Damnit, and I promised myself this chapter would make sense.

Thanks for the feedback, and to address my darling guest reviewer, since I can't through PM: Yeah, Tom's friend-making methods are questionable at best. Thank you tons 3

Here we go, I guess.

Disclaimer: Nope. I own nothing but some gum, and that's not part of the story.


Harry didn't want to leave.

The place, he had discovered, was an orphanage, and while he'd never heard a good word about them...Tom was there, and that snake they could both talk to, and if he popped back in Privet Drive right now things wouldn't be good. His disappearance was only bound to displease the Dursleys if it ended.

So, when the woman asked him where was his home, and who his parents were...well, he didn't really lie. He said that his parents were dead, which was true, and he said that he didn't have a home, which was also true, because Privet Drive had never been one. And so what if he carefully avoided mentioning he actually had guardians, unpleasant as they may be...

At that, he was left to sit on his own in a small office, while the woman- whose name, he learned, was Mrs. Cole and she also happened to be the matron- went off to make arrangements.

Harry couldn't believe this was really happening, that they were letting him stay so easily. With each passing second, he was again and again surprised that Vernon hadn't stormed in yet, face flushing red with anger, to snatch him away and lock him in the cupboard.

He sat there nervously, posture turning rigid and eyes flickering to the door at the slightest sound. When it did open, his heart actually stopped for a second, freezing in fear- but it was just Tom.

Harry was inexplicably glad; and not just because of the millions of questions he wanted to ask the boy.

"What-" he started, but Tom waved him off.

"You lied," he stated bluntly. "You do have a place to go back to, and the thought of it scares you. How bad can it be, for you to prefer to be here?"

"Please don't tell," Harry pleaded quickly. "I just- I don't want to go back- and I want to know- I mean, what we did, and the snake-"

He didn't know how to properly explain it. But Tom was similar to him in a way no one else had ever been and Harry had to find out more.

Tom nodded, seeming to understand that, somehow. "They'll let you stay, probably. "Mrs. Cole is coming back. We'll talk later."


Harry was given a room of his own; small, true, but it was an actual room with a bed, a desk, a wardrope and a window- not a dark, suffocating cupboard. He didn't have to curl into himself to fit the bed, and he could actually see outside.

The place's rules were explained to him, he was given some bread and cheese, and then left to retreat to his room for the night, since it was already late.

He lay on his bed, eyes wide open and a grin on his face.

Slowly, the fear of being discovered and dragged back to Privet Drive started to lessen- because honestly, the Dursleys were most likely to thank their luck for losing him, rather than trying to find him- so when the very much locked door opened again, he wasn't scared, knowing who it was. Tom told him they'd talk later, after all.

"Can you teach me how to do that?" Harry asked eagerly, astonished with how far these...abilities went.

Surprise flickered in the boy's face, then his expression quickly turned blank. "I wonder the same thing."

At first, Harry had no clue what he wad doing- other than the flying leaf, he'd never made things happen intentionally. But Tom was a good teacher, as far as Harry could judge, albeit not the most patient one.

It took them the biggest part of the night, and Harry was yawning all through the next day, not making the brightest of beginnings in his new living place- but he actually did it, and it was absolutely worth it.


If someone asked Harry to pinpoint the moment he and Tom Riddle became friends, he wouldn't be able to give an answer.

Maybe they just were, right from the beginning, when Harry fell in front of the other boy. Maybe it happened when Harry first saw what terrible things Tom could do, along with the amazing ones, and despite being angry at the other boy, didn't cringe away from him like everyone else. Maybe it happened the first time someone tried to bully Harry, and Tom had them running off and never so much looking at either of them again.

He didn't know. He had already been thinking of Tom as a friend long before he realized it, long before either of them admitted such a thing.

Their friendship would probably seem very odd to him, if he had others to compare it with, but even like that, he probably wouldn't have minded. He'd slowly come to embrace the something in himself and Tom that made them different and odd in comparison to others.

There were problems, of course, because problems just have their special way of worming into any situation and complicating it- perhaps to remind us why exactly we so much appreciate the good aspects of it.

Due to being very similar to Tom (who wasn't generally liked), but for less agressive and prone to take revenge, all those who had something against his friend decided it was a good idea to take it out on Harry instead, since Tom himself was untouchable. Of course, that all stopped when Tom became aware of it and they somehow had accidents that got them stuck in their beds for several weeks.

Also, again due to Tom's infamy, it was not possible for Harry to even so much think of making other friends. That was perfectly fine though; the one he had was more than enough.

Lastly, it meant that he was many times coaxed by the other to break several rules, something Harry would have been alright with, really, if it wasn't for the fact that he wasn't nearly as sneaky as Tom and thus usually got caught. He was improving, though.

And problems or not, Harry was happier than he could have ever imagined himself being.

There were many things about Tom that Harry shouldn't be okay with; the way he automatically looked down at everyone, for one, and the unnecessarily cruel way he dealt with whoever bothered him, for another.

But, well, Harry cared about Tom. And Tom cared about him too, even if he wouldn't say it like Harry did. He had his own way of showing it.

Once, Harry had randomly mentioned that he liked reading, and the very next time Tom snuck away into the night, he returned with a pile of books, all for him. Harry preffered not to think were his friend had gotten them or how, but he was delighted and touched by the gesture anyway.

Other times, he took Harry with him on his midnight strolls; showed him places and told him stories.

Rarely (but it still happened, and that was what counted!), if Tom was cross with someone but Harry didn't want them hurt, his friend would comply. That, of course, would be accompanied by a frustrated sigh and a sour mood for several days.

They bickered and fought sometimes, like when Tom decided that hey, it's a brilliant idea to hang a kid's rabbit! and equally horrible things. Then Harry would get angry and tell Tom he was overdoing it, and Tom would claim that Harry was just being oversensitive and dramatic.

They wouldn't speak to each other for days, but then Tom would drag him aside, looking at him like he was the most moronic person in the world, and explain the reasoning behind everything he did, somehow making it sound like it was all perfectly logical.

So even if Harry knew he probably shouldn't have been okay with it all, he was. Or at least, he choose to ignore those things he wasn't okay with- because he'd never had a friend before, someone to stand up for him the way Tom did, or joke with him, or bicker with him, or be like him.

He used to hate it, that thing that made him different from everyone else. Now he adored it, because it made him similar to Tom, and Harry knew he wouldn't be so terribly alone again, ever.


Neither before, nor at his first four years in the orphangae, had Harry ever celebrated his birthday. Logically, the fifth shouldn't be any different.

Therefore, as he was laying awake at 00:01, July 31st, he didn't feel much excitement at the fact he had just turned eleven. What of it? The day was bound to be like any other.

He thought so, at least, until Tom burst through the window, throwing something at his head.

Harry caught it, giving his friend an unimpressed look. "Ever heard of knocking? No, scratch that- ever heard of using doors?"

Tom snorted. "Happy birthday, Harry."

"...What."

"Stop gaping and open your present."

"...You got me something."

"You're rather slow today," Tom commented lightly, looking mildly uncomfortable. "Is it the late hour, or what?"

"Thank you!" Harry all but squealed, and in the blink of an eye, he'd rushed over to his friend to squeeze him into a hug. "Seriously. Thank you. You're amazing."

Tom stiffened. "Of course I am. You can let go now."

Harry grinning sheepishly, pulling away. "Now you seriously have to tell me when your birthday is. It's not right if-"

"Just open the thing, Harry. You can rant about right and wrong later."

Harry huffed, but his grin returned, even brighter, once he unwrapped the present.

"Edgar Allan Poe's poems' collection?" he murmured in fascination, giving a whistle.

Tom smiled. "You seemed to like Tales of Mystery and Imagination well enough, so..."

"It's perfect. Thank you."

"And I actually bought it," his friend informed him.

"Where did you get the money?" Harry asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow.

"I stole them, of course."

"Then how," Harry drawled, resisting the urge to facepalm, "is it different from stealing the book?"

Tom shrugged. "To me, it really isn't. But I thought you might find it less 'immoral', or whatever, since the people I got the money from where ridiculously rich, and the bookstore wasn't."

Right. Because it sure as hell didn't make much of a difference to Tom- but he had to admitted, he really tried everything he could to make this as nice as possible, and damnit, Harry was touched.

And if he felt like hugging Tom again, despite his friend's protest, it was just because he'd never had a nice birthday before, really. Nevermind how terribly comfortable and warm Tom was.

...Did he really just think that? Shit.

"You're horrible," Harry scoffed, averting his eyes to the floor and no his face did absolutely not flush red.

Tom blinked at him. "Either I'm amazing or I'm horrible. Which one is it?"

"You're horribly amazing and amazingly horrible, of course."

"Ah. Makes sense."


Tom watched in mild amusement his friend, curled up in blankets, his eyes glued on the book.

Really, it was good to know Harry appreciated his gift so much, but even he should have enough logic to understand that two in the morning was not the best time for reading. It was ridiculous, albeit a bit sweet.

"Finished it yet? You've only been reading for two hours," he drawled.

"Hush, I'm in a good part."

"Hmm?"

A bit intrigued- he'd give that to Harry, he had a pretty good taste in poetry and literature- he made his way over to his friend, sprawling out next to him to read as well.

"And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting/ On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door," Tom recited, humming thoughtfully.

"And his eyes have all the seemings of a demon that is dreaming/ And the lamplight o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor," Harry continued.

And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor

Shall be lifted- nevermore!

"Not bad," Tom allowed. "You don't recite horribly, either. Though I'm a bit surprised you like this particular poem- It sounds a bit dark for your tastes..."

Harry shrugged, nonplushed. "It...sounded a bit familiar, actually."

Tom realized the implications easily enough and smirked. "So you're the tired, confused poet and I'm your raven demon? Not a bad metaphor."

"I never said I was reffering to you," Harry countered, looking away, blushing furiously. "Quit being all smug and presumptous, I could mean something else entirely!"

"You could, but your defensive tone suggest otherwise," Tom all but sung out, and his friend raised an eyebrow at the cheerfulness. "My, Harry, your face is a little red. I assume you're getting ill. Maybe you shouldn't leave your window open at night, it's rather chilly outside."

Harry glared at him, promptly throwing a pillow at his head. "I didn't leave it open, it was bloody well closed and you opened it just to show off! Chilly outside? Seriously? It's midsummer!"

Tom laughed, catching the pillow midair and giving it a curious look. His friend was just asking for it. "A pillow fight? No, Harry, you've got it all wrong- that's what girls do at sleepovers. You know, in combination with the fact that-"

This time, it was the poetry book that was thrown at him. Tut, tut. Absolutely no respect for presents. Harry better not expect one next year.

"Oh shut up!" Harry snapped. "Seriously, can you behave in a way that doesn't make people feel inclined to break your neck for just ten minutes?"

"And you accuse me of cruelty," Tom said dryly.

"I said feel inclined to," Harry specified, scoffing. "It's not cruelty if I don't actually do it."

Tom snorted. "Whatever helps you sleep at night, boy scout. Now make room, I'm tired."

Harry made a strangled noise, spluttering. "Wh-what? This is my bed, you know! You can't just...God, you're horrible...And why don't you go to your own room, anyway?!"

Tom ignored him.

It made Harry flustered, so it was a good thing- his friend was incredibly entertaining this way. Besides, it was late and his own room was in the other end of the orphanage, staying here was much more practical.


I'm having way too much fun writing this.

We'll eventually get flashes of their time in the orphanage together, so if anyone was disappointed you didn't get to see them as kiddies don't worry, you will. But it's really only flashes that are important to the plot, and dragging their pre-hogwarts years out to include those flashes right now didn't sit right. Later.

Soooo...the Edgar Allan Poe reference may seem a bit (or a lot) random, but it's not there completely without reason, promise!

Thank you for reading, I hope you had some fun as well.