Harry didn't imagine that he'd be spending his Friday morning sitting on the couch in the living room, awkwardly holding a saucer of tea. On the table next to him, a tiny platter of biscuits was out on display on the dainty white porcelain. The tarts were admittedly, quite good.
Sirius sat next to him, an awkward ball of tension that vibrates slightly from his legs into the worn-down flooring. Any longer, and his leg would start to shake so severely it would knock the precariously balanced cup of tea off his lap. Sirius looked like he hadn't realized what his restless leg was tempting.
Harry felt even more out of place, not entirely sure what was going on in the room, but the nervous anxiety was contagious. If Harry wasn't carefully, his leg would start tapping away on the floor boards as well.
"So," Crina spoke, this time wearing clothing that seemed very...unusual for her normal style. Harry didn't know her well, but everything about her objected to the current uniform. Hair pulled back into twin strands which somehow worked like a hairband. Harry couldn't say how it was doing that, but on the best of days he could manage brushing only half of his hair. He didn't have much ground to stand on.
She was wearing a... thick, sort of coat. Not a robe, but certainly not a cloak either. Dark shiny leather that fastened on shiny brass buttons, latching into place just around her collarbones. From there it was a stiff triangle flaring out, enough dark fur propping her strange coat into its perfect triangle, that Harry could easily imagine Hagrid wearing such a thing. Obviously, it would be too short for him- maybe a decorative fur scarf. From what Harry could see under the fur pine tree outfit, Crina was wearing some sort of dark trousers, equally shiny as the leather bits on the top of her shoulders. She looked ridiculous, official in some strange occupancy but nearly outrageous in the living room. Harry pondered how she hadn't fainted from the heat of it.
"I understand that there is an event we are to discuss." Crina said, voice smooth and slow. It was difficult to take her seriously, with the horrendous fur nightmare spanning off her shoulders. It was impossible to even see her arms through it all- how could she sit?
"Ah, yes." Dumbledore nodded, taking his time to sip from his own cup of tea. He didn't seem to think that Crina's wardrobe was unusual, however the old man himself was wearing an outer robe the shade of ripe cantaloupe. "Harry, if you will?"
Harry blinked quickly, trying to grab his scattered thoughts. It took some effort to repress the urge to blurt out what sort of animal was glued to Crina's side, or what all she had hidden under all that fur. She could maybe fit a half dozen house elves, maybe a goblin if they squeezed.
"Uh," Harry stuttered over his focus, "so err...Tom stabbed himself."
Tom Riddle, who was looking much more normal and not-insane compared to Crina, glared.
Harry tilted his head and tried not to imagine her cloak on anyone besides Professor Lockhart. "Err, so uh. We were...a bit uh, mad at one another. And we...uh, we were fighting, and he stabbed himself."
For dramatic emphasis, Harry mimed stabbing his arm with an imaginary knife. He clicked his tongue, sound effects and all.
Crina's face didn't shift. If she was surprised by the unexpected random bout of self-injury, she didn't show it. Instead, she gazed out at Harry, 70 percent fur and cloak, 30 percent person, and blinked slowly.
"That's the story." Sirius grunted low, his voice soothing from Harry's side. "That's all there is to it."
"Tom...stabbed himself." Crina repeated. When she said it out loud, it did sound stupid.
"Well when you say it like that." Sirius muttered lowly, shifting more into Harry's side. Harry couldn't describe how comforting it was to have the warm weight next to him; Dumbledore was reassuring in his own way but up against Crina, it was nice to have some close friends.
"That seems quite an argument." Crina mused thoughtfully, glancing off to stare at a wall. "Tom? Were you intending to stab Harry Potter?"
Tom's jaw shifted ever so slightly, his eyes locked on Harry in an icy glare. They seemed duller, sharper than he remembered.
"Well," Crina smiled, even though Tom had said nothing, "I see why you called me away so quickly, Albus. This does seem quite interesting, doesn't it? Uncontrollable rage, mutilation with a butter knife. Wonderful, limiting the wound."
Sirius jerked. "You aren't going to scold that bloody monster!"
The welcome warming embrace of Crina slipped away into something frosty. "If my client wished to legitimately cause harm, I have little doubt in his abilities. The question at hand, is why this occurred. I understand that emotional situations may...influence actions but resorting to stabbing oneself is incredibly out of character."
"You think I was cursed." Tom said.
Crina tilted her head slightly, glancing at Tom from the side of her eyes. "You've suspected as much already. This asks the question, who cursed you?"
Tom glared at Harry, and Harry began to have a very cold uncomfortable feeling in his stomach.
"Now, Crina." Albus interjected smoothly. "Let's not jump to assumptions. I understand that this situation is quite stressful, but I don't believe anyone would go so far as to curse the boy."
"No, you don't think anyone could curse him under your watch." Crina mused softly, looking at Albus with a far too observant gaze. Her head tilted, ever so slightly. "You have him warded, don't you? No, you wouldn't be so...lax in your obsession."
Dumbledore said nothing. Harry spotted Tom's lip twitched into something close to a smile.
"Regardless, we've deviated from the topic at hand." Crina alerted the room. "Unless you would care to accompany me to my work, I suggest we discuss the reason why I'm here."
Albus twitched ever so slightly under her tone. Harry remembered, that Crina worked at a prison. Apparently, a prison with a horrible uniform.
"Tom stabbed himself." Crina said, voice firm. "I am confident, that his actions were not his own. This leads me to assume, that some sort of influence led to this decision. Of course, no magic was observed, which forces me to ask this question. I understand that a member of your order is a practiced Legilimens."
Albus' face turned rocky. He shook his head slightly, serious despite the casualness of his movements "I'm afraid that avenue is not available. Tom has not interacted with any of our mind arts."
"Is that so." Crina said. Her fingers tapped along the couch, hidden under all the fur. "Harry Potter, is it?"
Sirius stiffened on Harry's side, a low nearly impossible to hear growl in his throat.
"Uh, yes." Harry nodded, clearing his throat softly, "uh, nice to meet you."
He didn't like Crina's gaze on him. He didn't know why Riddle could stand it.
"I've heard such standard things about you, Mr. Potter." Crina spoke, voice smooth and low although rhetoric in nature. "In every sense, you are completely unextraordinary, and yet, you defy the odds."
Harry's arm burned, the thick rope-like scar that wove between the bones of his forearm. It throbbed and itched, like the strange anxious lump in the back of his throat.
"I don't know much about you," Crina admitted, a surprising admittance of her own weakness, "but your involvement with everything seems too...uncanny, to be anything of coincidence."
Sirius shifted slightly, a steady warmth and reassurance against Harry's side. Harry swallowed thickly, managing to summon whatever bravery he had to spit out a quick, "yeah? If you wanna be famous instead, go right ahead."
"I already am." Crina barely blinked, unresponsive to his snap. "Tom, are you close with Mr. Potter?"
Tom smiled something plastic and fake, wrong and twisted across his face. "I would love to see him struck with a blasting curse."
Harry felt annoyance prickle. He jutted his chin at the bait, ready to throw back his own insult.
"Interesting." Crina broke the tension. "Mr. Potter, would you give me consent to evaluate your magical resonance?"
Harry began to open his mouth to protest, since he had no idea what exactly that meant. Was it some sort of medical spell? He had received plenty of those in the Hospital wing, but those normally didn't have as fancy a term as resonance. No, this sounded much more severe, or maybe more obscure.
Sirius nudged him slightly, clearly unhappy with the situation.
"Will it hurt?"
"Not more than other spells you know of." Crina answered, reaching up to unclasp the brass buttons that held her cloak together. It crumpled around her hips, revealing a much more maneuverable leather outfit that looked a fair bit more snug than other things. Maybe something Tonks would wear, but Hermione or Ginny wouldn't be caught dead in the dark leather.
"Harry," Dumbledore spoke carefully, "if you don't want to partake in this, then it is unnecessary. Crina believes that...somehow, the ritual in which Mr. Riddle was pulled through somehow linked you, to Mr. Riddle. The incident with the knife was a... moment, of instability."
Harry's heart thudded loud in his ears. "Riddle's in my head?"
"No." Crina abruptly spoke. "There is no creature or being ever capable of entering your mind without you knowing. Even spells have weakness in the action of how they operate. I wish to perform a magical resonance spell, it is a... fire, that burns the things your magic has touched."
Harry shifted unsure, Tom glared at him with wild eyes and a bloodied bandage around his arm.
"Okay," Harry agreed, standing on two feet. Sirius stayed close, patting his shoulder reassuringly. Crina stepped closer- clicking boots that looked to be the same material as the tight fitted leather shirt. On closer scrutiny, it almost looked like some sort of...armor.
Crina pulled her wand from a spot on her hip, holding it carefully pointed away from both of them. Harry couldn't help but feel appreciative for it; he didn't know how he'd feel with a wand pointing between his eyes so spontaneously.
"I'm going to incant the spell and tap your chest." Crina said, her free hand prodding her own chest to represent where. Center, near his sternum. "From there, it will sting. This is temporary, you may sit down during this without affecting the results."
Harry nodded slowly, trying not to twitch as Crina's wand tapped his chest twice quickly. She spoke something, accented and thick and muffled in Harry's ears. He wondered if that was how the spell was supposed to be, or if she had changed language to keep it out of the ears of the sharp eyes across the room, watching everything far too carefully.
The stinging hurt, but it was nothing worse than a decent quidditch fall. Harry grimaced, shuffling himself back on the couch as he waited for the bright throbbing pain to fade. It was like having Ron fall asleep on his legs or waking up with one arm stuck under him all night.
Colours faded into existence, thin hazy shapes and swirls like the purplish fog that wafted down from the divination tower. The only thing it was missing was the perfume in the air, the one that always made Harry sneeze a little.
Harry's eyes were trained to spot a flicker of gold, or colours out of alignment. It was because of this, that he spotted the thin flickering rope no thicker than his pinky finger. It was drawn tight, clear white or maybe somewhat grey, fading off in a single straight direction.
Harry lifted his arm, watching with fascination as the cloud of smoky blue followed him- like the colour of a soul a Dementor kissed.
Crina's eyes flickered downward, spotting the thin rope after a few moments of patiently weaving. She watched for a moment, before she stretched out one hand to gently waft her hand through the cloud. It dispersed and rebuilt itself, a thin translucent sheen.
"It appears," Crina mused softly, "that you two have a... magical linkage. Onset from the passage you traveled, Tom. This would explain the intrusive rise of your emotions."
Tom stared at the small cloud, drifting around like a visual representation of something smelly. Tom said nothing when he spotted the line trailing off in his direction- impossible to miss.
Dumbledore stroked his chin. "Well, this is no more a hindrance than the case of the hiccups!"
Crina hummed tonelessly, tapping Harry's chest once more. Slowly, the fog began to dispel. "Perhaps so. Now that we've concluded the discussion of cutlery weaponry, perhaps we shall move to our next topic of discussion."
"Hogwarts." Albus finished for her.
Sirius, vehemently, objection. "No way. Look, the kid stabbed himself. You don't want that monster around other students-."
Crina spun on her heels sharply. "Mr. Black, are you aware of the basic requirements to be considered a monster even by psychological aspects? No? Then I kindly request you cease talking at this moment. Perhaps you may have interacted with mediwitches or low-level examiners, but you cannot lie and smile to one experienced in the mind arts and falsify a scoring. The labels of monster are slurs directed at individuals with personality disorders, however such disorders are present from birth. You cannot falsify biological lacking of specific compositions; unless you intend to undermine or challenge my authority, I humbly ask of you to shut up."
The room was quiet, Sirius looking thoroughly scandalized by the event. Harry couldn't help the small surge of guilt that welled in his throat.
Tom Riddle looked down at his arm, face expressionless yet his eyes were shifting with something Harry couldn't describe.
"I don't like him." Sirius muttered, hip brushing against the doorframe as he scowled in the general location of the stairwell. "I don't like the look in his eyes."
Harry couldn't argue. There was something...he couldn't describe in Tom Riddle's eyes. The sharpness, the cruelty.
"It doesn't mean we can't make him stay here." Harry muttered back, leaning back against the wallpaper stiffly. "It's...nobody should be locked up like that."
Sirius' face faltered, sinking into something understanding no matter how much he hated that. "Damnit, I know...It's just…"
"He isn't going to hurt me." Harry defended with a weak smile, "If anything, I'm the one who could take him on."
Sirius chuckled weakly, "you're both beanpoles. Scrawny little guys. I reckon I could take you with one arm."
Harry couldn't argue that, but he did duck down and try to escape the large hand that grabbed his hair and ruffled the mess. Sirius took it as a personal challenge to make the birds nest worse- at least fluffed up and gnarled enough Harry could hide a few snitches in its tangled mess.
The atmosphere sobered with the knowledge that time passed regardless of their denial. The clocks were ticking faster now, a challenge magic could not halt. Well, except for Tom, but even that wasn't understood.
"I'm going to miss you." Harry confessed quietly, all too aware of the mirror Sirius had given him before. "I'll send Hedwig, when I can."
Sirius chuckled, a low rumbling noise that Harry felt through his chest and into his heart. "Don't worry, it'll be over before you know it. Cause some chaos for me, eh?"
There was something humbling and comforting about the tall peaks of Hogwarts, the silhouette in the morning fog that made Harry's heart twinge. He loved Sirius and his house, but the musty smell of it didn't quite feel as welcome as the old parchment and cold stone air. If Harry had an option, he would live his entire life inside the soothing walls of his first real home.
Tom Riddle on the other hand, he could live contently without.
"This is a waste." Tom said calmly, looking pleasantly irritable with the ornate window of the carriage approaching the castle across the dirt road. The carriage rattled as it rolled over a thick root- Harry had been trying to ignore the horrific looking monster pulling the carriage. Something told him that Hagrid had petitioned for a new assortment of questionably dangerous beasts.
"It's a nice view." Harry muttered, trying not to rise to the obvious barb. Tom didn't respond, but his eyes were watching the castle's towers emerge from the distance. Even his usual coat of petty could not remain in the rush of instinctual joy that Hogwarts offered them, her gates open with a quiet 'welcome home.'
The carriage came to a stop and Harry quickly clambered out, taking care to veer away from the large equine looking creature.
Tom came out, a bit more graceful although on closer examination the movement looked more instinctual than anything. Harry dismissed it as the other having been shuffled around in carriages quite often.
Tom did take care to veer away from Harry, leaving an outrageously large gap between them. Harry had walked closer to Malfoy even.
Tom did reach up absentmindedly to pat against the thick cordlike muscle of the monster. Its dark pelt twitched under his curious fingers, pulling tense over the ridges of its protruding vertebra. Harry couldn't help but stare at the sight- wasn't Tom the one who had leapt away nearly screaming bloody murder at the sight of Luna, but here he was casually petting one of Hagrid's beasts?
Then again, Luna would likely have liked this strange creature as well, so maybe Luna wasn't a good comparison for someone normal. For all Harry knew, Luna could be part…Sphinx or something equally wacky. With all the strange things Hermione had a guilty pleasure reading in those Witch Weekly gossip magazines, Luna could be the next greatest seer of all time, or part Elvish or something equally ridiculous.
"What are you doing?" Harry found himself blurting, watching almost curious with how chaotic the action was. It had a level of habit to it, an uncaring soothing of a timid animal. Harry found himself wondering if Tom treated humans with that same level of uncaring action.
Tom didn't offer an answer, instead choosing to be as prick-ish as normal. Harry really should have been used to the silent treatment at this point, but it never failed to annoy him how Tom could dismiss him so quickly and casually.
"You know, the castle may be different now." Harry chased after Tom.
"Doubtful." Tom shot him down almost as quickly.
Harry felt a small surge of annoyance that always seemed to bubble up in the presence of Tom's unique ever so loving compassion for others. "You'd be surprised. Two years ago, a car flew into the Whomping Willow."
Tom shifted ever so slightly- nowhere near a trip but enough of an unplanned movement that Harry could recognize he caught him off guard. The Whomping Willow had been planted, according to Sirius, to guard the tunnel for Remus to escape through. Tom would have no knowledge of the tree, or the current abilities of Muggle technology; for all he knew, flying cars were muggle inventions.
"I see." Tom said. Internally, Harry cheered at having caught Tom so off guard that the other boy even responded. That was one step in the right direction.
They managed to ascend the bumpy polished path stomped into existence under the many boots of thousands of students. In all honesty, at this point it was so sleek and slippery, someone was going to slip on the near shining rocks. They had all this magic, and not a single person had thought of putting up a guard rail? Or investing in some thick bags of salt from then it got icy around Yule?
The castle was a comforting sight but still uncomfortable without the constant thrum and noise of students. It was odd to see the staircases silent and locked in place- unmoving without passengers. Tom, even with his prickly exterior, was a comforting warmth walking alongside him.
They walked through the halls, a few portraits throwing questions in their direction. Tom responded to a few with pleasant smiles, going so far to even greet an odd number of them by name. The portraits always had difficulty with grasping the movement and gap in time; a few responded to Tom with equal greetings, ignorant of what had ever passed outside their wooden frames.
The large doors of the Hospital Wing were familiar to Harry- even the small scratch marks from the time Fred and George tried to bust him out second year with the use of exploding decorative fruit. The pear had somehow gotten half fused to the door and detonated, leaving a nice lumpy sear mark near the left hinge. For months it smelled like burnt sugar and fennel.
The doors slid open with a small creak, although Harry assumed it was more for aesthetics instead of poor maintenance of the hinges. Dumbledore always was someone fond of dramatics. Tom's face didn't twitch at the piercing noise, so Harry assumed it had been the same even in his time.
The hospital beds were empty, even the one on the far left that Harry had declared his own. The wooden headboard still had his transfigured starling trophy on the top, like an obscure decorative feathered gargoyle. Hermione had teased in a huff that his hair already looked like a bird's nest- may as well offer him a bird for a get-well present after he had nearly been kissed by a Dementor last year. It was flattering, or insulting, that the monument to Harry-being-hurt was still there.
A small shuffle and from one of the back rooms Madam Pomfrey emerged, hair pinned back professionally under her ever-present headgear. It was admirable how prim and proper she always seemed to be, even when removing an inkwell from a Hufflepuff's throat after his friends dared him to eat it.
"Mr. Potter!" She huffed, a small playful scowl tilting on her lips. "You better not be in here as my patient! Term hasn't even begun!"
Harry took half a step backwards without thinking, already lifting his hands in a defensive gesture. "Erm, not me, ma'am."
"Pardon my interruption," Tom smoothly slid into the conversation, like the oily bastard he was. "It's a pleasure to meet you, ma'am. I believe I am the origin of our presence here. I was under the assumption that word had already been given, my greatest apologies if this was an inconvenience to your work."
Madam Pomfrey paused, blinking twice before the small smile on her face shifted into a more neutral professional expression.
She folded her hands in front of her, the white and soft pastel blue of her robes only emphasized the crease lines and wrinkles across her older face. Harry wouldn't call her motherly, but there was something distinctly maternal about her actions.
"Oh, none of that." The mediwitch assured. "I am staff here at Hogwarts, and everyone is welcome regardless of what injury of ailment worries you."
Tom's face was perfect as it shifted through the movements into an open cheerful expression. If Harry hadn't known the boy, he would have believed it. Tom was like a boggart, somehow able to transform before your very eyes into something that twisted your innards and made the small animal brain part of your head scream.
"Oh, thank you, ma'am." Tom bowed, one hand over his chest in a loose relaxed gesture that meant nothing to Harry.
It evidently meant something to Madam Pomfrey, who was falling for his fake weasel act by the minute.
"Oh, none of that," Madam Pomfrey said. "I have your room already set up. I heard from Albus that you have a condition it seems? That may require constant medical intervention upon spikes?"
Tom barely batted an eye, "so it appears. I believe all pertinent documentation has been owled in advance, ma'am?"
Madam Pomfrey licked one finger before she shuffled to a nearby cabinet, thumbing through various cream and yellowish folders before she plucked out a stack of parchment, connected by what looked like a hair clip. "Everything seems to be in order, Mr. Riddle. I see that you require…oh my, quite a collection of vaccinations."
Tom's smile didn't waver, he managed to shift his shoulder slightly into a halfhearted shrug- something that Harry instantly interpreted as being sheepish. Harry knew better, but his body reading skills and brain very stupidly told him opposite.
"Ah," Madam Pomfrey nodded knowingly, "one of those families. No worries, dear. We'll have all of this sorted out in the next few days. Your room is one of the longer care rooms I have available, normally only used as isolation I'm afraid. It isn't much, but I have attempted to connect it to the facilities I have here."
Harry poked his head in as the Mediwitch showed them into one nondescript door sitting next to a decorative rubbery looking plant. Harry would have presumed it was a closet, except Hermione had been housed in one of these isolation rooms for a few days after the Polyjuice mishap.
The room was small, clearly it had been renovated to seem homier, but it was impossible to scrape away all the medical qualities. The random sink by the door, the small crevices in the wall for some sort of apparatus, the small bed mounted into the floor itself, and the sheer overwhelming amount of lights.
It was better, with the small rugs and wall hangings. A small painting even of a soothing bubbling brook hung near a window- which Harry knew couldn't be opened.
"I have you connected to the Infirmary Wing's washroom." Madam Pomfrey looked apologetic, "it's a public loo, of course. I wouldn't keep any toiletries within, but the door does connect from the back of your closet."
"Many thanks, Madam." Tom tucked his chin in, another more casual bow of some antiquated respect. Harry didn't quite understand, but Madam Pomfrey looked at Tom quite fondly afterwards.
Harry was afraid, that by the time school started, she'd be completely wrapped around his finger.
"You don't have access to my medical files or other tools I use, I'm afraid." Her expression turned stony and firm. Maybe she wouldn't be wrapped around his finger.
Tom managed to look shocked, as if such a concept was obvious. "I would never. I completely understand and value your work, I would hate to abuse the trust and compassion you have already provided so selflessly."
What a prick, Harry thought to himself.
"I do have to do a mandatory evaluation of you, I'm afraid." Poppy grimaced slightly, "due to the nature of your residency here, I'm mandated by law to perform an evaluation monthly for changes in your physical and mental states."
Tom didn't look alarmed. "Why, of course Madam. I believe that baseline records have already been established, but if you would prefer, I am comfortable being under your wing and at your mercy."
Madam Pomfrey flushed, eyes shining in relief. "You're a breath of fresh air. I've forgotten what It's like to have a competent patient for once."
"Hey." Harry couldn't help but defend himself. "I'm a wonderful patient!"
Pomfrey scowled at him, trying not to smile fondly. "Of course, you are, Mr. Potter. Hop along now, I believe your head of house may be waiting for you in your tower!"
"Oh," Harry blinked in sudden realization, "wait, what house is Tom going to be in?"
Tom twitched ever so slightly, eyes a sharp venomous stare behind Poppy's back. Poppy shifted a bit into a more professional stance, her arms interlocking at the palms in front of her. "Tom here is a medical patient, which under Hogwarts criteria, is a neutral space for houses. Tom will be in no house, and divided across various courses as the Headmaster has constructed his schedule personally. This of course, exempts him from playing on any Quidditch teams, or aiding in the House Cup."
Tom, in Harry's opinion, didn't look too upset with this information.
"However," Poppy continued, "Tom has no head of house."
Harry blinked twice. "Err, so…"
Poppy rolled her eyes and walked off, snatching a bottle of disinfectant and a few clean rags. She seemed to be on a mission, and Harry was not danger-friendly enough to bother her now. He could take on a three-headed dog any day, but interrupting Madam Pomfrey? No- Harry still remembered how that Skele-grow tasted.
"You don't seem too upset with this all." Harry said to Tom.
Tom managed another venomous side-eye. "I have nothing to be worried over. The arrangement works and allows me to operate independent of Hogwarts's curriculum."
"Does that mean you don't have to take potions with Snape?" Harry asked, eyebrows shooting up. Harry would have paid money to see Tom resisting Snape's barbed tongue, or Malfoy's git face. "Lucky bastard."
Tom's eye twitched slightly, although it was impossible to determine why exactly. "Friend of yours, I take it?"
Harry shivered, flinching back near violently. The small gleam of satisfaction in Tom's eye let Harry know he had done so on purpose. "Slimy git."
"So, you say, dame." Tom's eyes were near burning with the amount of rude delight in the exchange, "or shall I name you something else? Twist and twirl? Fanny?"
Harry spluttered, not quite sure how to respond, especially with the sudden lyrical near rhyming jolt of Tom's voice at the presence of that dreaded cockney once more.
"Oh, button up, mare." Tom drawled, almost a croon that felt very old and strange to hear. It reminded Harry of when Dudley had gone through that phase of thinking it was fancy to be into classical idea; when he bought a designer bomber jacket and greased his hair and made Harry's uncle buy him a vintage record player to play gravely albums.
Harry felt himself trying to kick his brain into gear- like the busted-up car lost in the Forbidden forest. Somewhere in the back of his skull, his conscience was slamming on the clutch, trying to force the gears into alignment with a horrible grinding noise.
"What?" Harry croaked out, and Tom grinned like a snapping turtle.
"Don't hurt yourself." Tom nearly purred, entire body and tone shifting into something even more scary to Harry. Not sharp and predatory- like when he had a butter knife puncturing through his arm. Back then, Tom had been all teeth and exposed whites of his eyes.
This was in contrast, the exact opposite. The antithesis of then. His mouth was all lips, quirked and pulled back thinly, his eyes half lidded but still sharp and dark.
Harry didn't like this Tom, the way he donned a new layer and presence like a cloak. Wrapping himself up, like an onion. Or a rose if Harry wanted to get metaphorical, at least Roses had thorns and were- in the greater schemes of things- absolutely useless.
"Don't miss me too much," Tom crooned, twirling and sauntering away into his decorated isolation room. Harry hoped that maybe Tom would catch the flu from living in there. Or the plague.
On the other side of the door, Tom's face faltered and pulled back with the same level of disgust as removing a particularly itchy sunburn. He shuddered once, trying to get the acidic taste out of his mouth.
The room was nice enough, it would serve his purpose. Larger than the rooms he was used to, more isolated yet it had more privacy. A constant warden to his cell, but a warden who, for now, was oblivious.
Tom's trunk and things were already there, tucked neatly under the small cot. Less comfortable than his old bed in the Slytherin dungeons, yet kilometers more comfortable than a wool sleeping bag on broken cobblestone.
He yanked out books, sliding them onto the mediocre flimsy bookshelf offered for his convenience. It obviously used to hold medical supplies; soap and gloves and the sort. If Tom was lucky, he may find a chunk of the lye yellow block somewhere under the exposed piping. The type of soap that bruised over his knuckles and left his skin yellow and smelling.
The books were stacked, spines exposed and set in order from topic instead of last name. Various concepts, as well as two journals he had managed to purchase for his thoughts to fill. Let them read those books and pour through his notes when they inevitably scoured his room for suspicious things. He'd need to find a hiding place soon.
Until then, the Hospital Wing was the best possible place for Tom to hide illegal dreamless sleep potions. A heavy stock for incoming students was nothing to be alarmed by; flu season was approaching anyways. From what Tom had gathered, the war was especially vicious, nightmares would be common.
The thick beakers he had were fairly suspicious he'd admit, but Tom was nothing if not clever and quick at hand. Snatching empty vials and bottles was easier than snatching coin purses or food tickets. Cleaning them was even easier with a sink in his room.
Tom had found himself in worse situations before; ridden with disease or lancing infected blisters with red-hot needles.
He could survive easily; a school year was nothing to him. The lack of allies was disconcerting, as well as a line of new teachers he had to investigate and charm all in only a series of months. He could do it, but already the stress and anxiety of his work was weighing on him. It made his head throb dully, a distant headache brewing on the horizon.
Not to mention his joints still ached with growing pains from the prescribed nutrition potions, combating his malnutrition and anemia in a single fell swoop. Tom wouldn't be surprised if his hair stopped falling out and his cheeks filled by October. Maybe then, the small painless black zits along his hips would fade as well. Long after the green-yellow bruises in the shapes of fingers did.
