Harry moved to Thomas Riddle Sr.'s house in Little Hangleton when he was ten, three years after his father had died in the war. Exactly five months later in their new home, his mother perished from lung sickness while Harry played outside in the garden, all by himself.

Somehow his tears refused to fall. Even during the funeral in the local cemetery. His eyes were dry, the same as the hot desert his mother used to read him stories about late at night. Just the two of them, huddled in the big bed within the chamber Thomas Riddle gifted him. The same man's hand now rested on his shoulder as his mother's casket was slowly let down by four men into the black hole in the ground. His adoptive brothers, all older than Harry, sat on the other side of their father in silence.

The brown haired twelve-year-old was named Theodore, and most of the time he was set on ignoring Harry's existence. He made it clear Harry was not welcomed in their house, least of all into his life, and never once had they played together despite their close age. But out of the three of them, Harry liked Theodore the best. He was not mean to him.

The second eldest brother was different, and not only in appearance. His name was Draco and he had pale blonde hair with grey eyes, and he was cruel to Harry. He had once thrown the toy soldier his new father had given him from the top of the stairs, breaking its fragile neck and limbs. Harry had sobbed into his mother's embrace late into the night until his hiccups died down and she promised Thomas Sr. wouldn't get mad at him.

The eldest of the three was named Tom, the real son of their adoptive father and sixteen this winter. He was the coldest of them all. Although he looked like one would picture Prince Charming, he never smiled at Harry. Not even once. He was very tall and his hair and eyes were black. The only conversation they had was a muffled 'Sorry' whispered in the hallway when Harry bumped into him by accident while running away from Draco. 'No bother' was the only reply. Harry couldn't decide if he liked Tom or not.

"Freak! Your mother died and you wouldn't even cry!" piped Draco after most of the people had left the grave site.

Theodore looked strangely at Harry, putting a little distance between them at his brother's harsh words. Harry did not say a thing as he dragged his feet towards the edge of the forest, hearing Draco shout after him. He refused to stop, even for a while, until he reached a small clearing and all but collapsed onto his knees. Forehead tightly pressed against the ground, Harry sobbed, hands covering his mouth.

He wanted his mother. He wanted his father. He was all alone in the world now, not a single person to care for him anymore in a house full of strangers who didn't love him. It was cold outside but Harry couldn't bring himself to stand and go to the place he needed to call home from now on. Not without his mother. His tears left hot trails over his frozen cheeks as he bit his lip to keep from crying out.

"Is weeping all you can do?"

Harry would recognize that voice anywhere. From the few times he had heard it, Harry had memorized the tone. The way he articulated specific words and the way he made them pretty. Harry gazed up to see Tom standing over him, looking down at him. Really, really looking at him. The trees threw dark shadows over his handsome face as he crouched down to his eye level.

"You see," Tom started in a quiet voice, as if they were sharing secrets. "When I'm hurting like you are now, I like to make others hurt even worse."

Are you also hurting? Harry wondered. Somehow, it was unimaginable.

He did not know what to stay, how to respond to something like that without making a fool out of himself. Or if he should do so in the first place. Harry quietly observed Tom as the boy got out a sharp-looking dagger from his coat pocket, its blade gleaming in the poor light outside. Harry must have let out a sound because his adoptive brother grabbed hold of his hand and pulled him toward himself rather violently so that Harry almost stumbled.

Tom's face was so close to Harry's own that he was able to count the older boy's eyelashes if he wanted to. Tom's lips were slightly parted and wet as he watched Harry.

"Are you scared?" his older brother asked, bringing the knife closer to Harry's face and almost grazing his cheek with the tip. "Of this knife or of losing your mother?"

And just like that, without waiting for an answer of some kind, he opened Harry's left palm almost tenderly and slashed it in one clean cut.

Harry gasped in pain, fresh tears forming in his swollen eyes and hand trembling in Tom's own. Still, he was not released and had to witness his blood painting the silver blade. His palm hurt and itched, pulsing with pain before he brought it to his lap when the taller boy let go with a hard squeeze.

For the first time, something akin to a smile graced Tom's lips as he stood up and looked down at Harry's quivering form.

"Be the worst you can be, Harry Potter. That's my lesson for you. Remember it well."

Tom turned swiftly on his heels and left, his long black coat waving behind like a cloak. Harry watched him disappear behind the trees, clutching his bleeding hand closer to his chest and wishing for his mother to come fetch him already. It was getting dark.

+
Despite perceiving himself as not a particularly loving person, Tom Riddle Sr. did pride himself on being a just and honorable man. He gave all his sons the privacy he believed every man needed, just as he expected them to respect his own. Even in their childhood, he did not wander into their chambers without permission. So the sight of Harry's face and body twisted into several indecent positions from the paintings in Theodore's room left him petrified when he decided to pay the boy a visit regarding his studies.

The door had been half opened but Theodore wasn't there. Thomas' hands trembled as he stepped further into the room and towards the only covered painting in the center. He had no doubt that it was Harry, yet Thomas was almost afraid of exposing it. Afraid of what was underneath. His fingers gripped the material, knuckles white, before dragging it down in one swift movement.

Harry's nude body, legs spread wide, met his eyes and made him avert his gaze in shame and outrage. He expected this from Draco, but from Theodore? Thomas knocked the portrait down in a fit of anger when a sudden gasp behind him made him turn around. The brown-haired boy was standing there, a plate in his hand and panic written all over his red face. For the first time in years, Thomas had the strangest urge to strike him. To discover what in the devil's name was wrong with him. But he just managed to control himself, clenching his fists in anger.

"I won't lower myself to speak with you about this, but I want this garbage," Thomas gestured to the other portraits. "Burned. Thrown away. Harry is not only your younger brother, but a boy as well. It's unnatural to lust after a boy such as yourself… A sin brought to God," he preached. "But you're still my son, so we'll forget about this. But if you so much as glance in Harry's direction the wrong way, I'll be forced to take drastic measures. Do you understand?"

There were tears running down Theodore's cheeks. But he ended up nodding, bowing his head in shame. "Yes father. I…I understand," he stuttered.

Thomas let out a disappointed sigh as he passed him, moving to the door. "And another thing," he stopped to add. "Take care not to be seen when you get rid of this disgrace. I won't have our family's reputation tainted over your unnatural desires."

He did not bother to wait for Theodore's answer, slamming the door shut behind him.

+
Harry was sixteen when he noticed Draco looking at him in that way. The way he had seen older men from the village look at girls right before they got their hands underneath their skirts. The blonde had even went as far as to apologize for the way he had treated Harry in the past. An apology which Harry accepted out of politeness more than anything else. He tried not to think too much about what the older boy wanted or expected from him now. Yet Draco's whims were nothing new, so why would this one be anything different?

Harry quickly gathered his books and went inside before closing the door behind him. Draco had been in the garden, right by the pond and playing with the dog their father had gifted him for his birthday earlier that year. Harry saw him looking his way and decided it was wiser to head in. He was on his way towards the kitchen after returning the books back to his room when he heard the piano. Harry stopped, listening to the haunting notes of the slow melody. Giving in, he followed the sound down to the guest room where Tom was skillfully pressing the keys of the piano with his back facing him.

Harry stood in the doorway looking at him. Tom wasn't even using the music sheets, yet those long fingers of his didn't miss a single note. Harry was sure of it. As if he had sensed him, Tom ceased his movements and turned in his seat.

"I wasn't aware you played so well," Harry said, initiating a conversation for the first time in a while.

In all those years, they had kept their distance as much as possible. This had proven to be quite easy considering his older brother had been away at university in London. Harry still had the scar Tom gifted him, a silent reminder of how vicious the man before his eyes could be. Tom had become even more handsome, all sharp cheekbones and hollow cheeks. And despite his better thinking, Harry's heart beat faster just by looking at him.

Wrong, all wrong.

"Something I learned last year."

Typical of Tom, to learn to play the piano just like that. But Harry wasn't surprised. His older brother had always been this way; brilliant at anything he put his mind to doing. Harry was not jealous. Not in the slightest.

"Would you like to try?"

Harry stared at him while Tom did the same. For a second he thought the man was mocking him, yet he was just waiting for him to make a decision. Tom's dark eyes watched closely as Harry came to sit next to him on the bench, aware of how close they were. Almost brushing against one another if they would move even an inch.

"Let me see your hands," Tom ordered.

Raising an eyebrow, Harry did as he was told and presented them to his brother for inspection. Tom touched them, just holding them in his own before he turned them over with his palms up. His thumb traced over Harry's lightning bolt scar, sending tingles all over Harry's body. When Tom's gaze met his, Harry hoped his cheeks weren't red or something as embarrassing as that. At least he wasn't trembling.

"You have small hands, but your fingers are long enough for playing the piano," Tom announced, giving them one last look before placing their joined hands over the keys.

The surface felt strange under Harry's fingertips as he waited for his older brother's instructions, conscious of Tom's palm over his. Harry had never had contact with the piano before. He did not know how to play. No one did, so most of the time the massive instrument was used as decorative furniture and nothing else.

"Each key has a specific sound," Tom said, and pressed one of his fingers to demonstrate. Then another two, creating a slight tone. They sounded different; high and low, and then low again. "And now you combine them to create something else".

To Harry's surprise, his hands did not shake as Tom's fingers skillfully guided his own over the keys. He was aware he would need a lot more than this to learn how to play, but for now Harry enjoyed the feeling of it. He enjoyed Tom's company beside him; the way his older brother showed he could also be kind.

"Excuse me. Dinner is served."

Tom let go of Harry's hands as if burned while both of them turned to gaze at Mary, their maid. Her blonde head was bowed, not meeting their eyes. If Mary was surprised by them being in each other's company, she hid it well.

"Mister Riddle is waiting for you in the living room," she explained, and quickly excused herself after stealing a longing gaze at Tom when she thought the man wasn't looking. It was no secret Mary fancied him ever since they were little. Most of the servants did.

Harry stood and gazed down at his brother who had turned his attention back to the piano as if the object held the entire mysteries of human kind.

"Thank you for this."

"It was nothing special," Tom argued in flat voice.

Maybe for him it wasn't, but for Harry… It was the first time in a while that someone had done something nice for him without a hidden reason or expecting anything else in return.

"I disagree, but if that's what you think…" Harry waited, but Tom made no move to hurry up for dinner or to get up. "Aren't you coming?"

Black eyes met his. "Go first. I'll be right behind you."

Harry nodded and turned his back to him. He hurried to the living room, feet padding against the wooden floor to where everyone waited. His step-father raised an elegant eyebrow at the sight of him.

"I apologize for being late," Harry excused himself.

"That's Tom's place," Draco spoke when Harry moved to sit down next to Theodore whose eyes did not leave his plate.

Harry blinked, grinding his teeth. He had no other choice but to take the place next to the blonde boy. Their father leaned back in his chair, watching the exchange. Tom chose that precise moment to arrive, not bothering to excuse himself and simply strolling to the only vacant place at the table. Riddle Sr. threw him a disapproving glance. Everyone knew Tom was his least favorite child, despite being blood of his blood. Yet Harry couldn't begin to imagine why. His older brother was handsome, smart, and well-mannered. Polite. But none of these things made their father like him any better. Not even the fact that they greatly looked alike; All dark hair and sharp features.

"I have an announcement to make now that we're all settled," Mr. Riddle began, slightly turning towards Harry. "After much consideration and thought, I came to the conclusion that a marriage will be beneficial to our family."

He was still looking at Harry. Only at Harry. He put down his fork, conscious of everyone's eyes on him. It made a small sound at the contact with the plate.

"I've decided Harry will be married to the only daughter of the Weasley family," he announced. "As soon as possible. No need in delaying it more than necessary."

"That's stupid," Draco cried out almost immediately, outrage written all over his pale face. "Why on earth would you give Harry to that good-for-nothing stupid girl? To that family?"

"Your brother is not a thing to be given, Draco," scoffed Mr. Riddle. "This marriage is a beneficial thing for Harry. His part of the fortune will be handed to him, and he and the girl will have a happy life. I'll make sure of that."

Away from here remained unsaid, yet all of them understood.

"Funny how you did not bother to ask for Harry's opinion on the matter," pondered Tom, and dramatically took a sip of his wine. "It's not as if you're deciding his future or something…"

Mr. Riddle threw him a nasty look, not bothering to respond. His eyes were set on Harry.

Harry knew he had no say in this. This was not his home and this was not his father. Harry appreciated Tom standing up for him but the matter had already been settled. Knowing Mr. Riddle, the man had already spoken with the Weasleys. There was nothing to be done.

Harry politely thanked him for the food and left for his room. There, Harry didn't need to be perfect.

+
"Came here to celebrate?"

The question caught Harry off guard from where he sat on the porch of the lake house not too far from the manor. He moved his gaze from the frozen water to Tom, dressed in black from head to toe. His brother's shiny boots stopped right next to him but he remained on his feet.

He just had to maintain his power over everyone else, didn't he?

"Not really," Harry answered honestly.

The other boy may not be the nicest person he knew but Harry didn't felt the need to pretend in his presence. Not that Tom wouldn't know if he did so, but that was an entirely different matter.

The old floor creaked as Tom moved his weight from one foot to another. Curiosity got the best of him and Harry once again looked up to find his older brother staring at him with hard eyes. There was no trace of familiarity or understanding in his gaze. Harry may as well be studying a wall. So he could only sit and wait.

"You're going to leave this place," Tom announced. "Have a new, merrier life. Yet you have as much happiness as Cinderella when she found out she couldn't attend the ball."

He smiled while Harry frowned at the silly comparison, cold air blowing Tom's perfectly styled hair into his eyes. He was sure his own was nothing but a mess. It was December and it was freezing outside, colder than it had been in years. Ever since he remembered being in Little Hangleton. Night was almost upon them but neither he nor Tom gave any signs of wanting to head back to the house. Even if Harry's limbs were stiff from sitting out here for so long.

"Lucky me," Harry echoed, gazing briefly at the frozen lake.

Tom did not take the bait. Smart of him.

After a while, just to have a distraction, Harry sighed and pushed himself forward with his hands to place his dangling legs on the ice, testing its resistance. It held him just fine and Harry stood before taking a few steps ahead and turning back to Tom. The older boy had his hands in the pockets of his coat, looking just like a painting. There was no expression on his face that betrayed his opinion of Harry's childish behaviour.

Then Tom smiled, but it wasn't a pretty smile. Too sharp, too much teeth, to be genuine. Like a cat before feasting on its much weaker pray. And Harry knew Tom wanted him to see it, otherwise he would have just pretended like he normally did. Harry found himself taking a step back. The ice started to creak under him with a muffled sound that he almost did not hear over his own breathing. Tom was still smiling as he extended a hand to him, coming closer but not stepping over the edge. There was a long moment when they just stood there listening to the ice. Then seeing no other option, Harry gripped the hand and let Tom haul him up, right against his chest.

Harry's face was on level with his older brother's neck. One hand was still holding his, surprisingly warm, while the other settled on his waist. Harry's left palm, the one with the scar, rested on the shoulder of Tom's expensive coat. Harry's nostrils filled with what could only be Tom's scent. The smell of books or parchment maybe, and something else Harry had no name for. Not quite sweet but something close to it. He inhaled one more time, waiting to be pushed away. He wasn't.

"Thank you," Harry breathed, and moved back himself when he felt things were getting strange.

Tom's hand gripped him a little harder, almost painfully, before he allowed Harry to retreat from the cage of his arms. He wasn't smiling anymore but his eyes were intense and focused on his face as if he had won something of great importance. It made him even more intimidating.

"Is there anything else?" Harry asked, hoping the answer will be a negative one. He wasn't in the mood to play any of Tom's games now.

"No."

"Well, I'll be going then."

Harry expected a remark or protest but got just a nod of Tom's head. Not wasting any time, Harry left and when he was almost at the main house, he looked back. It was dark but he could swear Tom was still following him with his gaze.

Why? He could only guess.

+
"Harry?"

Harry raised his head at the question. It was Nott. And he was actually speaking to him, calling him by his name and all that.

"Yes?"

The other boy appeared out of the blue in front of him at the top of the staircase, like a ghost suddenly materializing out of nowhere. Though Harry had been too busy trying to find a way out of this soon-to-be marriage to pay much attention to his surroundings lately. They had barely managed not to collide with one another.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" Nott was having a hard time looking him directly in the eye.

"Of course," Harry answered almost immediately.

Harry let Nott lead them to his own room where he closed the door behind them. There was a bed, a big wardrobe, and a desk in the corner filled with so many books that they were almost tumbling down. But Harry's attention was caught by something else. He stopped in the middle of the room, staring at the blank canvas placed on a high stool. Did Nott paint?

Harry wasted no time in asking his step-brother just that.

"Well," Nott began, sounding unsure of himself for some reason. "This is part of the reason why I wanted to speak with you." He took a deep breath as if preparing himself to say something that sounded like a matter of life and death. "Would you let me paint you? Only if you want to, of course."

Harry blinked, not being able to stop the urge to smile. It was such a trivial request that he wanted to laugh. Considering everything that was happening to him these days, someone wanting to paint him was the most normal occurrence.

"Of course," Harry said, and grinned at his brother. "Where would you like me to sit and in what position?"

Maybe it was because of the light, but Nott appeared to be blushing. The other boy did not speak, as if he hadn't expected his offer to be accepted in the first place. But after some time his eyes finally settled on his desk and his mouth opened and closed a few times without any sound.

"The desk," Nott let out, nodding his head at it. "What about the desk?"

Harry moved to it and transferred a few books over to the bed, enough to have a place good enough to sit. Nott's voice stopped him as he made to move on top.

"No... don't sit on it… How about lying down on your back? It's much more pleasing to the eye."

Harry shrugged. "Why not?" He stood aside and waited for Nott to arrange the place as he saw fit. Only two piles of books were left, one on either side of the desk. One to lean his head on and the other for his legs, Harry was told.

The position was surprisingly comfortable, almost like lying on a bed. Harry sat there, looking in Nott's direction as the boy's brush moved over the canvas repetitively and with amazing precision. His brows where furrowed in concentration and he was biting his lip. In Harry's opinion, he looked rather funny. Something about this was funny. Amusement in this house was not a common occurrence, but a pleasant one when it did happen.

An hour or so went by and Harry was starting to get bored. Nott wasn't talking to him and he did not want to bother the other by starting a conversation; Maybe Nott liked his silence while painting.

Again and again Harry's mind flew through different approaches to the unfortunate situation he was in. But he still had no solid plan. Even if he went begging to his step-father on his hands and knees, Harry was convinced it would be futile. And running away from home wasn't an option. What was he was going to do after that? Live on the streets? The only thing left in Harry's mind was to politely ask for Tom's help. And hope that the other wouldn't laugh at him and send him away. Besides, who knew what the man would desire for this 'small' favor? Either way, it was a questionable move.

Harry sighed when Nott proudly announced he could finally move. "Can I see it?" he curiously asked, stepping closer as he bounced on his feet.

"Ummm, not yet," Nott said, and placed a white piece of cloth over the painting, obscuring it from his view. "I'll show it to you when it's ready. I promise."

"Oh," Harry said. "I'll leave you to it then."

Nott grinned and accompanied him to the door, trailing closely behind him. "Thank you," he said. "For putting up with this. I know it can be quite bothersome to just lie like that."

"No bother. We're family, after all."

They exchanged good-byes and despite his better judgment, Harry's traitorous feet took him straight to Tom's doorstep. He knocked twice and waited, listening for footsteps on the other side. Harry considered leaving when the door was yanked open and Tom looked down at him. He did not appear surprised by Harry's presence, despite it being the first time he had done something like this.

There was not a single question as he was let inside.

The room was clean, too clean. The kind of clean only empty houses could be. Books were around but in the shelves decorating two of the four walls, not scattered around like in Nott's chamber. Besides that, there was nothing particularly eye-catching. Maybe the gold pendant with an "S" lying on the round wooden table. Almost without thinking, Harry's finger made to graze over its surface when Tom cleared his throat and Harry moved his attention back to him.

Tom was comfortably dressed in black cotton pants and a white shirt. The upper buttons were undone. He was incredibly handsome, Harry could not help but notice. One had to be blind not to.

"What brings you to my doorstep?"

No offer to sit down. Harry assumed Tom wanted this to be as quick as possible. Very well then. It suited him just fine.

"I want you to stop the wedding."

It wasn't a matter of being able to, because it would have been an offense to Tom's person even suggesting that. Of course he could do it. He was Tom Riddle after all.

"You know," Tom confided in a low voice, advancing towards Harry. "I was wondering how long it would take for you to come to me…"

Harry made a face at the arrogance in the words. But he did not move back, even when Tom rudely invaded his personal space.

"Out of curiosity, how would you propose to do it?" Tom pressed, curiosity palpable in his voice.

He was staring down at Harry like that. Like Draco.

"Why would you even want my advice?" Harry asked him. "You always do as you please anyway."

Tom tilted his head, looking at him. His breath tickled Harry's face and vice versa. They were standing way too close.

"True, but it's always nice hearing a plan notably worse than your own."

Harry wanted to punch him. Instead, he took a deep breath and counted to ten before speaking again. All this time Tom did not move back but neither did he inch closer. It was a dangerous situation, a part of Harry wisely decided. Tom wanted to stay right there, just to see what was going to happen.

"Well. What do you want in return?"

Tom's black eyes lit up like a Christmas tree and Harry dreaded what would come out of the other's mouth.

"What about your soul?" Tom inquired.

Harry stared at him, surppressing the need to burst out laughing straight in his face. Was his older brother joking at a time like this? He couldn't tell.

"This isn't funny," Harry protested. "What's the real price?"

"No, it's not," echoed Tom, and his hand rose to let his fingers trail over Harry's forehead, tracing the smooth skin there in a strange motion. As if he was drawing some kind of shape.

Harry's breath caught in his throat as the touch sent shivers down his whole body. He could have shaken the hand off, he wasn't bound, but he didn't. He let himself be…petted. That was the word. Like a cat or something. All this time, his heart was fluttering inside his chest.

"I'll do it. I'll stop your wedding," Tom promised, leaning down. His mouth was dangerously close to Harry's lips. Was this normal? It couldn't be. "As for the price, we'll settle this later on."

Harry nodded, gulping, disappointed when the fingers left his forehead and he was left alone. Tom took as step back, slightly grinning.

"Umm," Harry started. "Thank you. And just to be clear, I want to know the price as soon as possible."

"That's the second time you're thanking me, Harry. Don't let it become a habit. And rest assured, your wedding's not happening. We'll talk about the other thing later."

It was all Harry needed to hear. Keeping his head held high, he took his leave without another word and hurried to the door. Tom did not call after him.

Could it really be that easy?

+
Ginevra Weasley –Ginny –grinned at him, her red hair framing her face like a curtain. In a strange way, she reminded Harry of his mother. He awkwardly smiled back, returning his gaze to his still full glass of wine.

The two of them sat at the top of the long table, the Riddles and the many members of the Weasley family on either side of them. Guests were placed directly in front of them, gawking at every facial expression Harry struggled to hide. He was feeling sick and the food wasn't even there yet. Everything was a fuss, the countless conversations and the feeling of eyes set on him, waiting for him to do something. Ginny was right next to him, all red smiles and kind words directed at him. Harry tried to be pleasant enough company, although his answers were more like half-spoken sentences. She didn't seem to mind.

He could not imagine being married and living away from here. With this unknown girl who had been infatuated with Harry after just their first meeting. Which was their engagement ceremony, but more like a party than anything else.

Harry wanted to stab something with his spoon.

"Aren't you thirsty?" Ginny asked, her expression curious. "Your cup is untouched."

"No. I'm good."

And that was all. Almost without willing to, Harry's eyes glued to Tom's form as he came to them and offered his congratulations to the couple. Harry wasn't concentrating on his empty words but on his face, trying to see underneath this mask of pleasantries. He was not able to. It was almost as if this Tom and the one who talked to him while alone were an entirely different person. Ginny thanked him on behalf of both of them and Harry was grateful for it.

Tom hadn't done a single thing to help him and now here he was. Getting engaged to this stranger while the other passively watched it unfold from the sidelines. Harry kind of hated him for offering false hope. Why hadn't he said no in the first place? Why all this lying? Not that it mattered now. Everything was being set in motion.

Meanwhile, Draco seemed in a good mood and winked at Harry when he caught his gaze. Harry averted his eyes immediately.

The food was served not too long after and when Mary placed the plates in front of him and Ginny, Harry found his appetite had gone entirely. But after his step-father gave a small speech about the importance of marriage, Harry could only bring the spoon to his lips and eat his chicken soup in silence, utterly resigned over his fate.

Running away from home didn't seem so stupid now.

Not three gulps later, someone close by was coughing rather violently. At first Harry did not pay it any mind until people were standing up all of a sudden and he looked up in curiosity.

Draco was all but throwing up right in his plate and someone screamed at the sight. Harry was petrified and stared at the sticky blackness coming out of Draco's wide, stretched-open mouth. Some of the disgusting content stained the white tablecloth. Their father had barely managed to howl for a doctor when, just like that, the blonde head of Harry's adoptive brother fell onto the plate with a loud crack and smashed it to pieces. Some of the women were still yelling in the background.

Harry could only watch, glad he hadn't eaten much that evening. Nott was openly weeping and Tom calmly put a hand on Draco's neck, searching for a pulse. The boy was dead, Harry knew as much without even setting hands on him. Draco's face was turned away from him and Harry was rather glad for it. The dead body's neck was black enough.

People were leaving and moving to the door, even Ginny with her family. Not a single word of goodbye was spoken. Mr. Riddle was cradling Draco's bloodied head to his chest and Harry caught Tom's hard gaze staring at the pair. How did he feel? Watching his father care more about a stranger than for his own child. He could only wonder. As if feeling his eyes on him, Tom turned to Harry and elegantly moved through the few people left until they were face to face. The blood on the tip of his fingertips did not go unnoticed by Harry.

"So," his older brother commented as if discussing the weather outside. As if there wasn't a body a few meters away from them. "You got your wish, Harry. The wedding's canceled."

Harry opened his mouth. A question, the only rational question, on the tip of his tongue and jabbing at his mind. But Harry remained quiet, unable to form the words. As if he didn't already know the answer. And he did. Tom's expression was one of open anticipation, waiting for something to be said. Waiting for the question on Harry's slightly opened mouth.

Instead Harry shook his head and settled for watching Tom as the servants drew closer, appearing out of place in this morbid atmosphere. Harry sat there and witnessed Tom give them all kinds of instructions. They threw Harry pitying glances, silently presenting their condolences over his dead brother and possibly ruined engagement.

Harry supposed he ought to be feeling something, but now he only wanted to do one thing. He wanted to go and sleep. Maybe then it would all be fine. No wedding and no dead brother to think about.

Tom didn't allow him to leave for a long time.