robes aside, fingers brushing over the still-blurry half-mark seared faintly into the pale skin. Careful there. The letters pulsed faintly, like they were fighting to come alive.
Midnight was minutes away.
The air shifted. Tom stiffened. A low sound came from somewhere in the sky. And when he looked at a place where someone was moving towards him, he saw the same sharp yellow-eyed eagle.
The eagle stopped beside him, raising its foot, as if urging tom to take the paper.
Tom crouched slowly, heart hammering, and plucked the parchment free. His name wasn’t written on it. There were only two words, scratched in bold strokes:
My office.
He had only a heartbeat to register the message before the world exploded.
A burning, searing pain ripped through his right thigh, so violent it wrenched a ragged gasp from his throat. His fingers clawed desperately at the stone ledge, every muscle straining against the fire scorching his flesh from the inside out. The blurred ink on his skin writhed, solidifying into sharp, perfect clarity—etched into him with undeniable finality.
Careful there, Amarinth
Hadrian’s voice. The very first words Tom had ever heard from him.
It was him.
It had always been him.
Breath ragged, trembling from the complete confirmation, Tom clutched the slip of parchment in his fist, eyes blazing with the truth he could no longer ignore.
Hadrian wasn’t just his mysterious benefactor.
Hadrian wasn’t just his professor.
He was his soulmate.
And Tom would never let him go.
Tom’s boots pounded against the cold stone of the Astronomy Tower stairwell, each step echoing through the empty corridors like a drum of desperation. His breath came in sharp bursts, his heart hammering, and every nerve in his body screamed for him to find him. The last hours had been a blur of frantic searching, panic, and the searing reminder of the half-soulmark finally solidifying.
He reached Hadrian’s office and didn’t hesitate. Tom flung the door open with a violent slam.
“Hadrian!” he shouted, voice echoing in the otherwise empty room.
There, standing by the desk, was Hadrian. The low firelight caught the angles of his face, the tension in his shoulders, the calm authority in the way he held himself as though he owned the entire world—and, right now, it seemed, Tom’s entire universe. He turned slowly at the sound of Tom’s voice.
“Tom,” Hadrian said, his tone measured, smooth, but with a sharp edge that made the hair on Tom’s arms stand on end.
“I guess you know why I’m here at Hogwarts now." Hadrian added, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, as if he had known this day would come.
Tom’s initial shock gave way to anger so intense it burned his veins. He strode across the room, every step deliberate, chest tight, hands clenching at his sides. “Where have you been?!” he demanded, voice cracking with the intensity of two days of searching. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been doing? Running through the castle like a madman, not sleeping, not eating… looking for you!”
Hadrian’s eyes softened, but the smirk remained, dangerous and maddeningly infuriating. “I had… matters to attend to,” he said evenly, voice calm against the storm of Tom’s fury.
Tom’s jaw tightened. “Matters? For two whole days I’ve been trying to find you, Hadrian! You disappeared, and I—I thought—” His words caught, but the anger didn’t fade. “You think it’s fair to just vanish? Do you even know what it feels like to be searching for someone, every second, every moment, like your entire world depends on it?”
Hadrian’s gaze held him, unflinching, magnetic, and yet there was a tenderness there that made Tom’s blood boil with frustration and longing all at once. “I know,” he said softly, stepping closer, each movement deliberate. “And yet, here you are. You found me.”
Tom’s chest heaved. Every word, every step, every look from Hadrian set fire to something deep inside him. He wanted to scream, to curse, to throw himself at him, to make him stay. And in that instant, amidst the heat of anger and desire, Tom realized how completely this man had taken hold of him.
“You can’t just leave,” Tom growled, taking another step forward, eyes dark with need and frustration. “Not like this. Not ever again.”
Hadrian’s smirk softened into something more dangerous, more intimate. “i was just preparing your birthday gift.” he said quietly, and the words hit Tom like a thunderclap—full of warning, promise, and something else entirely.
Tom froze, heart pounding, mind spinning, as the weight of the past two days—the searching, the panic, the longing—all condensed into a single, shattering truth: Hadrian was his, and he disappeared so that he can prepare Tom's gift. And now that he had him, nothing would ever be the same.
Hadrian’s fingers brushed the fabric of his robes, producing a small, elegantly carved box. He held it out to Tom, the green-gold shimmer of the Slytherin locket catching the low light of the office.
“Happy Birthday, Tom,” Hadrian said, voice soft but commanding, every syllable deliberate, infused with a weight that made the room seem to still around them.
Tom froze, eyes locked on the gift as if it were a living thing, and yet, it was more than just a gift,it was his ancestry, it was the thing that reminded him of those filths that tried stomping on him as a 1st year, and it was the culmination of weeks of obsession, of thoughts. His breath hitched, and for a fleeting second, he forgot to move, to speak, to even blink.
But then, Tom didn’t hesitate. Impulsively, fiercely, he threw his hands over Hadrian’s shoulders and around his neck, pulling him close with a force born of weeks of longing, panic, and need. The world seemed to narrow, collapse, until it was only them—only the heat, the closeness, the weight of desire pressing between them.
Hadrian froze for a fraction of a second, surprise flashing in his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by an equally consuming fire. His hands went to Tom’s waist and back, steadying, grounding, and then matching the force of the kiss with his own. The first contact was electric, searing, a collision of control and surrender, of dominance and yielding that made every nerve in Tom’s body tingle with overwhelming intensity.
The kiss deepened, fierce and unrelenting. Tom could feel Hadrian’s heartbeat against his own, feel the subtle shifts of his body as they pressed together, as if each were mapping the other, claiming space, staking a claim that went beyond words. Every thought Tom had been holding—his obsession, his admiration, his desire for possession—exploded into that single moment, raw and unfiltered.
Hadrian’s response was no less consuming. He gave back with equal fervor, tilting his head, deepening the kiss, his magic and will pressing gently yet insistently against Tom, letting him know that this was shared, reciprocated, yet also possessed, owned, and savored. The intensity was dizzying, a storm of emotion and heat that made Tom forget the office, the locket, even time itself.
For Tom, it was a culmination of everything: fear, longing, obsession, devotion. He could feel the surge of triumph in possessing Hadrian so completely in that moment, and simultaneously, the trembling vulnerability of giving himself over entirely. Every breath, every heartbeat, every shiver of skin on skin, spoke of a connection that was fierce, consuming, and terrifying in its perfection.
When they finally broke apart, only slightly, to draw in ragged breaths, Tom’s forehead rested against Hadrian’s chest, his hands still gripping him as if letting go would undo reality itself. Hadrian’s arms remained tight around him, holding, steadying, grounding, and yet there was a softness in his gaze, a promise, a fire, and an unspoken understanding that whatever came next, whatever the world tried to impose, in this moment, they belonged entirely to each other.
Hadrian’s thumb brushed along Tom’s jaw, feather-light, a stark contrast to the bruising intensity of the kiss they’d just shared. His smirk was still there, but softened, tinged with something warmer, something Tom hadn’t seen before. “You kiss like you’re trying to win a war,” Hadrian murmured, voice low, teasing but tender.
Tom’s lips curved into the faintest ghost of a smile, though his chest still heaved with unsteady breaths. “Maybe I am,” he shot back quietly, his tone sharp but almost shy at the edges. “And maybe I don’t plan on losing.”
Hadrian’s chuckle rumbled softly against him, the vibration sinking into Tom’s bones. He leaned in just enough to press a fleeting, gentle kiss to Tom’s temple, so subtle and brief it made Tom’s breath hitch all over again. “Good,” Hadrian whispered. “Because neither do I.”
For a moment, there was silence—the kind that wasn’t empty, but full. Tom felt it settle in his chest like an anchor, grounding and terrifying all at once. His hands had loosened their desperate grip but still rested at Hadrian’s shoulders, unwilling to put distance between them.
“Do you have any idea,” Tom muttered, voice lower now, raw with the remnants of his panic, “what it was like not knowing where you were? Searching and finding nothing?”
Hadrian’s gaze softened further, the teasing fading as he tilted Tom’s chin upward with two fingers. “I know,” he said, steady and unflinching. “And I won’t let you feel that again.”
The promise sat heavy in the air—simple, absolute. And for once, Tom didn’t argue.
Instead, with a rare kind of vulnerability, he shifted just enough to rest his head again on Hadrian's chest, letting the warmth of the embrace, the steady rhythm of another heartbeat, remind him that this was real. That Hadrian was here. That he wasn’t leaving.
The silence between them lingered, not awkward, but thick with the aftermath of everything that had just happened. Hadrian’s hand was still warm on Tom’s back, his thumb idly tracing slow, grounding circles through the fabric.
Then, softly, Hadrian broke it. “Are you going back to your dorm?”
“No.”
The answer was sharp, immediate, a blade of sound cutting through the quiet. Hadrian’s lips quirked, a soft chuckle slipping out at the sheer finality in Tom’s tone.
“All right, then,” Hadrian murmured, stepping back just enough to take Tom’s hand in his, fingers curling gently around his. “Come with me.”
He led Tom down a narrow side corridor—one only a handful of people in the castle even knew existed—and stopped before a door that blended almost seamlessly into the stone wall. A whisper of a charm later, it swung open to reveal Hadrian’s private chamber, dimly lit and warm with quiet, understated luxury.
“You can change into anything you like,” Hadrian said, nodding toward a carved wardrobe in the corner. “Everything in there is yours to use.”
Tom gave him a flat look, one brow arched. “And you?”
“I’ll be sleeping on the couch,” Hadrian replied, tone maddeningly calm.
“No, you won’t.”
“Yes, I will.”
“You won’t,” Tom repeated, stepping in close, defiance simmering just under the surface. “You’re sleeping on the bed. With me. Even if it’s just at the edge.”
Hadrian sighed, the long-suffering kind, and folded his arms, but there was a flicker of fondness in his eyes. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Tom snorted softly. “I’m the one insisting. If anyone should be uncomfortable, it’s me. Which I’m not. So stop being ridiculous.”
There was a beat of silence as Hadrian stared at him—then another sigh, this one quieter, more resigned. “Fine. The edge. But we’re sleeping. Only.”
Tom’s mouth curved in a victorious smirk, but he didn’t push his luck. Not now. Not after everything.
“Only,” he echoed, softly. And maybe it was the warmth of the chamber or the way Hadrian’s eyes lingered on him just a moment longer, but for the first time in days, Tom felt like he could breathe.
They ended up lying opposite each other, Tom at one end of the bed, Hadrian at the other, the heavy quilt drawn loosely between them. For a while, neither spoke. The room was quiet except for the faint crackle of the fireplace, throwing long, shifting shadows across the stone walls.
Tom lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, though his mind was a restless tide. He had kissed Hadrian—his soulmate. He had yelled at him, demanded answers, pulled him close as if letting go would mean losing him forever. And yet, lying here now, in this bed that was not his, in chambers he’d never stepped foot in before, Tom felt… at home.
It was unsettling. How easily Hadrian’s presence smoothed the edges of his anger, how naturally teasing slipped into their conversations, how the simple promise of “sleeping only” somehow felt more intimate than anything else they could have done. He should feel unmoored, overwhelmed by the sheer enormity of what he had just discovered, and yet—he only felt anchored. As if Hadrian had always been here, waiting for this moment.
His chest tightened. He wasn’t used to this—comfort. Belonging. He almost hated how natural it felt.
Just as his thoughts threatened to spiral further, Hadrian’s voice cut through the silence, quiet but clear:
“Did you like the gifts I sent you?”
Tom’s breath caught. His gaze snapped to Hadrian, who was lying on his side now, one arm folded beneath his head, watching him with that unreadable, steady calm.
The eagle. The boxes. The notes. All the tokens that had consumed his thoughts, set his heart racing with every delivery—Hadrian. It had been Hadrian all along.
Tom’s throat felt tight, his pulse wild in his ears. The truth crashed into him with full force, and he realized he was smiling, just faintly, even as his mind reeled.
Tom’s throat felt dry, but he forced the words out, low and edged.
“So it was you,” he said, eyes narrowing, though there was no true anger in them now—only something rawer, something that made his voice unsteady. “Driving me mad with your riddles and trinkets. Watching me obsess like some… fool.”
Hadrian didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. “And did you like them?” he asked again, calm, almost amused, but with a quiet intensity in his eyes that left no room for avoidance.
For a moment, Tom’s pride battled with the truth thrumming in his chest. Then, finally, he exhaled and let it slip out, quiet but unshakable:
“Yes.”
His fingers tightened against the quilt, his gaze locked on Hadrian’s. “I liked them. Every single one. More than I should have.”
Hadrian’s lips curved, softer now, less of a smirk and more of a smile that felt reserved for Tom alone. “Good,” he murmured, his voice threaded with quiet satisfaction. “I hoped you would. Every gift I chose, every word I wrote—I wanted you to know someone saw you.”
Tom’s chest tightened. The admission felt too much, too intimate, and yet it didn’t suffocate him—it settled, warm and steady, somewhere deep inside where nothing else had ever reached. He tried to scoff, tried to summon the wall of arrogance he usually wore like armor, but all that came out was a weak, “You’re infuriating.”
Hadrian chuckled, low and unbothered. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” His eyes softened further, the intensity dimming to something gentler, something Tom didn’t know how to fight against. “You’ve always deserved more than scraps of affection, Tom. More than what the world has given you.”
Tom swallowed hard, his mind reeling, words tangling in his throat. He hated how Hadrian could say things like that—things that unraveled him, that made him feel too bare, too seen. And yet… he didn’t want him to stop.
For a long moment, silence stretched between them, not tense but heavy, full of unspoken truths. Then Hadrian shifted slightly closer, their shoulders brushing. “Rest now,” he said quietly. “It’s still your birthday. Tomorrow will be different. But tonight… tonight, you’re safe.”
Tom’s lashes lowered, his jaw still tight, but he didn’t argue this time. The warmth at his side, the steady presence of Hadrian, the locket’s weight against his chest—it was all too much, and yet not nearly enough.
For the first time in years, Tom let himself close his eyes, not out of weakness, but because for once, he didn’t need to be on guard.