Harry tossed the ball in the air, lying on his back in the tall grass. When Tom caught it in one swift, fluid motion, he scowled up at him and crossed his arms over his this chest.
"What?" Tom asked.
"You're really going aren't you?" His voice came out plaintive, not at all how he wanted.
Tom shrugged. "I'll be back for hols."
The younger boy's lip jutted out. "You're not special. I can do things to you know."
Tom didn't rise to the bait. He merely sneered. "You're just a kid. What do you know?"
"I'm not," Harry protested. Some emotion flicked across his face, too quick for Tom to catch it. "I'm just as good as you."
Tom's sneer did not waver. "I'm sure." He bit off the rest of the insult on his tongue. "It's dark. I'm heading back in."
Harry got up and trailed after him, silent, brooding.
They passed through the orphanage relatively unscathed, save a few degrading remarks about their freakish nature. Tom responded the way he always did, with a gleam in his eye and a cold smirk.
Harry slunk into the sparsely decorated room behind him. He shut the door loudly and leaned against it, looking at Tom with a slightly sullen expression.
"I'm not going to change my mind just because you're pouting," he said coolly, turning up his nose at the green eyed boy in front of him.
When Harry didn't move, Tom huffed and turned around. He pulled his nightclothes out of a trunk at the end of his bed and began to change. Even after he sat down on his bed and pulled a thin, ragged blanket over him, Harry was still standing there, looking mutinous and angry and frightened and desperate all at once.
Tom frowned. "Is it really that big of a deal? Good lord, Harry, I'll be back in a few months' time."
"You're going to be gone all year," Harry said darkly. His eyes were fierce and his mouth was crumpled. "When you come back you'll be different. I'll be different."
Tom watched him warily.
Harry approached him, slowly. "You'll be off at school, learning magic, and I'll still be here, getting beaten and starved. And you'll come back, and you'll have forgotten what it's like. You're going to think you're too good for here, that you're better than us, than me." The sentence ended with a slightly strangled hiss. "But you won't be. You're not. And I'll always be here, reminding you of where you came from, and you're going to hate me."
Tom was quiet for a moment. "I couldn't hate you."
"You'd resent me," Harry said, coming to sit on the bed.
"I wouldn't."
"Don't lie," Harry hissed.
Tom stared. Harry stared back, then he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose in a strangely adult like manner and swung his feet onto the bed.
Tom frowned. "What are you doing?"
Harry squirmed his way under the blankets and curled against Tom, using his shoulder as a pillow.
"Aren't we a little old for this?"
"You're leaving in the morning," Harry said.
Tom's breath was hot on his skin. "Eleven year olds do not cuddle."
"Good thing I'm only nine," Harry said.
O
"I'll write," Tom told him.
Harry looked at him dubiously.
"Really. I swear. Every week."
"Right," the word scraped across Tom's senses and made his chest tighten uncomfortably. "Right, I'm sure you will."
Tom chewed his lip. "Don't leave off your studies, Harry."
"Of course not."
There was a weighted silence, and when it seemed that there was nothing left to be said, the old man in half moon glasses spoke up. "We had best be on our way, my boy."
Tom cleared his throat. "Right. Of course."
The man smiled encouragingly at Harry. "It will be your turn before you know it."
Harry did not smile back at him. Instead, he darted out suddenly and hugged Tom, who stiffened and frowned.
"Don't you dare come back here thinking that you're better, Tom Riddle," he hissed. "You won't be."
"Harry – "
But the boy had turned on his heel and stalked out of the room, leaving only silence and a tense feeling that Tom couldn't quite shake.
O
Nov. 30
Harry,
I wish you'd write to me. I'm completely earnest when I say that I miss you. I want to know how you are. Please. Don't make me beg you. It's cruel. I know you must still be angry that I've left you, but it can't be helped. Please don't hold it against me, Harry.
Tom
Dec. 7
Harry,
I'm sorry, alright? Please, won't you just write back?
Tom
Dec. 14
I've decided to stay on for Christmas. Just thought you should know.
Harry was crouching on his knees in the dirt, mud smeared in his hair and across his face. His trousers were torn in both knees and his shirt had certainly seen better days. Next to him was another boy from the village, with a dark pointed face and sharp brown eyes. He was dressed similarly, but was considerably more well-groomed.
"I can't believe he threw ya inta the street like that," the dark boy said breathlessly, sitting back on his haunches.
Harry grinned widely, revealing a mouth full of missing teeth. "Told you I'd do it."
"And you did, too. Tried to filch 'is bloody pouch. An' a bloody soldier too." The boy looked impressed. "I've never seen 'a likes."
There was a tinge of pink on Harry's cheeks and he lifted his chin proudly. "And you dint believe me, Charles."
The boy, Charles, looked appropriately chagrined. "I s'pose I'm owin ya now, aren't I?"
"O' course," Harry said, sounding indignant.
Charles dug in his pockets for a moment before pulling out a grimy ticket stub, a marble, and a flat silver coin. "Tha's all I've got today."
"Oi," Harry said. "That's hardly worth the stunt. I could 'ave bin killed!"
The other boy bit his lip. "I don' know what to tell ya, 'arry."
Footsteps sounded behind them and the two boys whirled around, nearly falling backwards into the bushes in their haste to get up.
Charles' older brother grinned at them a little. "Mam's calling you."
"Dinner!" Charles exclaimed, scrambling. "I was s'posed to help Mam with dinner. See ya 'arry!"
"See you," Harry said quietly as Charles scampered off. He took a step back, stumbling. "Er, 'ello Rob."
Rob took a step towards Harry, leering at him. "You look a bit nervous 'arry. Something a matter?" A heavy hand rested on Harry's hip and his fingers brushed lightly against his bare stomach.
"What the hell are you doing?"
Rob jumped back, looking into the coldly furious face of Tom Riddle. He tried for a smile. "I didn't mean any harm."
Tom gave him a look that made Harry's skin crawl. It was riddled with hate and disgust. "If you ever touch him again, I will come after you." His voice was flat and cold. He grabbed Harry by the collar and dragged him forward. We need to talk, he hissed, completely disregarding Rob and his violent flinch.
Harry shoved him away. "Oh, piss off, you."
He caught Harry's wrist easily and half dragged him back up the road. You didn't write.
What was I supposed to say? There was nothing I could have written that would have held your attention! Not while you were off -
That's what you were worried about? My attention? He grabbed Harry suddenly and shoved him against the wall of the upcoming building. You will always hold my attention, he said vehemently.
He let go of Harry abruptly and walked away.
O
Harry leaned in the doorway, watching Tom quietly. His eyes looked red and swollen, and he'd had a bath since that morning.
Tom glanced up at him. "What?"
Harry looked away. "Nothing."
"You're still angry." It wasn't a question.
Harry walked over to his own bed, refusing to look at Tom. "You didn't come home for Christmas."
Tom hesitated, a look of rare vulnerability crossing his face. Harry didn't see it. "I wasn't aware you wanted me to, considering you didn't write."
"You obviously don't know me at all."
Tell me why you thought I'd forget you. Tell me. Don't lie.
Harry didn't look at him. "It doesn't matter. Go to bed, Tom."
Harry.
Leave it, Harry spat.
Tom stared at him, then turned on his side and jerked the blanket over his body.
O
Harry's eyes were dark and hungry as Olivander spoke of their brother wands. And they never left Tom's face. Not once.
Tom was at quite a loss with what to do with him. At best, the boy was moody, but at worst he was practically volatile. And at the center of it was himself, and Harry's furious longing. All of Harry's moods seemed to revolve around Tom.
He was furious with him for leaving, and then terrified that Tom would – what exactly? Move on to bigger things, perhaps. And he was planning to just that, but as long as the boy did not make a fool of him, he saw no reason why Harry couldn't happen along.
But then he was miserable in all of his feelings, brooding silently for weeks, only to come back twice as strong and suffocating possessive. He couldn't understand it, or make sense of it.
But he was suspecting Harry's scar.
Harry had brooded all of the previous summer, barely speaking a word to him. But he had come to say goodbye, and Tom had reached out and ruffled his hair, fingers grazing his forehead, and Harry had jerked back violently, hissing and twitching and gazing at Tom with sharp desperate eyes.
And then he had begun to write to Tom, almost out of nowhere. The letters were fierce and angry and smart and witty and childish and cruel and concerned all at once. They were frenzied even, as if Harry had written them in a fit or fever.
Later, he found out that Harry had gotten into trouble with several people in town, and had also had some run ins with the Muggle police as well.
This summer, he was considerably warmer towards Tom, as if his spirits had been lifted at the prospect of attending school with him.
Until Tom had found that disgusting cretin Rob with his hands and mouth all over Harry one day when he'd been out walking. Needless to say, he nearly killed the fiend after beating him bloody, and he would have finished it if Harry, who had not said a single word until that point, had not put a soft hand on his back and told him he wanted to go inside.
Tom was distracted as Harry twirled his wand, trailing a rainbow of sparks. "Tom," he said. "I want you to show me the rest of it."
O
"Potter, Harry," the old man said, eyes twinkling.
Harry wanted to shrink into himself, or drag his feet. Instead, he walked to the stool with his head high, because Tom was watching. And yet he was miserable. The Slytherins, in green and silver, were all vying for Tom's attention.
Attention that he wanted.
"Hmm," the Hat said. "That's very territorial of you."
Harry ignored it, opting instead to imagine the death of the girl who had just rested a hand on Tom's arm, causing Tom to look away from him for a moment.
"Oh Salazar," the Hat said unhappily. "I will have to report that."
The boy was unperturbed.
"That's not really a Slytherin trait, you know," it continued. "Seeing's as how you clearly don't care if you're discovered. Actually rather Gryffindorish of you. What did you say your name was?"
"Harry Potter."
"Sweet Merlin," the Hat said despondently. "Well that won't do. Those lions would eat you alive. They're probably furious already, what with you being an orphan and calling yourself a Potter. No, for your own safety, we will have to keep you out of Gryffindor. Hmm. Well you certainly aren't a Ravenclaw. Absolutely no regard for knowledge. Quite unlike your Mr. Riddle. I daresay, he appears to be the only thing on your mind."
"Put me in Slytherin."
"Oh, no. No, no. I've seen what's in your head, Potter. You'd slaughter them all in a jealous rage, and don't you even try to deny it. You're certainly possessive of him. No, it would be like participating in murder. Oh, oh dear. And I wouldn't wish you on the Hufflepuffs for all the world."
"Where then?" Harry snapped.
The Hat sighed deeply. "I suppose you do have one redeeming quality," the Hat said unhappily. "Your loyalty to Mr. Riddle is commendable."
Harry nearly snarled. "Then put me with him."
The Hat sounded wretched. "I couldn't. Not in good conscience. I'm afraid it will have to be HUFFLEPUFF!"
Harry schooled his face into a blank mask as he rose from the seat in one sweeping motion. He glanced up at Tom briefly.
The boy smirked at him and mouthed "Hufflepuff, really?"
Harry threw the third year the dirtiest look he could manage and swept off to join the badgers. With dignity.
O
Tom was surprised by Harry's sorting. Oh, he was pleased, terribly pleased that the boy was not about to be thrown into the lion's den, nor about to be caught up in the world of Slytherin power plays, but still. A Hufflepuff? His Harry?
That was easily the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard.
And it would not be good for his image. He was aiming for the highest position in Slytherin's elite. He would only be brought down by associating with the Hufflepuffs.
And Harry…he knew Harry would never understand that.
O
Harry's eyes flicked across the table, eyeing everyone with instantaneous dislike. Meek. Followers. Certainly they were a hard working bunch. And loyal too. Harry frowned, wondering how he could use this to his advantage.
Obviously, he would have to win them over.
The Hufflepuff way.
Grimacing inwardly, he tried a smile at the girl across the table from him. He was certain it was more of a baring of teeth, but she smiled back.
"I'm Heather," she said.
His first instinct was to sneer 'how nice' and then ignore her. But somehow he managed to get the words to sound like "Harry" instead. He reached his hand across the table unexpectedly and she shook it.
"I'm a first year too," she added. "Muggleborn. It came as a bit of a surprise."
Harry exhaled slowly through his nose. He was going to kill someone this year, he knew. He forced his mouth to smile at her, before glancing over his shoulder at the Slytherin table. Tom was watching him with a bemused expression.
Harry felt rather pleased as he turned rather violently back to Heather.
"Friends with a Slytherin?" she asked, surprised.
"He's a third year," Harry said, slowly. He was beginning to come to the realization that if he wanted to use the members of Hufflepuff to his advantage, he could not associate with Slytherins, whom they feared. Harry had a sudden violent urge to hurt someone. "I expect he won't talk to me, now that I'm a Hufflepuff," he said, frowning.
It seemed to do the trick. "Oh," she said pityingly. "I'm sorry. That's really too bad. But I wouldn't worry too much though. I'm sure you'll meet new people now that you're here though." She smiled at him rather hopefully.
Oh. That. She wanted to be friends? The very thought at stooping to such a level made Harry want to vomit. Violently. He smiled tightly. "I'm sure."
The girl elbowed the boy sitting next to her. "Elmer," she said. "This is Harry."
The sandy haired boy swallowed his food and grinned at Harry. "Hullo. How do you like Hogwarts?"
Harry did not admit that the only reason he was here was because he wanted to be near to Tom. Instead, he half grimaced/ half smiled at the boy and told him he was not sure. He was afraid of getting lost, he said. He was afraid of getting bullied by the Slytherins, and of falling off one of the moving staircases. Lies, of course, but he had to make them believe he was an innocent Puff.
Elmer smiled warmly. "Not to worry," he said. "Us Hufflepuffs, we stick together. And I'm a second year. I'll show you around."
Harry wanted to drop his head on the table, repeatedly. He consoled himself by imagining all of the ways that he could exploit them.
He thought this was the worst place the Hat could have left him. At least in Gryffindor, he could have actively antagonized the idiots and written it off as recklessness. At least in Slytherin, he could smirk and sneer and scowl all he liked. At least in Ravenclaw no one would care if he were friends with a Slytherin.
The only consolation was that his sorting to Hufflepuff had effectively gotten Dumbledore off his back. Dumbledore would not suspect a Hufflepuff of the things he suspected of Tom.
Harry was not sure where this strong, deep seated hatred of Dumbledore had come from, but it made him want to commit violent acts. Such as the Cruciatus.
Harry frowned. He was not entirely sure where these thoughts were coming from. And they had been coming for a while now. Ever since Tom's fingers had brushed against his scar.
"Harry," Heather said concernedly. "Are you alright?"
He offered her a thin smile as an idea began to form in his mind. "Oh, yes, sorry." He leaned forward across the table towards her. "If I heard another student talking about a curse that sounded really bad, who should I tell?"
The girl looked worried. "Oh, probably a prefect. Elmer, Harry needs to talk to a prefect."
Harry smirked into his pumpkin juice.
The concerned prefect was there almost immediately. "A bad curse you say? What was it?"
Harry tried to find the appropriate facial expression. "I heard an older student, one of the Slytherins, talking about how she was going to Crucio someone." He said she on purpose. Harry had no desire to call attention towards Tom.
The prefect was alarmed. "Are you certain?"
Harry nodded. "Er, what is that spell, exactly?"
"It's an Unforgivable. It's used as a torture spell. It causes a lot of pain to the victim."
Harry forced himself to mirror Hannah's shocked expression.
"Harry," the prefect said. "You must report that if you ever hear a student say that again. Do you understand me?"
Harry nodded. But he wasn't very well going to report himself.
O
It was not difficult to sneak out of the Hufflepuff Basement, which was located on the right side of the kitchen corridor.
It was slightly more difficult to find Tom, but not really. The boy was leaning on the wall of the Astronomy Tower, as if he had been waiting for Harry.
"We can't be seen together in public," Harry said immediately.
Tom did not mask his surprise very well. "Yes," he agreed. "I was going to tell you the same thing." He gave Harry a curious look. "Hufflepuff?"
Harry's dark scowl was predictable, and welcome. "That bloody Hat," he growled. "Insisted there was nowhere else to sort me."
"Not Slytherin?"
"It said it couldn't, for the safety of the other students."
Tom felt rather pleased at that. "Don't want to share me?" he smirked.
"No," Harry said. The look that settled on Tom was hungry. "No, I don't."
It made Tom's skin crawl. He smiled, instead of letting on. "However will you handle it?"
Harry hugged him suddenly, arms snaking slyly around Tom's middle and head pressing into the crook of Tom's neck. "Badly," he murmured. When I do ssomething awful, forgive me?
One of Tom's arms came around to hug him back. The other stroked Harry's chin length hair. Of course.
O
First year passed without too much of an incident, other than the dead girl who had fallen from the moving staircase. She was a Slytherin, a fourth year, and an heiress, and Tom had brought her to Hogsmeade. Tom was also the one who found her, with a broken neck and a bloody face. Harry had been leaning over the railing looking down at them with a mildly concerned expression. "Is she alright?" he'd asked.
Coincidentally, Harry had also showed up to Transfiguration half an hour late with a split lip and a broken nose, refusing to go to the Hospital Wing.
"It's rather likely that I deserved it," Harry had told Dumbledore with a half – mad grin. Needless to say, the man began to keep a closer eye on Harry after that.
Despite those minor setbacks, Harry almost nearly perfected his Hufflepuff mask. He was eager and helpful all while gagging on the inside, and he threw himself into his studies with a vigor that surprised even himself. Later, he realized what he was doing.
Trying to impress Tom.
The older boy avoided him like the plague aside from the few nights a month when they met up after curfew. But even so, his eyes followed Harry closely, cautiously.
Harry, to his credit, didn't look at him at all. Not once, aside from the incident with the dead girl.
And he thought he might be losing his mind.
He had knowledge of things he'd never heard, remembered people he'd never met. Dark spells were constantly on the tip of his tongue, spells that were so obscene that Harry was sure he would've remembered learning them.
He wanted Tom, wanted everyone taking Tom away from him to hurt. The need in his chest and the pain in his head were so great on the days that Tom evaded their meetings that he sometimes found himself vomiting over the toilet and burning with a fever.
On the last day of term Tom found him in the bathroom leaning heavily over the sink. His face was wet – had he been crying? Harry didn't remember.
Tom quickly cast a privacy ward and put a hand on Harry's shoulder. Are you alright?
Harry turned so fast that he nearly knocked the wind out of Tom with his elbow. He caught the older boy by his tie and dragged Tom's face to his, crushing their mouths together rather violently.
Tom stiffened immediately. Boys didn't kiss other boys, and most certainly not eleven year olds.
But it was over before Tom could act on his conviction.
Harry shoved past him and tore through the privacy ward before Tom could see the red glint in Harry's normally green eyes. Before he could see Harry's shaking trembling hands and his bleeding scar.
When they met up again in Muggle London after the train ride, neither of them brought up the incident in the bathroom.
Harry immediately grabbed his hand in a bone crushing grip and dragged Tom off to the Leaky Cauldron.
"I need to go to Knockturn Alley," Harry told him, in a voice that left no room for questions.
Tom nodded. "I'll meet you back here."
The look Harry gave him was long and searching, but he didn't ask what business Tom had in Diagon Alley. "Fine." He didn't ask because he couldn't honestly tell Tom where he would be either.
In a dank, cluttered book shop buying every book he could find on Soul Magic, Soul Bonds, and Dark Magic.
If he didn't figure out what was going on, he'd lose his mind for sure. It was only a matter of time.