Waking up with a weird headache wasn't the best start to his day. Harry seemed to feel the weird pain behind his forehead more and more in the last week. He knew it had something to do with why Tom was missing from the Dining Hall and commons. But ever since their little quarrel, they haven't much time to catch up.

The whole thing was messed up, and Harry spent most of his time worrying for the boy, thinking about him every moment of the day. Too bad he was too stubborn to talk to the boy. He had the strangest idea that there was something between them, actually coming to terms that maybe Harry was the one who was fit to change Tom after all. But maybe he had the wrong idea seeing as Riddle seemed to have no care for him whatsoever.

Still, it was an eerie feeling not having him around. Residing in his room, Harry looked through his things, Hedwig by his side. He was looking around for the letter from Dumbledore, seeing if there was anything on the paper that could inspire him to do something about Tom. He really did have feelings for the boy, that much he knew. Whether or not that was the right thing was the real question here. It was times like this where he really didn't care. He wanted to be with Tom, no matter what.

Clutching the letter in his hand, he moved back over to his bed, laying on his back and closing his eyes for a second, taking a moment to let his head rest. After calming himself down quite a bit, he looked over the familiar handwriting of his late headmaster, having nearly every word memorized.

Everything was silent in his room, all the dorm mates downstairs playing some wizard games before breakfast. Harry was at such peace that he didn't notice the brewing tension in the commons until shouting had occurred.

"Call me that again!"

Harry's eyes shot open at the familiar voice. Knowing all too well who that could belong to, he debated leaving it be. But the push-pull feeling in his stomach was a sure indicator that he wouldn't be able to let this one go.

Meanwhile, Tom had forced his way through the crowd of worthless bullies to the main problem. Christopher Veramencium. Grade A poser. "You think you're better than me?" He threateningly pointed his wand at the boy's throat, every intention to kill. "Wait till everyone hears about the precious secret your father has been trying to keep for years!" His blue eyes flashed malevolence, and Harry made it down the stairs, shoving his shoe on. He watched in horror the scene playing out in front of him. "Your mother is a squib."

Christopher pushed the boy back, Tom only laughing at the pain he'd caused while the other lad ran out of the room in pure embarrassment. But it didn't seem like Riddle was stopping, pushing his wand to Crabbe or Goyle, Harry could never tell.

"Who's next?"

Before anymore could escalate, Harry stepped in, a stern frown on his face that he'd most likely picked up from McGonagall over the years. "Tom."

Blue met green in a clash and Tom immediately lost his prided ego, the smile replaced with a guilty frown. "Harry." It was barely above a whisper. Noticing the stares still on him, he quickly changed his expression. "Anyone else who messes with me with genuinely regret it."

It was obvious he'd gotten the point across.

Harry followed Tom out, upset beyond relief at the sight he'd witnessed. The boy was making progress, not bothering any other student, only using his seductive but intimidating charm on unsuspecting teachers. But he was back on the set course of time, the course Harry was trying so hard to prevent.

"Tom!" Harry called out to the boy, watching him freeze in his tracks, turning sharply.

"Not right now." He warned, voice dangerously lower than normal.

Harry crossed his arms. "Oh, so you're threatening me, now?" He took a step closer to Tom. "Is that what we're doing?"

"Since when is there a 'we'? You made it pretty clear these last few weeks you don't want to talk to me."

"I didn't think you would want me to!" Harry felt himself grow frustrated.

Tom let out a loud laugh, a sneer on his face. "And why would I not want you to talk to me?"

"Because you obviously don't give a damn about me, Tom!"

This shut the boy up, his face softening as he stared straight at Harry. Both boys looked exhausted, clear to both neither was sleeping that well. Tom started walking to the boy, a straight expression on his face. He was done with the games. It was about time the two of them talked. "Bathroom."


Harry sat on the sink, back pressed against the cool surface of the mirror. There was a stubborn look on both boys faces, no one stepping up to start the conversation. With no one talking, the atmosphere grew more and more repressed.

Tom stared at the pale face of Harry, taking in every wrinkle, stress mark, bag that had formed since the last time they've talked. He really did look beat up. And the he couldn't help but take part of the blame.

Harry stared down at his shoes, not sure whether or not he should say what's on his mind just yet. They'd been in the bathroom for nearly ten minutes. The silence was uncomfortable, sort of chilling.

"I'm-"

"Are-"

Both boys blushed when they began first, cutting each other off. "You first." Harry said to Tom, lifting his head to make eye contact.

"I was just going to say that I'm sorry." He said, surprising both of them with his honesty. "I didn't think missing your game would honestly hurt you that much."

Harry sighed, leaning forward, placing his elbows on his knees and resting his chin. "Quidditch is the only constant thing in my life, Tom. I know you don't understand, but I would've thought you'd cared enough to make an effort."

"I care about you more than you know." Tom closed his eyes, feeling the effects of his actions. He'd been selfish. Only thinking about himself.

"And what about today? You're drifting away. Back to the old Tom who picked fights." Harry took a breath. "Who only wanted to assert dominance."

The other boy shrugged. "That Tom never went away." He clenched his fists. "Christopher called me a mudblood. I'm sick and tired of the shit."

With his eyes still closed, he didn't see Harry get up, nor did he see him lift a hand to Tom's back. Leaning into the touch, he was thankful it was still offered. "Why do you hate muggleborns so much?"

Tom looked up at the boy. "You know the answer to that." Harry blinked. "My dad was a muggle. He abandoned my mother before I was born, left her to die while giving birth to me." He spat on the ground, already feeling a swell of anger. "And my mother was even worse for falling in love with him anyway. She was weak and in the end, died, leaving me all alone to rot in that filthy orphanage." He paused, letting himself build up rage. "Muggles are weak. They don't belong anywhere in the wizarding world." He glared, looking down at his hands. "And they've tainted me with their blood."

Harry let out a breath, gently grabbing Tom's wrists, bringing him over to the sinks again and taking a seat, still holding onto Tom, letting his hand slide down to tangle their fingers together. "I knew a girl in my old school. Her name was Hermione." He smiled, remembering her mousy brown curls and knowing smile. "I was convinced she had read every book in the castle, and had memorized every single spell. She was a muggleborn witch." Tom gave a disgusted look, but before he could say anything, Harry cut him off with a kiss.

Eyes widened, Tom took a sharp intake of air with the surprise. When Harry pulled away, he continued. "She was proud of who she was and didn't let anyone tell her she was small. She learned every spell, aced every class, and proved everyone she was better than most of the pure bloods in the castle, and that her muggle heritage wouldn't slow her down from continuing to improve." He brushed Tom's hair back, biting his lip. "You are an amazing wizard. You are also a half blood. This does not mean you're weak. It gives you an opportunity to show even more when you prove you're stronger."

Blue eyes filled with tears, threatening to fall down his cheeks. Tom tried to look away, but Harry lifted his chin, forcing them to stare deeper at each other. "You're not tainted. You are beautiful." He pressed his lips gently to the side of his mouth, pulling away slowly, taking it all in.

A tear spilled out, but it was immediately wiped by Harry, who still had a hold of his chin, keeping it in place. "I'm so sorry, Harry." Tom's voice cracked, signalling his breaking point. "I don't know how I ever survived any of this without you. I care about you so much." He closed his eyes, feeling the wet stream of tears touch his cheek. "You are everything."

Harry pulled Tom in for another kiss, this one centered on his mouth, tasting the salty water from his eyes. Moving his lips, he deepened the kiss, moving his arms around the boy's neck to pull him closer. Spreading his legs wide, Tom had enough room to close all gaps between their body.

Pausing for air, Tom desperately said, "I'll go to every game. Every practice if I have to." He closed their space again, hastily needing the touch. Letting his hands wander, they explored the surface under Harry's shirt.

The boy pulled away to reply, "Don't go getting into any more fights." After nodding quickly, they both kissed again, feeling every inch of each other before Harry unzipped his pants, Tom doing the same.

Harry initiated, gripping Tom's cock tensely, already moving up and down the shaft, eager to make his boy cum.

Tom repeated the gesture for Harry, tongues dancing with each other, desperate for each other's comfort.

The pressure of their hands touching the opposites' members mixed with the rubbing of their bodies and the passion of their kiss, both boys met their climax together, breathing heavily and in sync.

The two pulling apart, Tom bit his lip, not wanting noise to escape his mouth, while Harry on the other hand, was a moaning mess, whispering and mumbling. "Tom, oh yes, Tom! Gosh, Tom I lo-" His eyes shot open, mouth closing shut in fear of what he almost said.

Tom seemed unaware, just coming down from his high, wiping his forehead from the exercise. "You're absolutely amazing, Harry." He said, placing his head in the crook of the boy's neck.

Harry, still shaken by his almost slip up, only nodded, saying gently, "You too, Tom."