History Rewritten

by FreezePride

Harry finds that there is only one way to undo the future that he could not save: go back to the beginning. He travels back in time to confront Tom Marvolo Riddle, the boy who would one day grow to be the greatest and most terrible wizard alive. Will Harry be able to bring peace and solace to the future? Or will Tom remain the harbinger of war, no matter who tries to stop him?

2. A Trip to London

Summary:

Harry seems to have gotten the situation mostly under control. With Tom safely agreeing to the three guidelines of their unbreakable vow, there's absolutely no way that he can become Voldemort once again. But, when one threat is finally sorted and set aside, another quickly arises. How are Harry and Tom to survive in a war-torn world with limited food supplies? Do they dare risk a trip to the city to try to get the rations that they need?

Notes:

((Thank you so much for all of your wonderful love and support! I am completely honored to have individuals giving this story a read through. If you have any time, could you please leave me a comment, or some kudos? Also, I'm still working on finishing up this storyline, so if you could let me know which parts of this story you find the most interesting or intriguing, I would be extremely grateful. :)

Just in case anyone forgot, this is a compilation of a roleplay between myself () and HeroComplexing (). I played Tom, while my companion played Harry. Their writing is incredible, and I would highly recommend that you follow them. My sweet, adorable buddy Grace Lee () collected most of the posts together for me, so I owe her a huge thanks.))

Chapter 2: A Trip to London

This might be his only chance to escape.

The thought had occurred to him far before they had even decided to travel outside the bounds of their small, stolen abode in Little Whinging. Tom knew that they could not survive for an infinite amount of time on the food that they had found within their home. Necessity inspired change to a certain degree. Tom had expected Harry to confine him to the house while he went out to get provisions, but when Harry had announced that both of them would be venturing out tomorrow for London, Tom had to admit himself shocked by the offer.

Their time together since the incident upon their arrival had been tense to say the least. Tom had trouble forcing himself to digest Harry's genuine words and insane thoughts. His mind was still reeling at the revelations, wondering how many holes in their joined tale Harry had simply glazed over. Tom constantly questioned the fate that had been torn away from him, as well as the fate that they were building together now. Would he have achieved immortality had he simply ignored the prophecy? Would he have managed victory over the opposing forces by amassing powers from other magical cultures? Could he have changed his fate, avoided destruction? It was too uncertain to tell, and he hadn't quite decided how to worm that information from his counterpart yet.

He ate little, and he slept less. He found himself approaching everything Harry said and did with extreme caution. It was as though every moment he were on the edge of an attack. He would not allow himself to forget the hate, the simmering rage within Harry's eyes as he had held his wand up to Tom's throat, digging in the tip as he forced him into the vows.

Every word Tom spoke to Harry was carefully plotted, guarded, meant entirely to gain more information from him yet wholeheartedly afraid of what he may find within that information. All the while, the memories of his father, his uncle, and even grotesquely invented ones of his dead mother floated within the back of his mind, robbing him of what small amount of rest he could find with unsettling nightmares.

He had to get away. This was his only chance.

Tom held Harry's arm as they apparated into the outskirts of the city proper. He trusted that Harry had some idea of what they were supposed to be doing here, but he wasn't certain that Harry knew exactly how hard it was to find provisions in wartime London, being 'from the future' as he claimed (though Tom still didn't know how much he could trust that fact). Perhaps it had been a sign of Tom's luck turning around, but his 'guardian' had forgotten to specify exactly how close Tom had to stay nearby while they traveled.

The sensation of adrenaline washed over him as he kept his breathing carefully even, calm. "What sort of supplies are we looking for?" He asked softly, releasing his grip on Harry and giving their surroundings a quick glance. He was surprised no one had noticed their arrival, but then again, everyone was on the lookout for the droning sound of an oncoming plane, not the snap of an apparation.

London was crowded today. Granted, London wasn't nearly as crowded as it had been before the war began, but there were more people out on the streets than Tom had remembered there having been in quite a while. It had been a year and a half…no, two years since the aerial attacks had had rained upon the city. While they had slowed down for the most part, every now and then there were still stray bombings, like violent, deadly little thunderstorms, peppering the ground with debris and ruins. The city, the war, the people with their worry-lined faces, drawn with tension and sleeplessness, the ghostly memories of young men (barely older than Tom himself) who had once walked these streets as well; it all put Tom on edge.

Xx

"Uh…just some food," was Harry's answer. He was clearly distracted by his surroundings, surveying the great, gaping holes in buildings as they strode through one of the densest parts of London. His heart felt like it was stuttering in his chest. He had been too disorientated to take notice of his surroundings the last time he had visited London, and having only frequented areas populated by wizards, there had been little to see even if he had. While the Londoners were adapting and leading as normal a life as they could manage, the damage inflicted had clearly taken its toll on them; many looked wary and fatigued, giving furtive glances to the piles of debris lining the footpaths, perhaps trying to discern how many people could have been caught in the associated attack or if any of the materials were still salvageable.

He wished now more than ever that he could remember more about the war. Hogwart's texts had scarcely mentioned it, and those that did had little to say about the 'muggle military conflict'. Being ten at the time, what he had been told in muggle school provided little insight into The Blitz- when it had begun, when it had stopped, how many buildings had destroyed, and how many people had died.

If nothing else, he was relieved by the lack of bodies on the streets. Civilians were clearly trying their best to make what remained of London livable.

It was mid-July. The streets were less congested in part because those who could afford it had traveled away for the summer, and others still in the process of scraping together the funds would soon follow suit. Harry wondered, briefly, if they ought to follow their example and relocate to the countryside, because if there was even the slightest chance they could be bombed while slumbering he didn't want to take it. Even if they had to live in a tiny hut out somewhere by the sea, it was better than fearing going to sleep at night.

Those thoughts were washed away as he finally came upon a greengrocer. He grasped Tom by the arm and lead him up to the counter, glancing around at what little was available.

"Er, excuse me," he called to the owner of the shop, who raised his head and gave him an once-over, frowning. Harry pushed on. "Could I have some-"

"Don't think I've seen you here before," the man grunted, interrupting him. "Are you registered with us, son?"

"Registered?" he blinked rapidly. "Er, no, we're alone you see, and, uh…" He was having trouble thinking up a believable lie, but thankfully the grocer interrupted him again before he could further embarrass himself.

"You can't buy food unless you're registered," he said, his expression suddenly soft and sympathetic. Whatever conclusion he had reached in his mind it seemed to be one he had encountered multiple times before. Two young, parent-less boys out to buy food; Harry was suddenly struck by the implications of that.

"Sorry, boy. T'both of you. There's no more room here – what's left is spoken for," the man said. "But you can still take yourselves across to Raymond's and register there. There's a bit of a line-up but you ought to be able to get something if you hurry."

He blinked a few more times, bewildered, before tightening his grip on Tom's arm and dragging him away. He yelled 'thank you!' to the man as they re-entered the traffic of the footpath.

Once he had located an alleyway to slip into, he turned to Tom and asked, "What does he mean by 'registered'? How do you do that?" He glanced over his shoulder, eyeing the greengrocer they had been referred to. There was indeed a lengthy line waiting for them. "Are all the shops like that? Because I don't have anything to register with."

He'd heard about the food rationing, of course, but that was the extent of his knowledge. He didn't know how food had been rationed, and what you needed in order to register for your portion. He was starting to feel bad for the people he had stolen food from during his first day; they were probably struggling enough without some foreign entity coming along and taking what few vegetables they had been allocated.

Xx

The exchange with the kindly, yet downtrodden greengrocer had been intriguing for Tom as well as Harry. The children of the Wool's Orphanage had certainly felt the effects of rationing, being that the amount of food they were allowed to consume had dwindled down to the bare minimum (the best of the portions saved for the small children as well as the employees, whose coupon books included the luxury of larger portions of protein and milk for growth). They were not permitted to do any of the food purchases though. The books of coupons had been handed off to the caretakers and that was the last Tom had seen any of the logistics for 'buying'.

He knew from being around the city though, in order to obtain a booklet, one had to register with a grocer which would then permit them the right, through the government, to rations of food, specified by coupons, and counted out meticulously when the individual in question paid. Tom, of course, didn't have to worry about most of that, being that the children had nothing to do with handling money of any variety.

Distrust? Probably. Was it warranted? Most likely, given Tom's penchant for thievery.

After getting tugged into an abandoned alleyway, Tom listened carefully to Harry. It was not necessarily to Harry's words that he was searching, but his tone. The young man was quite 'genuine' enough to show both mentally and verbally exactly when he had exactly no idea what was going on. Tom could have laughed in relief. For the first time since he had his counterpart's presence forced on him, Tom had the upper hand. Harry was delightfully clueless. It was time to use this to his advantage.

Tom's mouth thinned to frustrated line, as he sighed, clearly perplexed, crossing his arms before him and taking a moment to think. "At the orphanage, we, the children I mean, didn't deal with any of the food purchases. I know how the registration for stamp booklets work though." He continued with a purposeful nod. "I can do this for us, but…" He looked with a touch of hesitation at the line outside of the grocery store which the kindly man from earlier had referred to. It snaked down the street, around a few stray piles of rubble which no one had the ability to remove completely yet, directly in front of the skeletons of a few bombed homes which displayed their wooden flooring and drapery like a sick imitation of a ruined doll house. Women held their children close as they slowly inched forward, step by step, to get their rations.

"That must be the line for families." Tom observed, thinking fast, looking back to Harry. "There's a separate one for single individuals like you and I. It'll be far faster if we use it. And the faster that we get registered, the faster we can be out of London." Tom admitted, looking anxiously about them. The very air seemed to hold an exhausted tension which Tom could not stand for long. Needless to say, summers here were absolute torture.

"If you want to go first, I'll wait here." He offered, a hint of urgency in his soft voice. "Or I will, it makes no difference either way. We just need to get our food and get out of here. Quickly."

Xx

Tom clearly didn't think much of his intelligence if he thought Harry would leave him on his own in a crowded London street. It'd be too easy to lose him, and then Harry would have to call him back and hope he returned before the vow started to take effect. If Tom thought of separating from Harry as a route of escape, he obviously didn't understand how their arrangement worked. How perilous it was for him to spend any length time away from Harry at all. He might not have set up any boundaries yet, but Harry hadn't dismissed Tom, either; he would only be able to get so far before the lightning bolt shaped scar on his arm twinged in an effort to get him to turn back.

"We're better off than any muggles are, and if they can calmly wait in the family line, so can we."

He set a hand between Tom's shoulder blades and guided him to the mouth of the alleyway. Tom's nerves were understandable, but both of them were wizards; they wouldn't be crushed or killed by flying shrapnel or caught in a fire because they – out of the hundreds of people occupying the streets – were the only ones capable of protecting themselves. They were privileged with safety, while the muggles… they just had to leap into the nearest shelter, clench their fists, and hope to god they didn't die in the same painful, messy way so many of their family and friends already had.

Harry felt a heavy burden of guilt developing on his conscience. He really needed to stop doing that. Just because he had been born into the role of savior for one war didn't mean he could to be the savior of every war he encountered ('hero complex' had been a common criticism in his youth and that had only become more apparent as he had aged). Besides, this war already had an end. It didn't need Harry's intervention.

Slipping his hand away from Tom, he peered across the street with a frown; where was the second line?

"Looks like this shop doesn't have a second line, anyway. We'll have to join the family one."

Xx

Goddamn him.

Harry had seen through his ploy in seconds, and now he attempted to humiliate him, he was pointing out the fact that the second line never existed. It had been Tom's lie from the beginning, but he was grasping at straws. Any excuse to get Harry away from himself would be a good one. Running away should not be resorted to unless all other efforts seemed to be failing, but at the moment, Tom's mind was coming up with nothing else that would take him away from Harry.

And there was always the question of the vows, and how far he might be able to push his luck until…

Tom wondered briefly what might happen if he broke any of the vows. Unconsciously, the lightning bolt scar traced into his arm twinged, itching annoyingly, as though reminding him of the words he had clearly been forced into speaking. Harry might have seemed casual, even foolishly, or heartbreakingly caring at times, but Tom could not allow himself the luxury of forgetting the cold hatred in those brilliantly green eyes as Harry had pressed his wand against Tom's jugular and forced him into this predicament.

Harry's hand pressed against his shoulder blades were anything but a comfort. They were a reminder of who was in control, who he had to answer to despite the understanding tone that Harry had taken with him since their rather 'educational' conversation following the vows. Maybe some part of this man did pity Tom to a certain degree, but Tom wondered how long pity would last when he realized that Tom was still his enemy. Or rather going to be his enemy. Or perhaps would have once been someone who was going to be his enemy…?

Merlin, what kind of mess had Harry gotten them into?

Tom glared venomously down at Harry. The tension running all throughout his body seemed to be a feeling shared by the entire street full of the line. They would be waiting in this forever, and Tom wasn't even certain if they would be able to register. Without being a legal owner of a property, or any sort of registration papers, or even being an adult citizen of England, there wasn't much of a reason for a country at war to provide them with precious provisions. An underage, penniless orphan and an unregistered, homeless adult? There wasn't a shot in hell they would be getting any sort of food.

Tom glanced at the individuals around them. The mother who had joined the line behind them was attending to the crying child in her arms while taking the other child by his hand to keep him nearby. In front of them, a rigid looking, middle aged woman spoke briskly in undertones to her two, scruffy, adolescent sons. No one was listening to himself and Harry. Everyone was too tired, too afraid to care.

"We'll have to falsify our documents or control our attendant. Do you think you can do that?" Tom asked Harry softly, but his voice was quick and sharp with agitation. He was staring at the setting sun with the same amount of apprehension and fear that the rest of the crowd was.

Xx

At the end of the lengthy line of people Harry could see the greengrocer retrieving food items from his shelves. He would pile them into a paper bag and it to his customer with their rations booklet tucked inside. Rarely was there enough to warrant more than one paper bag. With the added task of filling out the rations booklets, the line was edging along painfully slow. Harry glanced to the sky the same time Tom did, watching as orange hues streaked through the clouds and faded into pink, yellow, and then white. It would be dark soon.

"-Wait, what?" Harry jerked his head around to face Tom. "I thought…? Never mind." Tom had lied. Of course he had. This was what he got for giving Tom Riddle the benefit of the doubt. Reaching into the folds of his robes, he withdrew his wand in preparation to use the imperious curse. It would be the second time in a week he'd used an unforgivable, and this time on an innocent, unsuspecting muggle. It didn't bother him as much as he would have liked. Maybe he was starting to get desensitized.

That thought wasn't one he entertained for long.

They waited what Harry approximated to be twenty minutes before they reached their turn. By then the shop directly adjacent to them had turned on their light, casting them in a tawny glow. It was muffled slightly by the black paint smothered over the glass. With how fast people were retreating back into the safety of their shops, it wasn't likely they would be able to purchase anything more than vegetables today, but that was alright; Harry could whip up some vegetable soup to last them until tomorrow, after which he would return for additional supplies.

The spell was cast. The man smiled, his eyes glazed, and asked in a soft, accommodating voice if Harry would like a bag, and just how many vegetables he would like to buy today. Harry wanted to get this over and done with as quick as possible and was digging a hand into his robes long before the man began to speak. He tossed a rather large note his way and requested one of everything, casting furtive glances to the people behind them, wondering if they thought it odd that he hadn't presented a rations booklet.

"You can keep the rest," he told the man, who had started thumbing through his till in search of notes large enough to use as change. He smiled, closed the till, and turned to start bagging their items.

Harry wasn't much worried about running out of money. They would, eventually, but the sort of money he had on him went a long way in this era.

Xx

Tom wasn't certain why Harry had bothered to cast furtive glances around them. The streets were hastily emptying as the sun dipped more slowly towards the horizon line. Tom didn't have a working watch (he simply could not afford one), but it was more than clear to him that curfew was fast approaching. The only thing that had kept the greengrocer from sending them on their way without any provisions was most likely Harry's skill using his dark magic.

Even while the fear grew within Tom, he collected bits and pieces of what he could about his counterpart. He was adept at dark magic, and rather rich (by the looks of how little he seemed to care for the money he hastily shoved at the extremely accommodating shopkeeper). One of everything would not get them very far, of course, but Tom wasn't about to interject. Any information that he could keep from his captor was precious at this point, something that may be used for his survival and eventual escape

Do not forget who holds the power over you and who could just as easily use it against you.

The sun had now disappeared and the glow was quickly retreating. At this point, about five years ago, one could have expected street lights flickering to life, but nothing responded now. The growing darkness felt remarkably cold for this time of year, and the light which hastily flickered and went out behind the curtains of the shop did not lessen the feeling of absolute, frightful solitude.

He had been trying to find a way to escape all this time, but as the darkness closed around him, he realized that to ensure survival, they had to get out immediately. The street was deserted. Everyone from the mother with the crying child to the stern family that had shared a line with them had disappeared indoors.

"Harry-" Tom whispered, his voice tight, ragged, ready to suggest they retreat when suddenly he heard it.

The air raid sirens exploded into the air, breaking the tense silence with a low, resounding wail. Tom froze, his attention snapping upward as though he might be able to see the black shadows of the planes within the growing darkness. He grabbed at Harry's cloak, his grip like a vice as he dragged him quickly to a nearby alleyway.

Doors were shut and locked, lights were put out, the street descended into complete darkness and the sirens moaned onward, clear, crisp and jarring. All of the tense thoughts, the plans, the lies which Tom had been laboring over during the past few days descend into a buzzing madness. He felt himself heating up, as though his body simply could not contain all of the panic and adrenaline that was pumping through this fragile, mortal frame.

His breathing couldn't catch up with his body, his body couldn't catch up with his mind, his mind couldn't catch up with his thoughts. Tom gripped the side of the stone building for support as the sirens roared onward. There was no more defense, no magic that could have kept the exploding buildings from falling down around him.

He was going to be crushed, to disappear in bloody mess of bones, gore and shit. He was going to be dragged out of a mass of rubble, halfway intact just like he had seen them do so many times before, to be lined up for no one to recognize. Who would know him? And if they did, who would admit to knowing?

This was how he, Tom Riddle, was going to die.

Xx

The paper bag full of their groceries had torn in two as Tom forced them to flee, dragging him more bodily than Harry had known him capable into the stifling darkness of an alleyway. The vegetables lay scattered across the pavement and asphalt, forgotten.

The siren was thundering through his head and disrupting his thoughts before they could surface, making them bob in and out of focus like a buoy. He didn't seem able to calm himself down. He knew only that he was very, very afraid, and that it had been a long time since he had been afraid like this; this terror was better associated with a younger Harry potter, naive enough and alive enough to still be afraid of dying.

When a strangled thought finally did managed to reach his comprehension, it was only one word, 'escape'. He grabbed Tom's wrist and apparated to safety.

At least, he had thought it was safety before they staggered into Little Whinging and were presented with a clear, black sky with a few distant aberrations soaring towards them like falling stars. It didn't matter where you stood, where you looked from, it would inevitably look as though you were about to die.

Harry's was frozen in place for all of a few seconds before his mind grasped at a new place to apparate: Hogwarts. The place he had always felt safest. Their surroundings swirled and distorted and suddenly they were falling into soft green grass, far from the castle, its lights twinkling reassuringly in the dark of the night. There was no siren. There were no bombs. There was no sign at all that they had just fled a war zone except the mutual buzzing of their minds.

He was draped over Tom's body, his hand still wrapped tight around that thin, pale wrist. He quickly released it; there were nasty pink finger marks embedded into the skin. He dragged his eyes up to Tom's face and noticed the boy was scarcely breathing, looking as white and shaken as he had upon being told his own legacy. Harry cupped that pallid face in his hands, wincing at how cold and clammy the skin was, and tried to draw his focus back into reality.

"It's – it's okay Tom. We're fine. You didn't think I'd let us die, did you?" He was glad Tom was lying down; Harry didn't know much standard first aid, but he had heard somewhere that lying down was the best thing for people in shock.

Xx

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Tom could feel Harry's hand close around his wrist, gripping it with a desperate intensity. He could feel the fear in Harry's mind, the shock and the horror at the blaring of the sirens and twisting, tugging, sickening sensation of a slide along apparation but Tom's mind was too far away to comprehend it.

Memories flooded back to Tom. He saw flashes of brilliant color in darkness as small firebombs were dropped through thin the thin, flammable roofs of the Orphanage, of ashes filling the air as flames sprung up like spring daisies. He remembered the boy who used to deliver the newspaper to Mrs. Cole, what it was like to see him, grey and bloody as they pulled him from the wreckage. He had been even younger than Tom.

Memories of houses reduced to rubble in mere seconds, as if God had grown bored with his toys and decided it best to start over from the beginning. Stone, ash and fire that fell like rain. Bodies, young and old, whole or torn, lined up, lifeless and cold as tin soldiers.

Tom remembered just a few years prior, sitting on his stiff orphanage bed, listening for the low buzzing of doodlebugs, clutching at a wand which he was not permitted to use. He recalled the sad, pitying smile he had received from Headmaster Dippet as the man repeated slowly for the third time, "It's simply not done this way. You couldn't possibly stay over the summer."

He remembered the first time he had heard those sirens and how he had scoffed at them. He was magical. He was special. He couldn't be touched by these idiotic muggle killing machines. He had taken the chaos as an opportunity to sneak away. Oh, how quickly he had learned that death would never discriminate between those with or without the ability to use magic. After the extent of the destruction became all too apparent to him, Tom had barely managed to retreat back to a nearby shelter in time. He could never seem to forget the sight of buildings crumbling like sand castles at high tide, or the screams which accompanied them.

Tom felt his feet hit solid ground, but in the darkness he could not even begin to tell where he was. All that his mind could comprehend was that the sirens were farther out now, and the night had swallowed all light.

All at once, the twisting sensation returned and Harry's hand tightened on his wrist yet again. As suddenly as it had come, the sensation was gone and Tom felt himself slam on to the ground. The scent of soil and grass filled his nostrils, but he could barely breathe enough to recognize it. The heavy weight on top of him shifted, but the buzzing and swirling of the thoughts made it impossible for him to completely comprehend anything aside from fire, ash, blood and destruction.

Harry's eyes came into clear focus, impossibly brilliant in the darkness which surrounded them, and the feeling of hands cupping the sides of his face. He saw Harry's mouth moving but he couldn't hear anything aside from the low buzzing, the wailing sirens, the pained screams. Harry was imploring him to do something, but it was all Tom could do to keep fighting for breath through his panicked state, Tom's fingertips dug into the soil beneath him, tearing at the verdant grass as his jaw clenched tightly. One clear thought seemed to surface through the rest, all focused on those shining eyes floating above him. Survive. He had to survive.

All at once, something seemed to snap within Tom. He gasped, gulping down air so quickly, so hungrily that it hurt. All the while, his focus stayed firmly on those imploring, worried eyes floating above him as he lay on the ground, gasping and shaking.

Xx

The peculiarity of being hunched over his archenemy, soothing a hand through his dark hair, cupping his cheek, was not lost on Harry. What he knew of Tom Riddle had always suggested he was a highly composed individual, a textbook case of a psychopath, right down to torturing and killing small animals as a child. The gasping, shuddering boy beneath him was completely incongruous with the Tom Riddle that occupied Harry's every waking thought, and with every new display of weakness, of vulnerability, Harry was finding it more and more difficult to see this Tom Riddle as the one he had known his entire life. He was more human than Harry had ever thought he could be.

"-You're breathing. Good! Fantastic! Keep on doing that, otherwise you'll pass out and I'll have to carry you all the way to Hogsmeade." Keep on talking. Provide leverage. Harry couldn't profess to know exactly what he was doing; he generally sought out repression and anger when dealing with his own trauma, and he had always been quick to recover from his experiences, if not wholly intact. He would have given Tom Lupin's miracle cure – chocolate – had he any on hand.

The only thing he had was a flask of tonic water. It probably wouldn't help as much as chocolate would have, but it was a start. "Here," he said, retrieving Tom's white-knuckled hand from the grass and curling his fingers around the flask. "You'll want to sit up first so you don't choke on the water. Just…" Positioning himself beside Tom, he slid an arm beneath his quaking shoulders and dragged him upright, keeping him pressed tight to his chest. "There. There's a little bit of fire whiskey in that, so that might help."

Just a smidgen of fire whiskey had been added to help Harry sleep, especially on cold nights. He rarely drank it unstilled these days and would never understand why Ron had preferred it that way; it seared your throat when consumed straight.

"We won't be going back to that house," he continued, because he was sure this news would improve Tom's mood. "I'll find somewhere else to stay. A village or something. Or we could camp. I've got a portable tent in my pocket somewhere."

Xx

Tom felt suddenly quite exposed. He couldn't explain how or why that was, but lying there, finally catching up to his breath as his shattered thoughts began to piece themselves together, he felt as though he had revealed something which he could not erase from his counterpart's mind. He wished he could cover the entire fiasco up. As though it were as easily as wrapping himself in cloth, or hiding away his face, or making a petty, witty joke at Harry's expense, but there was nothing which could erase the fear that Harry had witnessed, the terror and desperation which he was so careful to keep in check.

Harry had spied the weakness behind Tom's mask.

Tom felt his tension ease as Harry's worried, yet gratingly cheerful tone broke through the silence which had settled in the wake of his panic attack. That was what it had been, hadn't it? He hadn't allowed himself the luxury of completely breaking down before, but it seemed similar to previous episodes he had when he was quite a bit younger (before his time at Hogwarts). It had been years since he had lost control to this extent. The last time, he had ended up accidentally setting half of his possessions on fire with uncontrolled, wild magic. In retrospect, Harry was quite lucky he had not repeated the mishap.

Harry was still looking down at him pleadingly. The sound of his voice was gradually growing stronger as Tom's breathing regulated to the point of being 'normal'. His heart was still hammering wildly at his ribcage, as though trying to escape, but Tom would have none of this continuing. Harry had seen more than enough to humiliate Tom tonight. He would put an end to this weakness.

Immediately.

His shaking hands closed to fists, gripping hard until the trembling ceased. He snapped his eyes shut, the sight of Harry's soft, caring face burned in his vision as he trained his own expression into unreadability. He had practiced this so many times before, forced his weakness behind the facade of power and calm control. Power was easier; that, he had in spades as a birthright. Calm control was something he had to constantly keep in the forefront of his mind.

Tom heard Harry's hopeful tones yet again and upon opening his eyes he was met with the sight of Harry trying to hoist him up to a sitting position. He complied easily enough, shaking his head slowly as he felt a small, metal flask being forced into his hands. Taking the flask, he listened intently to Harry's voice, not necessarily the words but rather, the inflection and intent. Helpful, imploring, caring. Tom looked over to his counterpart yet again, letting Harry's expression do the talking, rather than all that useless babble.

It seemed worlds away from the hate filled threats he had endured just a few days earlier. Tom's expression softened with confusion and without meaning to, the words slipped from his mouth. "Why are you doing this?" His voice was ragged and dry, but softer with uncharacteristic uncertainty.

Xx

And here, inevitably, came the shame and repression. Harry had enough experience with the aftermaths of an emotional outburst to know exactly how Tom wouldn't want him to respond, though he had to do a bit of guess work in regards to how Tom would want him to respond. He continued holding Tom to his chest, considering Tom's question. That could mean a great many things, but in this context, he probably meant it to mean 'why're you being so nice'. The kindness he was displaying was contrary to some of his earlier behaviour; the threatening, more specifically. Tom had to assume that the anger and hate was as much part of his personality as his other behaviors, for safety's sake, but that wasn't the kind of person Harry was. Even after losing everything, he was still Dumbledore's 'golden boy'.

"Well, for starters, I brought you to a war zone, which was really stupid." He shrugged a shoulder, jostling Tom. "And I didn't want you to get sick again or something. There's not enough in your stomach for that. Would've made you feel way worse." Another shrug and he slowly stretched a leg out beneath Tom's torso, giving Tom additional support. "But we can go to Hogsmeade and get something to eat there. You'll probably be recognized, but that's alright; you can just introduce me as a friend or something."

He couldn't decide between camping or staying at Hogsmeade for the night. Only the night. They wouldn't be able to rest at the latter for any longer than that, least they attract unwanted attention.

He leaned back on a hand, peering across the rolling hills to where Hogwarts stood, looking more inviting than it ever had before. Nostalgia was coiling in his gut. He really did miss the days where he could be a carefree schoolboy, before Voldemort's resurrection, before the entire wizarding world had seemed to start conspiring against him. When it was just him, Hermione, Ron, and Sirius.

Wetting his lips, he looked down at Tom.

"You should drink something."

Xx

Harry was pretty terrible at lying.

On a certain level, it was almost comical. The man with all of the power between them couldn't seem to tell Tom the complete truth about the situation. Dark secrets hid within his pensive silences. As Harry wondered what Tom meant, Tom knew exactly what Harry meant: that he did not yet trust him. Understandable, considering Tom's current standing with him as a 'casual prisoner' of sorts, but Harry also seemed just as unwilling to leave Tom in the dark, afraid and alone.

Tom felt himself being shifted every time Harry shrugged uncomfortably. Twice. The man had absolutely no idea how to 'act natural'. His naiveté could have been considered adorable in any other circumstance. He closed his eyes, letting his confused notions finally piece themselves into a question, the real question he had been searching for from the beginning. He reveled in the sensation of being away from those bombs, those sirens, and all of the fire and death. Withdrawing from Harry, he fixed him with an unreadable, piercing stare.

"That's not what I meant." Tom questioned in a low, personal whisper, as though afraid of being overheard, or worse, completely understood. "You traveled from the future to the past, meaning that you doomed yourself to abandon everything and everyone that you knew and loved." Tom paused, pensive for a moment. "Or perhaps, everything that I hadn't already taken from you, by the sounds of it."

"If you would have left me, I would have been just another body of a boy found during an Air Raid. It would have been all too easy, and no one would have connected you to me directly. Bloody hell, they probably would not have even known how to find out who I was. I've no one to speak for me. My family-" He cut off, his mouth tightened as he thought back on his father's horrified face, his fearful screams, his enraged grandfather and despairing grandmother.

"What I meant was, why allow me to live? Better yet, why try to save me? None of this makes sense." He breathed.

Xx

"Tom, really?" Try as he might to maintain a neutral tone, Harry's voice was a touch exasperated. He knew Tom's assumptions weren't unreasonable but he couldn't help but feel a little bit slighted by Tom thinking he would leave him to become a smeared patch of boy on the asphalt. It wasn't likely he would have been hit, anyway, and what would have Harry done then? "You're alive because I don't want you dead. I never wanted you dead; most of the time I didn't even want to kill the version of you that was actively trying to kill me. And I definitely wouldn't leave you to die after giving you food, water, and shelter for almost a week; that'd be kind of screwed up, wouldn't it?"

He inhaled sharply, his lungs protesting the introduction of chilly night air.

"I'm not going to let anything bad happen to you, and definitely not by my own hands. The initial threat against your life was just a last resort, but you accepted the vow, so now you're my responsibility."

The intensity of which Tom was staring at him compelled Harry to turn away, his fingers twisting and pulling at a tuft of grass. It was a penetrating sort of look, and considering Tom was a gifted legilimence, he wouldn't have been surprised if that was exactly what he was doing. All the more reason for Harry to suddenly find the horizon very, very interesting, his eyes roving over the clusters of stars that flanked the forest.

"Besides," he continued in a mumble. "It'd kind of suck to be all on my own, not able to tell anyone I'm from the future without being labelled mentally unstable. Which you've already done a few times, probably, but that's probably more of a defense mechanism since you haven't yet tried to tell me I'm a liar."

Xx

Tom listened as Harry spoke. He heard the words, but he was looking for something much deeper: the meaning within Harry's tone, the feeling behind his sentiments, the truth within his statements. Clarity rolled over his mind, crisp, genuine and refreshing as a breath of fresh air when Tom seemed to have been living in a world of smoke and fog. It dawned on him so suddenly that the realization was almost blinding, jarring. Harry's mind was so starkly different from his own that it felt like the difference between boiling and freezing, yet there was something oddly comforting about the change of pace.

When Harry snapped his attention away once again, Tom could not necessarily blame him. He was obviously familiar with the concept of mental invasion, of legillmency, but he had not expected the chill which ran down his spine from being cut off so suddenly. Tom sighed lightly. He thought back on the words, but even more than that, he dwelled on the feeling that came with it, the clarity, the responsibility, the tinge of frustration. Without even meaning to, Tom had rested his head on Harry's shoulder. For the first time since learning of his family, he felt the intense stress and fear begin to dissipate as relief numbed the pain.

Maybe Harry really didn't want him to die after all. Dare he hope it? Hope certainly had not allowed him to survive this long. Then again, there was definite evidence here to support his counterpart. Harry could have easily killed him days ago now, or let him die all on his own. He had even gone so far as to protect, feed and shelter him. It still didn't entirely make sense, but it seemed at least somewhat dependable.

"We will go to Hogsmeade." Tom sighed. "They won't recognize me there. I hardly go there to begin with, I'm far too busy studying. When I do go, I'm usually not frequenting the typical sights, so we should be safe at the Three Broomsticks for a time."

"And, Harry…" He paused, pushing himself away from Harry now, straightening a bit and looking much more like his own charismatic, (albeit exhausted and starving) self as he quirked a brow and gave Harry a tired smile. "You may be insane, but you're certainly not a liar. Just as I may be a liar, but I'm certainly not insane."

Xx

Harry rose to his feet, brushing moisture and grass off of his knees and ass with his palms, not quite managing to get all of it. That was alright. There would be time to make himself more presentable once they were in the Three Broomsticks. At some point he would have to purchase something more era-appropriate to wear than the shirt, jeans, and sneakers he was currently wearing; he hadn't seen anyone else wearing jeans yet, which meant he would stick out like a sore thumb if he was ever to go around without his cloak.

"You might've been better off telling me 'you're a liar' after we'd settled into the Three Broomsticks." As he said this, he wore a playful sort of smile. It wasn't a comment intended to make Tom think Harry doubted him. Even if he was lying, they would only be staying there the night; he'd decided his galleons would stretch further if they camped.

Hogsmeade was across the river, and as they were without a boat… Harry extended a hand to Tom, gesturing for him to take it. He could have just grabbed him and apparated, but he'd been doing that an awful lot recently and he was sure Tom was getting tired of the disorientation.

"And I'm not insane," he added, almost as an afterthought. "At least, if I am, I'm not aware of it." He was sure Sirius would have found such a comment amusing. Whether or not Tom did remained to be seen.

Xx

"I would have thought you'd have caught on by now." Tom's voice was brisk, but playful. Something seemed strikingly more natural about the way he smirked at Harry as the other man pushed himself off of the ground and gave Hogsmeade a precursory glance. As Tom sat there, exhausted as he was, he seemed significantly less tense than he had within the last week or so.

There was a distinctly purposeful nature to the other man that made Tom think that there was a great deal more to Mr. Harry Potter than he had first assumed. Resourceful, willful, sarcastic, useful and skilled. Genuine. Tom could never let himself forget about how deadly he was as well. Harry wanted him to put that memory far away from Tom's mind, but death was a constant fear for him. He couldn't bring himself to erase when the threat of it had been staring him in the face with piercingly green eyes. Could he move past this notion though?

Harry offered his hand and Tom tensed. Staring blankly up at him was all Tom could do. Was it all a ploy? Gain his trust in order to smash it, tear away the only thing Tom had ever valued, his life and power?

Tom took a deep breath and then huffed in frustration, letting the chilly night air fill his lungs before taking Harry's hand and lifting himself from the ground. Tom shook his head in laughing softly as he patted away a few stray pieces of grass on the front of his shirt, trousers and backside, then running his hands through his hair for good measure (just in case some had found their way there as well). "Time traveling and politely holding your archenemy hostage? Harry, you're absolutely barmy."

Perking up, Tom spotted a few bits of grass which Harry had missed, stuck at odd angles in his hair. Delicately, he pulled the blades out while he continued speaking pensively. "Then again, I'm along for the ride, so I must be just as mad."

Xx

Harry spied Tom's hesitation, and he wasn't surprised, nor disappointed by the sight of it. Both of them had trust issues they would need to work on. It wasn't likely they would ever trust each other fully, all things considered, but that didn't mean they couldn't have an amicable relationship. The way Tom smiled and laughed and picked grass out of Harry's hair seemed to Harry a promise of a less turbulent future.

Or Tom's just buttering you up, his mind provided unhelpfully. It was rarely helpful these days, always burdening him with paranoia and nightmares.

"I think that goes without saying. I mean, you did think Horcrux's were a brilliant idea." Harry reached down and claimed Tom's hand again, pausing briefly before he tugged him into the moonlight.

Tom's eyes looked even darker than usual at night. His pupils were almost indistinguishable from his irises. Would they ever gleam red while his soul was intact, or was that feature only present as a consequence of the creation of Horcrux's? He couldn't remember if they had gleamed red prior to splitting his soul. It had been such a long time since he had been privy to Voldemort's memories.

"…Right, well. We'll get a room at the Three Broomsticks for the night, then set up camp somewhere tomorrow morning." He readjusted his grip on Tom's hand and started to turn, and seconds later they descended on Hogsmeade, landing awkwardly on their feet before their destination. It looked almost exactly like it would in sixty years. How convenient.

Releasing Tom's hand, he entered the pub. "Do you want a butterbeer? Firewhiskey-? Wait, no. You can't have that one yet, right? Your birthday's in December." As much as Harry enjoyed butterbeer, he would be ordering himself Mulled Mead. It would help him relax, and god knows he needed to relax after witnessing a raid.

With that in mind, he added. "I could still get it for you, but you'll have to drink it discreetly." Because he was sure Tom needed to relax just as much as he did.

Xx

"I think 'Immortality' is a brilliant idea, Harry. A Horcrux are just a vehicle." Tom stated fluidly (despite his somewhat rough voice from the night's proceedings). It was startling how warm Harry's hand was in the chill of the night air. Or perhaps it was that Tom had just gotten cold yet again. He was rather sensitive to the chilly weather and found that his graceful, slender hands became frozen in a matter of minutes in the winter season. It was not that he would ever admit his slight weakness aloud, but it was rather cumbersome.

Particularly when Harry remained so warm. It was probably the adrenaline buzzing through Harry's system, or the magic he was currently using. That seemed logical enough.

Harry gaze lingered on him for a moment as though assessing him before pulling his hand into the moonlight. Suddenly, he felt the twirling, squeezing feeling of being forced through time and space once again. His feet hit the ground on the worn out cobblestones before the Three Broomsticks before pitching him forward slightly. He caught himself, sighing in relief as he drew himself back up to full, confident height. Despite his ashen face and slightly trembling hands (hardly visible as he kept them at his sides), he looked every bit as self-assured and remarkably beautiful as usual.

Tom followed after Harry, making eye contact with absolutely no one in particular, seeming impressive and unapproachable all at once. He settled down at a table in the quiet corner, making sure that both seats had an easy path to the entrance (such practices had become second nature to Tom).

"No, I'm-" Tom answered quickly, meaning to refuse any alcohol, then stopped himself, looking at his pale hand, the slight tremors which ran through his fingertips which made it nearly impossible to hold his hand still. He gulped heavily. "Yes, if you would. Some wine would be pleasant. And food, any variety." He admitted, feeling sullen by the admonition of his rather 'human' weakness: a need for sustenance.

It was strange to actually be asking for food. Tom was no longer hungry. His body had reached the point that his stomach had felt so numb with fear and dread that it had stopped reminding him of his need to eat. Yet, he knew that he needed to sustain himself. He had hardly consumed much in the past week beyond what he would have needed to keep his wits about him, but now that he had decided…now that Harry had saved him from…

Perhaps the best phrasing could only be: now that he was certain that Harry wasn't going to murder him immediately, he needed to try to take care of himself. What a strange notion, to be cooperative to the man who had completely foiled his plans, Tom reflected as he tried to keep his mind from the memory of those eyes looking imploringly down at him, the words he couldn't hear at the time above his mind's panicked explosion.

Xx

It didn't take Harry long to get everything arranged, which wasn't necessarily a good thing; by the time he had finished paying for their meals and room the bartender had convinced him to stay an additional three days. 'We charge our overnights customers more, y'see,' the man had explained in a conspiratorial whisper. 'T'make up for the customers that might have stayed longer if the room was free. It's cheaper this way.'

'Cheaper' was all he'd really needed to say. Growing up with a complete absence of money and then being thrust into prosperity at the age of eleven meant Harry was completely oblivious when it came to regulating money, so he let words like 'cheap' and 'expensive' make his decisions for him.

When he returned to their table, he was holding a rather old looking key with a roman numeral on its tag. "I told them to bring the food to our room," he said, gesturing for Tom to follow him. He was already heading for the staircase. "It's number, uh…" A glance at the key. "…Nine."

Their room was small, but homely, with a log fire and a single bed pressed up against the far back wall. Harry shrugged off his cloak as he entered, folding it over his forearm. It was the first time he'd ever removed it in Tom's presence. Paranoia usually prevented him from being relaxed enough to do so, no matter how hot it got, but now that it was off Tom would be able to see there wasn't anything spectacular beneath. Just a short-sleeved t-shirt, jeans, red sneakers, and a single, fingerless glove on his right hand, the other one being conspicuously absent. Nothing of great interest.

He threw himself down onto a floral-patterned settee, letting his cloak drop into his lap while he ran his hands up and down his face. It was all sweaty and gross. Hopefully there would be a shower available for use, though he doubted it from the look of the place; it was so old fashioned he would probably have to drag out an old tin bath if he wanted to bathe.

"I ordered you some stew and wine," he said as he slid his arms behind his head. "I've never had the wine myself, but it was more expensive than what I got so it has to be something good.

Xx

Tom had nodded and followed after Harry without complaint. To have a bit of privacy after their ordeal in London sounded all too tempting, and Tom was understanding of Harry for not wanting to be out in the open wearing his sloppy, oddly styled clothing. If his companion was anything to judge by, their future was looking rather casual and…drab.

The room itself was rather large and surprisingly cozy for what he would have expected from the Three Broomsticks. He had always assumed that the tavern was primarily just that, a tavern and not an Inn. As it turned out, they were more than prepared for those who had tipped back just a few too many pints. The fireplace crackled comfortingly from the outer wall, giving the entire room a warm, welcoming glow.

There was something otherworldly about the entire scene, truth be told. It was a testament to the extent of how much Tom truly loved magic. He could escape the terror of living with his kidnapper and possible murderer, step out of the ruins of the bombings in London, bounce back from the panic attack under the stars, as long as he had the magic world waiting for him here.

Harry's worried, imploring expression flashed in his memory. Tom took a deep breath and forced himself to focus. His eyes roved to their one, rather squashy looking bed, covered by a thick, fluffy quilt. There was something peculiar about that fact, but before Tom could bring himself to consider it he found himself distracted by an even more peculiar mystery.

Harry's black glove. A single black glove. Tom's eyebrows drew themselves into a perplexed line as he gracefully sat down on the bed, his eyes never leaving Harry's right hand. He paused, wondering if he should bother to voice his question, wondering if he'd even get a response but he couldn't quite help himself. His exhaustion seemed to have ebbed away at his usual tact.

"Why are you wearing that?" Tom asked, completely disregarding Harry's information about dinner in lieu of more intriguing conversation. "That glove, I mean." He gestured to Harry's hand.

Xx

The bed wasn't an ideal place to sit for dinner, and Harry had been about to say as much when he noticed Tom staring at his hand. In his confusion, he looked down at it too, examining it for anything that might have caught Tom's interest. Harry had never been the most astute of people, and testament to that, it wasn't until Tom had started to speak that he realized the source of his curiosity.

"Because I don't want to see what's beneath it," he said simply. He wasn't trying to hide anything; that much was clear by his choice of words, but extending Tom the knowledge that there was indeed something hidden beneath the fabric didn't mean Harry was about to unveil it.

"You aren't going to sit over there while you eat, are you?" Harry asked, a blatant attempt to change the subject. He didn't fancy spending the evening trying to persuade Tom the glove wasn't worth investigating. "I didn't put my legs up specifically so you could eat at the coffee table, which… well, it is a bit low, I guess. But I can fix that." He withdrew his wand and did just that. The table shot up to waist height, its legs thinning as compensation for the additional inches.

There was a knock on the door before he could continue blathering on, which was probably a good thing. A server stepped inside with a pint of mead and a wine bottle. The wine bottle was set on the coffee table along with a dainty looking glass, while Harry's mead was pressed straight into his hands. Evidently this man knew which of them intended to get drunk tonight.

"It'll refill on its own," he said on his way out the door, gently closing it behind him.

Harry took a gulp of his drink and was immediately warmed by it. It had all the benefits of firewhisky without the searing discomfort in his throat.

Speaking of firewhisky… "Tom, did you drop my flask?" Because he hadn't seen it since they had apparated.

Xx

Tom didn't know what to make of the comment about the glove. Of course, the words were evasive, but his expression was even more closed off than Tom would have suspected Harry of. It was clear to Tom that he had made a misstep in asking him outright for the answer, but one couldn't always be tactful and smooth, particularly with someone he had literally been spending all of his time with. He kept himself carefully silent, watching with interest as Harry refused to expand on the topic.

It was alright. Tom could wait. He was a patient man and like Harry had told him, they would be spending a great deal of time together.

"Of course I wouldn't eat on the bed." Tom snipped, rolling his eyes as though it were the most obvious fact between them. Truth be told, the sight of somewhere to rest after this night's events had forced food from his mind. The sight of Harry using magic to heighten the table made him long for the feel of his own wand as one may remember the soft touch of a security blanket. He missed the spark of power and energy he got from holding what at face value was just a pale, thin wooden stick. Yet it hid so much more than that.

It was magic that he missed.

His fingertips tingled a bit uncomfortably, realizing the power that was building up within him and no outlet with which to channel it. He had not had this sort of problem since his very early years, his 'demon days' as he fondly referred to them when the head of the orphanage had referred to him as a child of the devil for 'moving objects' and 'making things about him burn and spark'. This was before Mrs. Wool had arrived, constantly nipping at her brandy and scotch, ready to overlook his worst transgressions with a mere slap on the wrist and a careful eye moving forward.

Tom perked up when the server came in. The man set down the wine for Tom, along with a rather graceful looking glass. He handed the bottle of what must have been mead to Harry before quickly, politely departing. No food. Oh well. Tom's deadened stomach was not really reacting to much prompting anyway.

Tom moved himself smoothly from the bed to seating himself right beside Harry on the floral settee, drawing Harry's flask out of one of his robe pockets with the smooth motion of a practiced thief, setting it on the table beside the bottle. "You know," He began softly, reaching out the delicate fingers of his slender hand, watching as the glass slid eerily toward him. He motioned smoothly with a single fingertip and it followed along, rotating gently and lazily as Tom spoke in an offhanded manner. "I suppose, it never really matters what's happening to the world outside this one." He admitted softly. "No bombs, no hunger, no war. It's only magic here." He stopped directing the glass and instead reached out, drawing the wine bottle to him, letting it slide in his direction, motioning for it to evade the flask beside it, before picking it up and filling the crystalline glass.

"This place is…" He trailed pensively, pausing as though words were escaping him. "It feels like a gift when I want it to be a birthright. You understand that, don't you?" He couldn't deny the longing from his voice. He picked up the glass, took a deep draw of the dry, red wine.

If he had killed his father, it would have been the last tie to that disgusting, filthy, mundane world he had left. If only he had just gotten to the spell sooner. His silence brought memories he simply could not stand, the buzzing of his mind brought the scream of his father, the terror and the truth of his rape and the devastation it had wreaked on his life, of the fear he bore for his unclaimed child. In that moment, Tom would have done anything to escape that silence, that scream.

"There's only one bed." Tom interrupted his spiraling grim thoughts with an obtuse observation. Their room was perfect for a young couple. Perhaps that was what the proprietor had assumed that they were. Strange, that Harry had not corrected him. He smiled easily, covering his momentary lapse with a quirked brow. "So, what do you expect us to do, hm?"

Xx

Without much thought as to why Tom would have the flask in his pocket, Harry retrieved it from the table. The metal was chilled. Generally these things warmed in one's pocket, but as he had started to notice Tom had a perpetually cool body temperature he didn't think much on that, either. It was returned to the depths of his cloak.

A grunt was Harry's initial reply to Tom's question about birthrights and gifts. Hermione would have been able to empathize. She, as a muggleborn, a 'mudblood', knew what it was like to have access to the wizarding world unwillingly imparted to her rather than extended as a birthright. Harry didn't really know what that was like. Not because of his half-blood status, but because being the Chosen One meant the wizarding world had always considered him one of theirs, going as far as to exert ownership over him. He'd realized by his fifth year that any time he expressed too much autonomy there would be repercussions from those who expected him to be as compliant as a trophy on their mantelpiece.

He wasn't sure how to put this into words, so he simply said, "Not really. I don't think anyone should consider magic a birthright. It should be a gift for everyone." But that wasn't likely to happen anytime soon, especially not in this era. No one wanted to admit that magic belonged to everyone who partook in it, even squibs and the muggle parents who conceived a magic child. No one wanted to admit this because that would mean changing, and the wizarding world was very opposed to that. Considering something a birthright was just another way of shouldering out anyone you didn't deem worthy.

He glanced to the bed when it was mentioned. It looked very comfortable, but Harry wasn't fussed; he'd slept rough often enough to be able to fall asleep just about anywhere. "If you want the bed you can have it." He took another swig of his mead, making himself comfortable in his corner of the settee. "I'm the only one capable of magic at the moment – fancy wandless magic aside, so it'd be unfair if I made you sleep somewhere you couldn't transfigure into something more comfortable."

A pause.

"…You can't do wandless transfiguration, right? "

Xx

Harry never left him questioning exactly where he stood for long.

Tom was learning quickly that his companion had boundaries but he wasn't quite sure where they were located. Normally, Tom got a feel for most people upon meeting them, but Harry had known nearly everything about Tom from the very first moment they had exchanged words. Everything was within Harry's grasp, from the nature of his conception to the way he had been abandoned. He had known that Tom planned to prolong his life indefinitely by sacrificing others in its place, he had known that Tom was a stellar student, adapt at fooling those around him. He had known that Tom was a skilled duelist, intrigued by all forms of magic and its history. For Merlin's sake, he probably even knew that Tom's favorite food was blackberries.

If Harry was angry, there must have certainly been a reason. Then why did he have to seem so damn unreasonable?

Tom couldn't help himself as bitter anger rose to the surface. His pensive expression hardened and became icy, unreadable. He stared down into his delicate glass for a moment before gently setting it down on the table. "That was not what I meant. Do not twist my words." He replied coldly. He took a moment, inhaling deeply, exhaling slowly in frustration. What amazed Tom more than the fact that he had become rather annoyed, was the fact that he seemed to be having a bit of trouble masking that annoyance. His usual layers of charm, the armor he wore to keep most everyone from understanding him did not seem to effect Harry in the slightest. It was infuriating.

His mind thought of a dozen different snide remarks to make, cutting Harry and his bold attitude to pieces, but he kept them safely locked away. This was no time to be making threats and enemies, particularly not if that individual had his wand and was literally vowed to be with him.

Tom sat back calmly, folding his arms with a rather casual, tired sigh. "It doesn't matter, Harry. You're the one with the wands, you're the one with the power." Tom reminded him somewhat redundantly. Tom glanced back at him, and though his face was still exceedingly pale with exhaustion, his dark eyes managed to shine with interest while also being remarkably guarded, distant and cold. "You're going to do as you please, just as you always do. Why even ask, Harry? Did you actually want to listen?"

Tom kept remarkably silent after finishing.

Xx

Harry was good at a lot of things. Quidditch, Defense against the Dark Arts, fleeing dangerous situations; he was not, however, good at correctly interpreting other people's emotions. They were often confusing and troubling for him. He probably had a larger empathy range than Ron, but that wasn't helping him at all with the task of figuring out what exactly he'd done to upset Tom. For a moment he looked completely lost, a deer-in-headlights expression upon his face, eyes flicking between Tom and the bed – had he implied something bad while talking about the bed? – and then after this moment of confusion passed, giving way to amusement, he couldn't help but snort.

"Sorry," he said quickly, lifting a hand in a placating manner. "Sorry, it's not funny, I know. I just – the last time I felt like this I was trying to figure out why the girl I was dating wouldn't stop crying." He really had a serious case of foot-in-mouth syndrome when around Tom, didn't he? He took a large gulp of mead. "Erm, not that you're a girl. Or act like one. I'm just not sure what you want from me at the moment; I've already conceded the bed. And I wasn't trying to twist your words, and… I don't know… I wasn't trying to force you into letting me sleep in the bed either."

There was a lengthy pause before he spoke again. "If you want something from me, or I've done something to upset you, just tell me. It'll be a lot easier on both of us."

Xx

Maybe Tom had been hanging around his fellow 'friends' and followers a bit too long. He had expected a tactfully cutting response, something questioning his trustworthiness to begin with, or maybe even the worth in keeping him around if he was at such a severe disadvantage in not having a wand. He was expecting for Harry to get upset (at the least), to be riled up and respond in kind to Tom's coldness with cutting remarks and enraged accusations.

Just leave it to Harry to have one of the most confused apologies he could have mustered. Tom might have even become angry if the entire display hadn't been so unguarded. Tom hadn't even been trying to read Harry's thoughts when the vision of a rather pretty looking young Ravenclaw girl with dark hair flashed in his mind, straight from Harry's, tears streaming down her face as she sat before an untouched cup of tea in an shockingly 'pink' cafe. Tom paused, looking hard at Harry as though this must be some sort of ruse, some ridiculous joke he was playing at. When Harry held his gaze with just as much confusion as when he began Tom couldn't help it.

He burst out laughing. Not a cold, cruel cackle, or a contrived polite chuckle, but full on and unfettered, warm laughter. The entire scenario was just ludicrous to him. Harry, the man with the power, currently 'gently' holding him hostage, and doing his damnedest to lead their way forward had gone from threatening his life to saving it. Tom, the boy who had all of the power and the drive to take a human life in order to prolong his own now squabbling over hurt feelings and single bedroom living situations. All of it was just…absolutely mad.

The door creaked once again as the server awkwardly shoved it open with his hip and elbow while carrying a tray laden with a sizable bowl of thick beef stew and steaming hot rolls of bread. "Apologies for the wait, sirs." He said with a gruff nod. Tom, meanwhile, bit back his laughter, and settled into uncharacteristic blush and a humble silence as he realized his show of emotion was no longer confined to just him and his companion. He coughed awkwardly and picked his wine glass up once again to avoid it being spilled as the tray was set down before them.

When the server finally left, closing the door soundly behind him, Tom looked down at the meal. "You'd better eat some as well." He chided, gesturing to the enormous serving. "There's no possible way I can finish this alone after this last week." Harry clearly knew that he had been refusing meals. No point in hiding it anymore after the debacle in London.

"And as for the sleeping arrangements." He continued casually, taking a sip of wine and ignoring the protesting of his stomach in lieu of the pleasant tingle of an alcoholic buzz. "It's clearly made for two people. If you had wanted to strangle me in my sleep, I figure it would have already been done ages ago." He observed, chuckling at his own rather grim joke. "And if you snore though, I'm kicking you out." He continued, picking up his spoon and pausing. He cast Harry a sidelong glance, as if searching for the words before speaking softly.

"Thank you."

Xx

The laughter startled Harry into silence. He had heard laughter from Tom Riddle before, and it didn't sound like that. The cold inflection was absent; there was no hint of mockery. If Harry's lingering confusion hadn't been exacerbate by the laughter he might have felt compelled to join in. All Harry could bring himself to do was stare and listen, and perhaps that was a good thing, because the more he stared and the more he listened the more warm and approachable Tom seemed.

It was almost disappointing when Tom was forced into silence by the arrival of his stew.

Harry managed to summon a half-hearted smile to dismiss their server with. He then reached for one of the steaming rolls, ripping it in half so he could chew on one end. There was butter inside, warm and gooey and delicious. When Tom offered him his stew, Harry made an appreciative sound and dipped the remaining bread into the lumpy liquid.

"It's okay," he began, but Tom was still talking.

Thank you.

Harry wasn't entirely sure what Tom was thanking him for, but he quickly swallowed his mouthful of roll so he could respond without being rude.

"No problem?" He shoved the remaining bread into his mouth before it cooled, chewing and swallowing in record time. He was way hungrier than he'd thought he was. "And don't worry about it, I don't need it. The bed, I mean. I'd just move around all through the night and wake you up." A shrug. "My girlfriend - heh - she used to box me in because of how much I moved around. Held onto me like a straitjacket. She even did that when it was way too hot for it."

Harry's stomach was starting to feel heavy, and it wasn't because of the food. The thu-thump of Ginny's heart was loud in his mind. Every time they had taken shelter together he would close his eyes and nuzzle into her chest, between her breasts, and listen to the steady thump of her heartbeat as he drifted off to sleep. It was the only lullaby he had ever needed.

"…I think I know what you were trying to say before, about uh… wanting safety to be a birthright? I guess that didn't occur to me because I've never really – been safe. Here or in the muggle world. There's always been something. But when I was with her, no matter how bad things got, I was too comfortable to be afraid."

This was getting too emotional for his liking. He cleared his throat, nice and loud to dispel the intimacy of his reminiscing, and reached for another roll.

"Too bad I'll be about sixty when she's born. I don't think we can make that work."

Xx

Harry smiled when he spoke. It wasn't the contrived smile to gain someone's trust or the polite smile one gives to another just to make them feel comfortable. It was a smile that remembered love, one that was used to showing affection and receiving it in return, lips that were used to kissing with passion only because they were so certain that the passion would be short lived; survival beyond the night was never promised.

Harry was a child of war as well.

To see him describe his joy now, looking back on it as a man who would never see this 'girlfriend' again made that smile bittersweet with memories. Tom watched carefully. In the past, this would have been studying for facts he would be able to use against Harry later, intimate details that he could use to sway him, get him to comply. What was the use of that now, though? Harry had all of the power, most of the knowledge and none of the cunning. Meanwhile, Tom had all of the savvy, cunning and was woefully unguarded. The irony never ceased to amaze him.

He took a few polite bites of the stew, surprised at how stocky and hearty it was, and yet how much his stomach growled for more of it. Yet, he forced himself to keep his composure and eat with decorum, unlike his companion who was currently shoving a second roll into his mouth. "I'll rest just fine, I assure you." He asserted with a small smile. "You know I'm from an orphanage, correct? If I couldn't sleep through dozens of children crying every night, I would never get any rest." He admitted, his tone soft, but with certain sense of finality, as though there really wasn't too much more to expand on about his youth. It was really just easier to hide it anyway.

"Your girlfriend sounds very comforting. It must have taken a great deal of courage to travel all the way back here and leave her behind. A Gryffindor, indeed." Tom observed, his tone even, taking a moment to glance at the steaming, half-finished stew before him. He mentally nudged it to the side to let Harry have a bit more if he wanted.

"I'm afraid I cannot relate on the subject of your lovers. Most women and men consider me an object to be won or used, or a trophy of sorts." He stated flatly, willing himself not to remember the leering stares, the expectant gazes, the unwanted attention and affection for his beauty. Oh, how they wanted him and how he wanted nothing to do with them. He needed their loyalty, not their sexuality and definitely not their love. They could keep their filthy bodies to themselves.

Tom stopped himself. He took a prolonged drink of his wine before setting down his spoon on the tray, stew still half done. He stared down into his glass, concentrating. "I was thanking you for saving me, Harry." He admitted softly. "I do not think anyone else would have bothered to do so. And given our history, I still don't understand why you did, but I am grateful for it, regardless." Humility felt prickly and uncomfortable. It gnawed at him and his full stomach, laughing at him from the deepest recesses of his mind. It made him feel so incredibly weak.

Tom forced his head up and looked Harry straight in the eye, daring him to laugh.

Xx

Harry recalled Hepzibah Smith as Tom spoke of being a prize, recalled the hungry look with which she had regarded Tom. While Harry didn't think she had deserved to die for her interest in a man several decades her junior, it was a rather unflattering memory to have been present for. It was really no wonder Tom had decided his looks were best utilized as a form of a manipulation.

He could empathize with what it felt like to be a trophy, if not in quite the same way; Harry had been considered desirable a few times by his peers, but he wasn't enough of a looker to get the sort of attention Tom did. He was grateful for that. Being threatened with a love potion once had been more than enough.

"You're only, er… sixteen, was it? Plenty of time to find someone if you ever fancy a relationship." There was a beat of silence, and then he added, "But there's nothing wrong if you never want to. Some of the best people I know never did the whole three kids and white picket fence deal." There were plenty of witches and wizards who never settled down, and there was nothing wrong with that. Tom didn't need romantic relationships to be happy and healthy. He just needed relationships, full stop, instead of keeping everyone at arms distance all the time.

When it was offered, Harry gladly spooned a couple of mouthfuls of stew into his mouth, giving Tom a moment to talk without interruption. With how often Tom was needing to explain things to him, Harry was feeling more obtuse than ever. He really needed to work on that.

"You really ought to give yourself and other people more credit," he said, resuming a languid drape over his side of the settee. "I don't want to give you a big head, but people like and admire you. You're smart and handsome and you have an engaging personality. Me saving your life was nothing special; plenty of people would have done the same thing."

He offered Tom a smile.

"And all the stuff between me and Voldemort isn't really our history. You haven't done anything to me. I told you everything because I wanted you to be filled in, but you aren't him, and you're never going to be him. You have an opportunity to make something better of yourself, and it'd be pretty amiss if I let all that potential get snuffed out."

Xx

"I will never want a relationship." Tom answered without hesitation. Love only brought pain, and Tom wasn't even certain if it 'existed' in the same sense that people tended to use it at all times. His mother had raped his father in the so-called name of 'love'. She had been mistaken of course. It must have been lust and hysteria. He could only imagine what it could have been like, a slave to one's emotions, driven mad by passions one could not understand, and his father swept up in that terrifying insanity. His father's horrified scream swam in his memory on a sea of dark red wine before he hastily shoved it away.

Love was the idiotic excuse girls (and boys) had for mooning over him and constantly following him around, for agreeing with him, for laughing at all of his jokes and looking to him admiringly. They wanted to bed him, or use him, or show him off in some variety. Or perhaps all of those reasons. Either way, Tom had assumed he would get rid of these troublesome looks of his later on in life, when they had lost their uses (limited as the uses might be). Now, he simply wasn't sure what he would end up doing since 'later in life' he would probably be getting old and dying.

Tom refilled his wine glass. This was no time to think of his impending doom. He had to keep his eyes on his friendly kidnapper who was smiling disarmingly at him and eating stew. He was so simple, yet so remarkably complicated.

Tom laughed softly at him, smiling a bit sadly as though Harry simply didn't seem to have the capacity to understand something quite so grim. "They admire me, yes, but there is always something to gain for them. There's knowledge, or advice, or connections. Very specifically, they want power, Harry." Tom named these aspects of his 'friendships' off quickly, as though it were the most logical, most elementary of conclusions. "I am a means to an end and I cannot expect to be much more. I'm sure they assume much the same as well." It was all a rather grand and amusing game to these players. It was Tom's every intention to come out on top as the victor though.

"You saving my life was very special." Tom's life was all that he had at this point. For Harry to help preserve it and expect nothing in return was so illogical that Tom was dumbfounded by the prospect of it.

"But I suppose you are right about our history. It's strange to hear of crimes I never committed." He breathed. It was a powerful future he could have had, and yet something seemed strikingly off about it. It was as if he were hearing the story of Snow White through the mouth of the Wicked Queen. Tom wasn't feeling guilty over the revelation, but rather harrowingly empty for the possibilities that could have been and never would be. Perhaps it was the wine, but he was being rather loquacious, more so than usual. Tom couldn't help the question which slipped directly through his filters. "Is it easy to separate us? Voldemort and myself? I had thought of the name, I'll admit, but there is no point in using it now. You say I have potential. Potential for what?" He asked, shaking his head slowly in confusion.

Xx

Tom's critical view on friendship was a disconcerting thing to listen to. It was a reminder that love – both platonic and romantic – had been completely absent from Tom's life since his birth. He didn't know what it was like to have someone who loved you and prioritized your well-being over their own and he projected that ignorance onto his friends. At least one or two cared about him, Harry was sure. Not all of them could be as bad at interpersonal relationships as Tom was.

Harry sipped his mead before he responded to Tom's question. A little liquid courage was never amiss when talking about Voldemort. "I have to consciously do it at the moment, but it won't be like that forever. The striking difference in appearance helps. He didn't have a nose or hair, you see." Harry glanced at Tom to gauge his reaction. He wasn't holding out hope that his attempt at being amusing had succeeded, though. "When I say you have potential, I mean… you know you're smart and talented and special and all that; I know you know because you've never shied away from describing yourself that way." He snorted. "And eventually you're going to be an incredibly powerful wizard. One of the most powerful wizards in the world. Maybe the most powerful wizard in the world when you start to understand – er – love."

When Harry reached the bottom of his glass it immediately began to re-fill itself, the mead appearing out of thin air. Harry set it on the coffee table while he waited for it to finish; he didn't want to chance spilling it all over himself. It'd be a waste of good alcohol.

"You could do a lot of great things. Develop new spells, make incredible medical advances, become the Minister for Magic; things like that. You could do really terrible things, too, if you wanted to." He ran a hand up the back of his scalp, sighing. "But don't do the really terrible things, alright? Because I didn't travel back in time so you could grow up to be a jerk again."

Xx

Hair and a nose…?

Tom quirked a brow and couldn't suppress a soft laugh as he tapped the tip of his nose with his index finger. "That's certainly one way to get people to stop treating you like a pretty trinket." He agreed with a casual sigh as though the idea weren't terrible, but it certainly seemed outlandish from this perspective. It also might have been a credit to Harry's power of description which tended to be just a touch rudimentary and lacking in the area of imagination, but Tom couldn't fault him. His companion had nearly finished his glass of mead now and he seemed to be enjoying himself a good deal.

He's letting his guard down. Ask more questions.

Tom looked down at his own wine glass, noting exactly how fast the contents seemed to be disappearing for him as well. Normally, Tom stayed away from drinks, unlike Dolohov who partook in drink 'whenever he bloody well could' (as he would always say). Drinks impeded the mind, loosened the tongue, and made men do idiotic things. It was foolish, useful, and even dangerous at times, but Tom had never been one to let himself have more than a glass or two. Yet, here with Harry, he didn't mind reaching over to refill it once again.

He watched the dark red liquid cascade into the glass as Harry spoke. When he looked up once again, there was a hopeful light in Harry's eyes, a passion to his speech that was strikingly compelling. Tom swallowed hard, willing himself to stay focused. "I know that I'm special, that I'm talented." He admitted softly. Against anyone else, he would have been proud, forceful, but Harry had already made his argument quite passionately. Tom felt it was a bit much in agreeing just as fervently. "I'll have to consider my options." He responded simply. "I had not expected…such sudden changes in circumstance. I mean, Minister of Magic has a lovely ring to it, but does he really have as much power as we assume? Politics may end up being a messier career path than the dark arts." Tom gave a grim smile.

"You're very talented as well, Harry. " He admitted. While the statement itself was certainly a compliment, but by his tone of voice, Tom was being observational, factual. He peered at Harry over the rim of his wine glass before drinking it to enjoy the dry, rich taste. "I'm curious. What are you planning on doing here in this time period? Aside from giving me worldly advice, of course."

Xx

Harry had always had a modest opinion of his skill, and he maintained that opinion. He had talent – enough people had told him that for it to ring true – but he would never be as powerful as Tom or Dumbledore or even Professor McGonagall. It had never been the potency of his magic that had made him a formidable opponent for Voldemort; that'd had a lot more to do with their innate connection and his unfailing wiliness to sacrifice himself than any actual skill.

To Tom's question, he shrugged. "No idea. I wasn't really thinking about that when I made the decision to come here."

Being an Auror still held its appeal, but fooling the ministry into employing him seemed an impossible feat, and it wasn't like he couldn't fight dark wizards without the label. Maybe he could become a vigilante? Technically he didn't exist yet, so there would be no way for anyone to link his actions back to him.

"I guess I'll fight dark wizards. That's what I've always done." He retrieved his drink and took a hearty swig. It was now so full it was almost overflowing. "You could join me, if you like. We can be a duo, like…God, I don't know. I can't think of an era appropriate example. You guys don't have decent television yet."

His face scrunched up in concentration. His cheeks were starting to colour from intoxication.

"…What's the wizard equivalent of Batman and Robin?"

Xx

Harry looked conventionally handsome. He was the approachable sort of chap that women simply loved to bring home for their mothers and fathers to meet so they could discuss exactly how many kids they would prefer to have. He smiled widely, spoke plainly, and never seemed to stray from his righteous and brave ideals. Of course, those women would have never thought him capable of the deadly glare he had once pinned Tom to a chair with (along with several binding charms and a wand), but that was beside the point. Even his threats had been to 'save the world', as he saw it.

It seemed even more within his character to see that he reacted to being complimented on his skill with withdrawal. This meant he did not know how to react to admiration, that he didn't allow himself to revel in the idea that he was skilled or powerful. This humility did not seem to hinder his confidence in his abilities, or his quick and tactical thinking. In retrospect, that fact was quite amazing, but it seemed to somehow suit him. He didn't wear his power like a cloak, it molded to him like a second skin, so uniform to the way he worked that it seemed a part of him. Intriguing.

"How do you define 'Dark Magic'?" Tom asked. In retrospect though, someone of Harry's moral standing may need a situation to relate the question to. He took a long drink from his delicate glass, feeling the numbing tingle of the alcohol as it slid down his throat. "For example, blood magic." He began, gesturing fluidly. "It can be used to torture and to control a human being. But surprisingly, it is one of the most effective ways of saving someone from any sort of poisoning, magic or mundane. It can also help to heal areas of the body that have been severely damaged from repeated trauma. Yet, it is outlawed." Tom observed, naming off facts more to himself than to his companion, as though finding his own footing in the topic.

"Mind you, I've never performed it." Tom admitted somewhat compliantly, giving Harry a somewhat bashful smile. "I've read on it. The subject is popular in a war-obsessed country. The line between 'accepted' and 'dark' magic is baffling and the ministry refuses to make things clear. It seems the only time something is 'dark' is when it's used directly against them and it cannot be used to further their own ends."

Tom took another lengthy drink from his glass which he seemed to savor before turning his dark eyes on Harry again. "Truth be told, the Ministry could use your assistance." He admitted casually. "They're a mess."

The offer took Tom by surprise. He was about to assert that he had far larger plans in the future than hunting down 'dark' wizards who had hardly a handle on the extent of their magic when he realized that…he didn't. He really didn't. Tom had no plan for the future. In the course of just a short week, no probably just those first few hours they had been together, Tom's goal for immortality as well as his scheme to gain power had been completely undermined by three…rather, two vows (the last one seeming just for good measure).

"I have no idea who either of them are but they sound like comic book heroes." Tom commented with a playful grin. "I claim whichever one dresses the best. I refuse to be seen in an outfit like some shoddy Superman knockoff. I have make a good presentation of myself, Harry." He said with a touch of mock-flamboyance.

Xx

Harry knew better than most that there were occasions where dark magic was imperative to the well-being of wizard kind. If he had not used the imperious curse on the occasions that he had, progress would have stalled; people would have died. There had to be exceptions. So while his opinion on Dark magic was of the black and white variety, he knew it was possible for it to be utilized for good. He was just also very well aware that it was primarily used for bad, and that was why its use had to be regulated. He had no interested in loosening the restrictions on dark magic that had a history of being misused.

"It's kind of hard to make the distinction. Any sort of magic can be used with ill intent. Dark magic is just… easier to use for that purpose, and sometimes developed specifically for it. Like the Unforgivable Curses." He licked his lips, the stale taste of alcohol on his tongue. "There are probably dark wizards who don't use dark magic, but I don't think I've ever met one. They've all been willing to use crucio and the like. The unforgivable are like the hallmark of a bad wizard."

After drinking so much mead, so fast, Harry was feeling a little light headed. He let his eyes flutter shut – and then forced them open again, setting his drink on the coffee table while he readjusted the cloak in his lap. He couldn't let himself fall into too much of a daze; an amicable relationship with Tom didn't mean Tom wouldn't try to retrieve his wand the moment the opportunity arose.

"Mmm, neither of them dress the best, honestly," he said, grinning back as he groped around his thigh pocket for his wand. A silent spell was cast on the cloak to seal the pockets, and then he tossed it aside. "They both wear their underwear on the outside, and I'm pretty sure Robin's doesn't even have leggings to go with his outfit. It's a gymnastics thing." He resumed drinking his mead, sliding his wand back into his pocket. "I get to be Batman, though, because I'm the adult, and I've more or less adopted you."

Just like Batman adopted all his Robins. He remembered one of Dudley's friends speaking animatedly about the subject, once.

Xx

Smart. Harry wasn't just by-the-book style 'law enforcement' when it came to his particular brand of righteousness. He was savvy about what it takes to ensure that one's goals are accomplished, and that every spell had a proper place. Perhaps even one which ensured immortality. Tom couldn't help but hope after having the rather obvious realization that it wasn't necessarily the 'living forever' option that Harry seemed so opposed to, it was the vehicle he had been planning on using to get him there.

Tom wondered briefly what Harry was up to when he searched about for his wand. Seeing him seal up the pockets of his cloak, even in his increasingly inebriated state convinced Tom even a step further that Harry was sharper than he was letting on, and perhaps even less drunk than Tom was assuming after two full glasses of mead. Even through his frustration at not having his own wand in hand, he found himself admiring that fact about his companion. Tom supposed he would have to deal with random explosions of energy from himself for just a short while longer.

He really missed his wand. Damn it all, he really missed using magic, the power and release it brought.

"Underwear on the-? No leggings? Christ, Harry, I don't need to make it easier for people to undress me mentally." Tom laughed. In fact, for some reason, Tom seemed to find it a great deal funnier than he normally would have. Something about the fuzziness in his mind which spread itself all the way down to his fingertips seemed to soften his demeanor as he doubled over in the same, unexpectedly warm laughter from before.

Once he caught his breath, now nursing a stitch in his side, Tom wondered if now would be the right time to ask Harry about the future, his friends and history there. Somehow, the fuzziness in his mind told him that it was a fantastic idea. "I'm just wondering, are you drunk enough for me to ask you about you friends in the future?" He asked bluntly. "Do all of you regularly visit Mars on a spaceship or something? I assume that's the direction the future is going, right? Do you wear your underwear on the outside, or just clothes like those ill-fitting pants and shirt of yours?" Tom smirked at his casual garments before he took another long drink from his glass and was surprised when he emptied it yet again.

In the wake of his empty glass, the word 'adopted' lingered in his mind, though Harry had really only mentioned it in jest. Really, the more appropriate word was 'kidnapped'. Tom wondered if 'kidnapping' really could feel quite as warm as he did right now. Did this mean that Tom was 'forcefully adopted'?

Xx

Had Tom not been inebriated, he might have detected a barely perceptible stiffening of Harry's shoulders. There wasn't enough alcohol in the world for him to voluntarily talk about his friends. He couldn't even stand to mention their names, to face that deep, dark void inside himself that had grown exponentially larger with each loss. He curled his fingers into his shirt, knotting them in the fabric briefly before prying them away, managing to cast Tom another grin.

"What's so ill-fitting about my clothes? I didn't even get these ones from my cousin." He reached for his belt, fumbling with the buckle; it was getting late and he didn't want to sleep with it on. It always left nasty red marks on his hips. "To be honest, the wizarding world hasn't changed much. It's kind of, uh… stagnant. I mean, life gets slightly better for wizards and witches with muggle blood? But otherwise it's about the same."

Sliding his belt out of its loops, he threw it on top of his cloak.

"S' not like that in the muggle world. They're always creating things to compensate for a lack of magic. I think our ministry should try introducing computers, honestly - that's a muggle invention, great for information storage. If we'd done that Voldemort wouldn't have been able to destroy all the muggleborn records in the ministry."

A pause, and then he said, "Oh, yeah. That happened. So I guess things got slightly better for muggleborns, and then the worse they've ever been once the second war started. There was a lot of opposition, though, so there's that."

He frowned, balancing his mead on his thigh.

"This mead is making me tired. I should probably go to bed soon. Or, well… settee, since I'm not sleeping in the bed."

Xx

There was something rather particular about the silence coming from Harry. Tom was about to try his best to break it when he realized that seemed to be fiddling around with his clothing. The smile Harry shot in his direction made Tom breathe a sigh of relief that Tom hadn't realized he was holding in.

Tom watched with finicky distaste as Harry pulled off his belt without a second thought, tossing it carelessly with his cloak (which contained Tom's wand. Oh God, if he could just get that wand back…)

"Your sense of fashion is atrocious. You look like you're homeless. I mean, technically, we are both homeless, but still!" Tom persisted, tugging at the sleeve of Harry's shirt if only to feel the fabric. "It's as though you've never even tried to make yourself presentable. I mean," Tom tilted his head as he gave Harry a rather particular look as he reached out to try to pat his hair into some semblance of a style. "I suppose, I will just have to make the effort and find something to dress you in. You're impossible. I think you'd look rather nice if you'd just try it. I don't care what Batman does, you are not walking around with your underwear over your pants. That's just insulting." Tom commented mischievously, biting his bottom lip to hold back laughter.

Tom withdrew, settling his hands on his lap, wrapping his fingers around the base of the glass and feeling the cool liquid within slowly growing warm with his body heat. Or perhaps it was his body heat that was seeping away so he could become cold once again. When Harry spoke of the future, he did so as though he were pulling off a particularly nasty bandage, laughing at how little the wound had healed before quickly covering it up once again. It was the same way one complains bitterly about getting too much homework or having stubbed one's toe, but it was infinitely worse. Tom could see plainly, even through most of a bottle of wine. The pain had left him numb.

And he still can't tell between me and the Voldemort he changed history to erase.

"Of course." Tom replied softly, understanding Harry's exhaustion. He had saved both of their lives today (and had a rather hefty amount of mead). On top of that, he didn't need to read minds to know exactly what he was thinking. Harry didn't want to put himself, quite literally, in bed with the enemy. It was a smart tactical move. Tom stared down into his half empty glass of wine, the deep red of the color swimming before his eyes, his father's scream lingered somewhere in the background, sounding strikingly like an air raid siren.

Tom delicately set the glass down and lifted himself carefully from his seat, taking great efforts to step away from the heightened table without tripping on the legs. He nearly succeeded, only stumbling slightly and catching himself easily. He glanced back at Harry to find him sneering and laughing. Tom's pale skin slightly blushed clearly bashful at his misstep, realizing that he was unwilling to voice what he was thinking.

The bed looks cold. I don't want to be there.

"Good night." Tom commented, failing for the first time in ages to make himself sound confident.

Xx

Harry couldn't deny that he looked homeless. While his shirt and jeans were form-fitting, an improvement from what he'd been forced to wear in his youth, they were so worn and dirty that they might as well have been scavenged from the dump. He wasn't about to be self-conscious about them, though; he'd been seen in far worse states than this.

"I'll buy some new clothes tomorrow, then," he said, swatting Tom's hand away. His hair wasn't going to flatten itself no matter what Tom did to it. Even magical influence wasn't enough to make it behave. "I'll even let you help me."

Knowing Tom, he'd end up wearing Slytherin colors. He'd have to try to sneak in some red or blue so he wouldn't be head to toe in green and silver.

As Tom stood to depart the couch, Harry lifted his legs onto the now-unoccupied seat and tucked in his limbs, curling in on himself like a puppy in a basket. The room was warm enough to make a quilt unnecessary. He jerked his head up when Tom tripped, looking all the more like a dog – Sirius would have been proud – and couldn't help but laugh at the blush that rose on his pale cheeks.

"G'night, Tom," he said, lowering his head back to his arms. "Feel free to wake me up if you need anything." He didn't expect Tom would. After – three? Glasses of wine, Tom would probably sleep like a rock through the night.

Xx

Harry looked strikingly young as he curled up on the couch. Not to imply that he was 'childish', but he seemed serene and carefree as he got himself ready for sleep. In addition, the way he curled up implied that he was all too familiar with the notion of sleeping wherever and whenever. Of course, the copious amounts of mead probably helped as well.

The sneer that Tom had been expecting at his expense never came. In fact, Harry laughed easily, as though sharing some particularly close joke just between the two of them, or perhaps even relief that he had not tripped flat on his face in his clearly inebriated state. Tom stood, looking down on him as he spoke, his eyes squinted blearily as he tried to comprehend his own sluggish thoughts and the tightness of panic which was knotting his abdomen.

Why are you smiling that way when you never wanted me here to begin with? Didn't you want to break me?

Tom felt anger rise suddenly, burning brightly and unreasonably hot. His blush faded and instead of returning to his usual pale tone, he was ashen. Tom's eyebrows drew together as his muddled thoughts blurred his mind with alcohol and a touch of fear. He eased himself back on to the bed. Somehow his fingertips were already feeling cold again. Why was Harry doing this? Why was he treating him so nicely? What had he to gain?

One day had taken them from merely co-existing, to a deadly air raid and finally to a meal shared over far too alcohol with several statements that Tom knew he would regret. All the while, Tom had no wand, no money, no control and Harry was providing all of his safety and sustenance at the cost of everything he had once considered important.

His goals seemed far away. Fear of death lingered, tasting like bile in the back of his throat as he eased himself down. The screams of his father threatened to burst in his skull like a wailing siren when suddenly all Tom could think about were the stars, shining piercingly from the velvet sky.

He remembered Harry's imploring expression, the sight of his mouth moving but not hearing the words. He could have been saying anything. Anything at all.