Curfew Violations

-v-

20th Violation

-v-

They visited. All of them—his mom, dad, and that girl…Luna…off and on throughout the three weeks following his awakening and before his release from the hospital.

But the only one who was there, like clockwork, at the same time on weekdays and basically the entire weekend from sunup to sundown (until the nurses saw him out) was Tom—always Tom…his Tom.

This was largely because the doctor sanctioned him as a good thing to assist Harry's recovery effort and memory retrieval.

The doctor had also told his family and other friend, whom he now vaguely recalled—that they didn't want to suffocate Harry with their continued presences, and as such, the majority of his recovery should be spent privately with his therapist and nurses and scant outside interference, or possible stress inducing encounters (aside from the sanctioned Tom who was seen as an endlessly positive boon).

It was no accident that Tom had made himself so available and instrumental to Harry's recovery.

Harry could now remember…quite a bit in interconnected patches, though still—a lot was like looking through a badly smudged window at a picture with muted colors and blurry outlines.

He remembered their first encounter. That day going to the seventh floor desperate for reprieve, and finding that open door to the Secret Chamber.

He remembered being startled to find Tom was already in a presumed vacant room…and he remembered being spoken to, assessed, and getting forcibly acquainted (most willingly at the end there).

He remembered cumming in his pants and leaving that room stained, giddy and in a hurry with Tom's number stuffed secure in his pocket.

He remembered calling later that night. He remembered Tom showing up at his house—sneaking out…riding in the car…going up the elevator...working the handle into Tom's apartment before falling through the door with said teen attached to his mouth, and then…hot snatches of being physically intimate on Tom's bed…on Tom's sheets…

He hazily recalled having foreshadowing words—about Tom tutoring him, demanding Harry's time…demanding to be included in every possible open facet of Harry's future school goings.

He remembered protesting halfheartedly and then accepting everything…just everything…because it was Tom. He remembered not knowing that Tom could move so fast or be half as purposeful and influential as he was.

Looking back and considering his extreme forgetfulness, Harry could only sigh and smile a little. How funny…that Tom hadn't changed one bit before or after his amnesia…except to become even more overtly possessive and obsessed than Harry could fully justify.

Harry remembered and couldn't clearly recall…being in Tom's arms, at Tom's mercy…giving himself away…not giving two fucks…so many times…

It was enough to make his heart flutter and send him into a blushing fit. How often had he been so effectively swept up by Tom in the past (and even more recently)—that he put everything on hold and just let Tom have his whole way with him.

His head hurt when he remembered painful snippets of that stressful Saturday…when his parents had confronted him, and he'd been effectively grounded in so many ways—before running back into Tom's arms directly.

His substantial recollections of that day made his gut churn from both recalled dismay and no little exhilaration for all that it'd brought.

He knew what he remembered wasn't all that had happened.

There was the book store…being on Tom's lap…marking Tom's neck—MINE…being bent over the table with his pants around his ankles and his thighs a damp, quivering mess whilst Tomgot to work…nngh…(Harry had to lick his lips and swallow repeatedly, contending with a suddenly too dry throat)—the ice cream parlor…Fortescue's…seeing that girl…Luna…her getting on the phone and gaining him and Tom a whole day uninterrupted…

Absconding to the park by the water…kissing…under an open sky—and drawing…sketching Tom staring back at him silently, gaze potent and luminous…like there was nothing else in the whole world he'd rather be looking at—like Harry was just as fascinating, just as overwhelming to Tom…as Tom's very own devastating being was to Harry.

Always to Harry…right alongside every other person in the known world, with any kind of partially functional sight—but always Harry foremost…because he…really…truly…felt Tom.

On every dying blood cell's last breath, in every shivering pore electrified by his hammering pulse—with every beat of his palpitating heart going wild when Tom elected to touch him, to put his hands just all over him…never missing a beat or hesitating in the least to make Harry and any (not even necessarily keen) observer know he was staking his claim on what belonged to him…body and soul.

Harry grew lightheaded just considering all the things he remembered…and all the things which were still frustratingly lost to him.

He'd asked Tom. Of course he did—blushing tomato red in most instances (much to Tom's pleasure, and endlessly fond amusement) and still stammering mildly around the words even as the cadence of his speech had improved by leaps and bounds since his fortuitous awakening.

But even in his elation with having Harry slow and steadily recalling swaths of their time together, Tom did not go against the doctor's orders for allowing Harry a natural recovery unassisted by outside narration.

He was staunch in his belief that everything would come back to Harry, and that Harry could be trusted to soon recollect all of what he'd unfortunately forgot and allowed to leak out of his grasping fingers—like so much sand fallen through the hourglass, collecting at a bottom Harry must sweep and regather particle by particle, one by one…throughout his blurring recovery days.

(The memory of his accident was still curiously blacked out…in that all he recalled—when his head stopped screaming at him not to touch, was the distinct impression that he'd been in route with the express purpose of meeting up with Tom when it happened. And then he was arcing in slow motion, tumbling rapidly…into the arms of darkness. All else remained shielded.)

What really irked Harry though, like a petulant child tugging always on his delicate brainstem…was that Tom remained hedgy about just how far they'd gotten…and how much else they'd done most intimately (always assuring Harry in between privately bestowed sultry kisses and proprietary fondling between his legs, that if he didn't remember soon—they could always reenact every forgotten instance).

Harry was only a little ashamed to say he sometimes brought up such things Tom refused to volunteer information about—just to see Tom's eyes flash and then get himself partially mauled (as Tom remained always mindful of being still on hospital property, even when he was getting Harry hot and dripping wet with his skilled hand).

It was the silver lining in this unwanted informational blockage.

Tom's attentions to him were always hungrier…lustier…rougher and even more impossibly greedy when he was reminded of the fact that Harry still couldn't clearly recall the deepest of their past intimacies.

No matter how often Harry asked—Tom never gave a straight answer about Harry's virginity (or speculated suspected lack).

Beyond the obvious doctor's orders…Harry got the instinctual impression that Tom wanted very much not to have to tell him about it…for his own more sensitive reasons…no matter how he teasingly grinned and whispered huskily into Harry's burning ears—that if Harry wanted him to pop his cherry in a public institution he need only say so and Tom would oblige.

Both being mindful of never being entirely alone, even when together behind closed doors and surrounded by four walls of the bathroom or the hospital room—Harry never actually took Tom up on his (doubtlessly playful but serious) offer.

If it had in fact NOT happened already…he certainly didn't want to lose his full virginity in a hospital bed. Thank you very much.

Tom had only smirked and murmured, "More's the pity. We need to hurry and get you out of here."

To which Harry had peevishly responded, "N-now I see why you're h-helping...you want me w-walking just so you can make me unable to…"

Tom had merely flashed him a wicked grin, pecked his cheek, and praised his intelligence. Not even remotely mocking.

It was at that point that Harry's strides in physical recovery became marked—and rather impressive on the whole.

Tom was humble about receiving all the credit for Harry's sudden doubling down on his recovery efforts…even when he was massaging Harry's body for the umpteenth time and working the boy up to a point ill-advised for them to be at when monitored (however non-invasively) by Harry's actual therapist—Remus Lupin.

Harry supposed he really should be thankful the affable man had been (very much) downplaying the sheer daily hijacking of Harry's therapy sessions by Tom to Harry's parents, who showed up off and on during the evenings on spaced out weekdays, and earlier in the morning on Saturday for a couple of hours (generally right after breakfast—or what was the hospital equivalent), leaving him alone altogether to convalesce on Sundays.

Luna was only able to swing visits on Friday and Saturday evenings, as she often had her father drive her to the hospital, or rode with the Potters when she could match their schedules.

Harry once asked Tom why he didn't pick the girl up sometimes—since he had a car, and she was a friend thateven Tom acknowledged and could (still begrudgingly) appreciate.

But Tom only gave him a look which lasted a beat and replied too mildly, "Is my solitary company so unbearable to you that to escape it you would insist I bring the girl without clearance whom you do not remember well, here with me?"

To that Harry could only roll his eyes, feeling both covertly amused and semi-exasperated (if not unethically flattered) by Tom's rather selfish and unrepentant antics, as he sensibly maintained, "Maybe I w-would remember h-her better…if s-she was around as m-much as you…"

Harry could admit (if only internally) that seeing Tom ghost pouting about Harry asking after Luna and possibly dividing their one-on-one time together up more evenly between the two in a belated bid for fairness—was almost unbearably cute.

In the way that dangerous animals were cute until they unsheathed their claws and took a huge chunk out of your arm. But still—cute.

He was careful not to push too hard on Tom and make the other feel as though Harry were really aiming to cut down on their time together. Because he wasn't—really, it was just the niggling guilt that he was spending so much time with Tom and enjoying it…while at the same time having another friend he hardly saw but apparently had ties strong enough to that she kept visiting him as much as she was able, even in his still addled state.

It wasn't even like he didn't remember her at all…per se.

But Luna was like a phantom in his mind. Far less defined than Tom…but she was there, flitting like a wistful butterfly in and out of his peripherals. And when he considered her privately, or when she stopped by—he felt at ease in her presence.

Like…he didn't have to worry around her or feel apologetic, even though he felt he really should be apologizing for forgetting her…and them and what all they meant to each other…together.

It was weird.

He didn't want to exclude her…but Tom was simply so encompassing…that Luna regularly got eclipsed.

Harry had more than a sneaking suspicion that Tom was happy with this state of affairs—because he distantly recalled a moment…back in the school infirmary, where Tom had…attacked…him in a jealous fit, and mentioned Luna repeatedly in the negative.

Harry didn't have all the specifics laid out in his mind, but what pieces he'd regathered…told him that was the day he and Luna had first hit it off.

The first day Luna had entered into his and (subsequently) Tom's world.

And the introduction hadn't been nearly pleasant for Tom—more a nuisance in the extreme.

Harry could therefore not begrudge Tom his monopolizing ways and low-key blocking of Luna's presence while Harry was so apparently fragile, and had been broken…In a way Tom had been unable to keep from happening…even when Tom obviously didn't despise Luna to the extent which Harry semi-vaguely recalled he once did.

Even when Tom had handed her the title of friend—in front of Harry, like an olive branch Harry hadn't been able to process through his disoriented awakening—and then proceeded to introduce her without denying Harry the knowledge.

In all actuality…Luna was a curiosity to Harry.

She made him want to pour his brain out and begin rifling for whatever it was that made him special enough in her eyes that she went out of the way to hang around him…still.

Luna was an anomaly that seemed to have been there for some rather important junctures in Harry's haze of a puzzled out memory.

Harry wished he could remember more...

He wished he wasn't so stuck in the rut that was his psychological profile.

Luna was the middle of a rather large, retarded iceberg he wanted to melt down and drown in. No matter that doing so immediately could give him hypothermia and possibly kill off his remaining functional brain cells.

But he was a bad patient…rather impatient, in all truth.

It didn't help that melting down that iceberg would give him access to everything about Tom which he was being denied by his own stupid broken head.

He hated all the gaps and blurs and questions…it made him want to scream, to rage, to cry…he just wanted to not be broken anymore.

It was with that thought making the rounds through his scrambled psyche that he greeted Tom Saturday morning, before his parents arrived—looking more than a little distraught and barely opening his mouth to say a word before Tom crossed the room and had him wrapped up in his arms, rocking him back and forth…murmuring indistinctly soothing words as he carded his elegant fingers gently through Harry's more familiar, puffy dark locks, arrayed like a fluffy halo around the few bandages still obscuring the top of Harry's forehead.

Gods…he just wanted to be whole again…was that so much to ask?

"Tom…"

Harry's voice was unbearably small, more a plea for something…anything…really—as he clung to Tom's soft gray cardigan and struggled to hold himself together.

"Shhh…I've got you. Relax darling, you're alright…I've got you…"

Mulishly, Harry ground his teeth and forced the words out—even as Tom shushed him and his breath began to hitch unsteadily, "I w-want to k-know again…everything…I want to know it a-all. Please…Tom…!"

"You know what's important right now—me and you. It will come back. You can't chase it or you'll hurt yourself…and me…Harry, don't hurt me—I don't want to see you hurting."

Tom's voice was serious—sincere.

Harry swallowed against the bitterness and bile and heartache and frustration and just every other unpleasant emotion gate crashing at his heart—before whispering plaintively, clutching harder at Tom's cardigan as he deeply inhaled the scent of musk and spices that was uniquely Tom…filling his lungs with enough air to fuel the words aching in his chest to be released from his tightened throat.

"What if…it d-doesn't come back…w-what th-then…? I'll h-hurt you…I'll kill you…and y-you'll die inside b-because of me…ngh…"

Harry clenched his eyes against the tears threatening to liquefy his sockets, burning like so much acid as he dissolved into a shuddering mess in Tom's steadying arms.

Falling apart in ways he hadn't since the beginning of his recovery.

Tom just held him tighter and continued rocking him back and forth—making damn sure Harry could feel him there…even as the boy fell apart against his chest. Even in this…trusting Tom never to drop him…or throw him away.

-v-

xXOXx

-v-

The doctor had warned Tom something like this could and likely would happen on the path to Harry's recovery.

As the memories came trickling back in into Harry's mind in pieces, leaving him with so many partial pictures and not fully accountable impressions…even as Tom remained with him, always there as the rock to ground him into the gravity of everything—to motivate him to keep pushing, but not too hard…but just enough.

It was obvious that his boy had been working up to another breakdown, even as he threw himself headlong, optimistically into his physical therapy, and soaked up every bit of affection and fractured intimacy Tom afforded them when they were alone and otherwise sequestered away from…observant eyes.

The hospital wasn't the ideal location for anything too lasting…but Tom made do, and made sure his boy was sated—deriving his pleasure from pleasuring Harry and distracting his boy from wondering about Tom's own private state with kisses and touches frequent enough to keep Harry warm and fogged up to the point where he was primed to only receive what Tom was so consistently dishing out.

There'd surely come a day again where there'd be give and take. But right now…Tom was giving, just as much as he could.

Because Harry had already given…and someone else had taken…and Harry would only continue to take all of what he was being given…because he wanted it. He wanted it all now—and he wanted it back.

Tom didn't lie to Harry about his belief that the memories would return in full—and that if they somehow remained fractured after his boy was effectively discharged on his feet again—he would aid Harry in filling the blanks with even more memorable moments in their future…always together.

Sure…it'd be disappointing if Harry never got everything back on his own—but Tom wouldn't let it kill him as Harry had so maintained it would…or could. The thing that hurt him the most now to consider, was for Harry to quite possibly wind up hurting himself in a determined bid to try and do things too fast and in the process, set back his own recovery from sheer willfulness to crack the codes on all of his locked-down and still partly obscured memories.

He wouldn't run the risk of Harry losing his mind again merely because he was unable to naturally recall important segments of time which had passed between them, in the most recent past—he couldn't abide such a unconscionable thing being the reason for Harry sustaining more personal injury, when he was supposed to be peacefully recovering from what had already brought him down.

It viscerally pained Tom to even imagine.

No matter how much he longed for Harry to simply come back to himself…Tom would most gladly assist his boy with cementing all the lingering gaps, just as soon as the hospital cleared him to finish recovering at home, and once they were amongst themselves completely.

Even under such circumstances as Harry leaving the hospital before his memories were utterly restored—Tom would never abandon him or leave him to flounder alone.

Harry was his—full stop.

It didn't matter if he remembered all of the WHY's and HOW's or not…Harry was his. That wouldn't change. He wouldn't allow it to.

There would be time enough for them to get reacquainted in all the ways they had once been…and although being the only one with their full history in stock would sting—would make him want to resurrect…that creature…just so he could extract retribution, over and over again from every severed limb and appendage—he wouldn't let such things come between them.

He wouldn't let Harry trouble himself to the point of hurting them both with his reckless drive and desire to know—to remember.

Holding Harry in his arms, soothing his boy through this impromptu breakdown on a Saturday morning—before the official ending of November that coming Tuesday—marking the fourth week after his reawakening, brought home the fact that Harry with or without all the pieces would always be his to put together…would always be his to hold down.

That without even knowing him completely (because Tom had once told Harry his past…and that had yet to resurface from beneath the waves…)—Harry would still cling to him. Harry would still keep him held highest on his list of priorities.

Harry would continue to cite Tom as the reason…the real reason…he was so hell-bent on remembering everything fast—because he didn't want Tom to be in pain, to be suffering at all behind his memory lapses.

It should be unnatural for Harry to be so inordinately worried about Tom's feelings and well-being…when he was still quite damaged—but something told Tom it could be attributed almost entirely to some enduring remnants of what Harry had felt for him after everything they'd shared, and before the incident…leaking through his subconscious into his current messy mentality.

It was like Harry didn't recall exactly, but still inherently knew that Tom had issues…and that being forgot—being left behind, being no longer thought about or remembered—was a hard limit for him.

That no matter how staunchly dedicated to Harry's recovery Tom was, there were underlying rationales and fears and suffocating despondencies from having nearly lost…from still standing to possibly lose Harry…all over again—in ways that made him irretrievable, although he was certainly conscious and aware.

It felt as though Harry knew all these things about Tom—as if he'd never truly forgotten…merely had it smudged out, all the technicolored outlines of what had been—what still was and would forever be…between them.

And that above all else kept Tom visibly sane and hopeful and non-despairing throughout everything.

Every day he spent with Harry, he was treated to his boy striving—working hard to get it all back, to regain every bit of strength he'd been robbed of.

Every moment he stole with Harry, away from the others who rightly loved him in his life—whom Tom understood because they'd been instrumental in Harry's very existence, and whom Tom tolerated (for Harry), because she had proved herself an ally…had done more than enough to garner his respect as Harry's friend during the time of Harry's check-out from reality.

It was easier to be kind to her in particular when she'd been the one to put him onto the once unknown subject of his maddening desire to avenge and fully dismantle—on justified grounds of endangering the one thing in his life that made it something he actually cared to keep living…when everything else was a routine he could take or leave, but would take and had taken…because it was all he'd had…all he'd known and been so very good at…before Harry.

It had been his very identity. The way people recognized and revered him in all facets of his life.

He had reveled in superiority. Had thought himself so far above and gracious enough to throw crumbs at the sycophants and admires he garnered in the background of all his doings.

They were all the same. They were all two-dimensional and of no consequence to him, except in how he could utilize them to achieve his own goals.

They were relegated to his peripherals when his focus had been forward always. Never glancing around in search of anything more…anything meaningful…beyond what he'd achieved and had attributed so highly to himself.

They were white noise and chaff swept from beneath his feet.

It had been chance which led him to Harry. It had been chance which led Harry…to him.

That first encounter…normally never would have happened. But it did happen—and Tom could only look back in breathless amazement at that point.

It had been like going through life in a darkened room with sunglasses on…before suddenly having the glasses torn away and realizing the room is full of light, and colors, and fantastic possibilities once miserably shrouded from his eyes by shadows and wretched, abysmal darkness.

Harry was his spot of light in an otherwise dark universe.

Tom didn't care for moons or stars. Harry was his Sun…the light which warmed and nourished the heart pumping the blood through his veins.

It was no stretch to say that Harry…was the thing keeping Tom…human—connected to his humanity.

He only ever felt things…real things…things that were tied to actual emotions…when Harry was involved. Harry was his trigger…and his boy didn't even realize he was clinging to a loaded gun.

Harry didn't know the devastation…the true depths of harm Tom was willing to do…willing to facilitate, in order to keep him—safe…happy…in his arms…obsessed…concerned…eternally locked in step with…desperate and devoted to…himself—Tom Marvolo Riddle.

The only name allowed to be scrawled upon the walls of Harry's innermost heart any longer.

His parents didn't count. They were fundamental.

His friend…Luna…didn't count. She was incidental.

Tom wouldn't settle until he was what Harry lived and breathed. Until Harry was looking to him for comfort and understanding and acceptance in all things—until Harry was so stuck on him…so reliant on Tom, that the mere notion of being without Tom in any way would have him pounding on Tom's door and moving into Tom's closet, just so they'd never have to part again…because the alternative was too painful.

Tom didn't want Harry to hurt himself trying to get back to him.

Tom didn't want Harry to jeopardize his recovery when all it would take was time…and patience.

The only suffering he could condone in any way, shape, or form—for Harry to go through…would be a suffering he could alleviate by his continued presence in Harry's life…always.

The only suffering he would not frown upon and decimate—was the suffering Harry would be in should he ever think to let Tom go.

The only suffering he would accept…would be that which drove Harry always back into his arms.

And if that made him despicable…to not want Harry able to be happy or rest in peace without him…so be it.

Tom would remain despicable. He would remain possessive. He would remain loyally devoted to Harry…above and beyond all else.

God save the poor Devil, who'd attempt to drag Tom to hell away from Harry—his only heaven…the only salvation he craved.

God save the rest of the whole damned world Tom would sooner see go all the way up in flames, and be rendered a heap of ash floating dead in the cosmos…long before he would ever let Harry go.

-v-

xXOXx

-v-

That Saturday afternoon, Luna rode to the hospital with the Potters—James and Lily both being glad to have her along and looking forward to seeing the progress made in Harry's unprecedentedly swift recovery.

In the past weeks leading up to this day, the Potters and Luna had been restraining themselves from visiting Harry too often (as per the good doctor's recommendation), so as not to overwhelm him or ruin his rehab.

And though James and Lily popped in on the evening sides every few days or so throughout the week, they left after being reassured that he was looking well and making definite strides in his therapy—assisted and cared for as he was by his doctor, therapist, and the ever present and capable, Tom Riddle.

That was a thing which made Luna feel altogether contented with the state of affairs. For even though her existence remained rather vague and ineffectual in Harry's memory bank—she was glad of the fact that his history with Tom had not been utterly wiped out.

It would have been a tragedy unparalleled to have Harry rendered a blank slate after everything they'd both been through together.

Luna was rooting for the two on the nearby sideline.

It didn't even matter—the reality that Tom's newfound tolerance and respectful stance around her was rather conditional…hinging upon her remaining transparent in her desire to be friendly but never attempting to usurp Tom's all important position in Harry's esteem.

She could sympathize with Tom's pathological need to be certain of his prior claim upon the one they both loved…in familiar and essentially different ways.

Luna would not think of superimposing herself over the position she well knew Tom should and would guard jealously in Harry's life.

It was enough for her to know that in stepping aside, she could remain nearby always to observe and admire the dynamic relationship which held Harry and Tom locked in orbit around each other.

She would not allow herself to be hurt by the effects of a gravity she could feel, but never allow to truly be her downfall…drawing her to Harry.

It was her choice to watch over him in all things—because it was allowed. She was allowed to have this, and it would be enough.

She hadn't known Harry long in person and conscious before the accident, but they'd had a connection…moments that she would not see squandered or unappreciated by herself…as she was the only one who could remember them in full.

She still thought about the way she'd so easily confessedin art class, to the backdrop of Harry panicking over using Tom's likeness for his project…for his something special…even as he was her something special.

The irony did not escape her.

He'd said he wanted her around as long as she wanted to be.

He hadn't rejected her outright or broken her heart…even as he confessed he loved Tom. Even as he trusted her with the knowledge and fact that he was in love with Tom Riddle, before he'd even admitted it to himself—it seemed.

Luna could only reminisce and smile fondly whenever she saw Harry now, and he looked at her softly…somewhat sadly at times…even as he didn't question her presence or continued visitation when he couldn't remember what they were—had been to each other.

He never turned her away, or looked uncomfortable. The ease of which he accepted her…still…a relative stranger—during his recovery process…it was deeply heartening, even when the cold draft hit her from Tom watching (always watching) silent in his perch next to Harry's bed, as the two exchanged careful words and pleasantries.

Luna felt a heart to heart with Tom about him not having to worry about her so very much would not go amiss.

But she figured he likely wouldn't take her at her word on this particular issue…and it was actually quite cute the way he refrained from biting her hand whenever she ventured to touch Harry…if only to assure herself of his realness and continued solid existence.

On notes outside of the hospital relating to Harry, Luna had noticed (because she had looked for it) at school…the certain absence of an individual she'd mentioned in passing…and she purposefully and very prudently did not ever broach the topic of that with the most likely candidate for its cause.

She wouldn't have even noticed that person's disappearance had she not been looking around for him.

It wasn't like she'd ever kept tabs on him per se…but she had seen him here and there floating around the school before Harry woke up, she'd just never paid him any exclusive mind.

And now…he was nowhere.

Now…he was gone.

Luna knew this. There was no such thing as true coincidence.

Her acceptance of this particular state of affairs…was generally rather...wicked. On the whole and more than one would ever expect from her.

This was the cement keeping her heart well in place, whenever the stray thought of having Harry beyond friendship dared to flit across her mind. Because she was many things…but foolhardy was not one.

She was aware of being…complicit…in very instrumental ways to whatever had happened. But in her mind, she really did not care.

She hadn't been able to do anything for her mother once she'd been hospitalized in those last days…only accept that she would lose her…with no one to actually blame or fault or take anything out on.

It had been the most desolate feeling. Knowing a bad thing…had just happened. That there was nothing anyone could do about it.

She had been powerless—utterly without any useful ability.

Harry's accident had hit her hard. But in stark contrast—she hadn't been powerless that time. She had been intellectual…calculating…weighing every variable and coming to the proper conclusions—before notifying the one person who would be able and driven to do something about it.

It had felt good to put that burden on Tom's shoulders and know he wouldn't falter until it was eradicated.

It had felt good to be powerful…but not responsible for the results of that power at work.

Luna had aimed the weapon, and Tom had discharged it. It'd been a team effort—all for their shared adoration of one important person.

As far as bonding went, Luna knew that moment and day had endeared her to Tom and made it so that as long as she treaded carefully, and never let her deeper feelings run amok—she wouldn't have to worry about herself being the next possible target.

It was this reassurance which kept her comfortable in the permanent friend-zone.

Because as close as she was to Harry, Tom would never stand for anyone but himself being closer…and that was as good as being in a relationship that would never be jeopardized…ever.

Luna could appreciate the stability.

She enjoyed not having to worry in love about having the rug yanked from beneath her, or being overtaken by anyone more important than the obvious in a position that wasn't hers to take up.

It was security like nothing else. It was symbiosis.

And she could…and she would be able to live with it.

-v-

xXOXx

-v-

When his mom, dad, and Luna came into the room that afternoon—it was followed by the doctor and Remus.

Harry was sitting upright in bed with his glasses on, chatting softly with Tom sat next to him and holding his hand. He'd long since calmed down to the point of Tom releasing him to further gather himself in preparation for the anticipated visitors who had arrived.

Greetings were exchanged, and Harry questioned the less anticipated presence of his doctor and therapist.

"Not that I'm n-not glad to see you b-both…but what br-brings you here?"

His doctor merely smiled alongside Remus, glancing over his charts and checking his vitals personally before responding. "It seems you are in the rare position of being recommended for early discharge."

Harry blinked, rather astonished. "R-really? I can g-go home…?"

"Provided you take care not to overexert yourself, and stick to a regimen of fitness which the hospital signs off on…to be monitored by Mr. Riddle, perhaps?"

Here the doctor glanced at Tom, who nodded immediately and said, "I will make sure Harry is properly seen to. You needn't even ask."

"I will also be prescribing a few helpful medicines for any headaches he may still experience and a series of Vitamin supplements, which I would like him to continue taking on a regular basis."

Lily squeezed James' hand and traded relieved smiles with him.

"Yes, doctor. We will make sure he has everything required." Lily was nearly vibrating with her parental joy, and being able to take Harry home again—at last.

"Very good—I understand that Harry has a very supportive base, and would normally recommend revisiting the hospital at least once a week before clearing him to full outpatient status…however, being that his results are so consistent and relieving, I thing once a month should do just fine. The first Friday of each month, so we may assess his overall stats and be sure everything is going well with his continued recovery."

"That sounds just fine." James said, grinning at Harry who remained silent and rather hopeful to be getting out of the hospital.

"On another note, regarding any stairs…I would suggest Harry avoid them as much as possible for the time being, and if he must take them be accompanied up and down for at least another few weeks. As he's experienced vertigo often when tested on them in the recent past, and it would be a bad idea for him to be on any unsupervised."

Lily frowned and traded a glance with James, before saying worriedly, "His bedroom at home is on the second floor though…he may need to go up or down frequently to get places within the house…"

"That could be rather…inconvenient…" James added.

The doctor got a thoughtful look, and Remus spoke up at last, "Is there anywhere Harry could reside in the meanwhile with everything on one level, or perhaps with an elevator on site?"

Lily bit her lip and said, "Other than a hotel, I don't see any feasible options…and that could be rather…inconvenient too…"

It was here that Luna spoke up, voice delicate and prodding, "Didn't you say you lived in an apartment Tom?"

Tom looked at the girl and flashed her a brief, calculative smirk, before responding politely while looking meaningfully at the doctor, "I do live in a rather convenient apartment building. It has elevators, and I am on the top floor…but everything is spacious and laid out on one level. Harry would not have to climb any stairs to get from one place to the other. I also have a pull out couch with a rather comfortable bed inside."

"Not to mention it's only a few minutes away from Harry's home. They could visit as often as they'd like, or Harry could visit them on evenings after school and merely sleep at my place."

The doctor looked rather intrigued and pleased, whereas Remus kept a carefully neutral look on his face as he readdressed the Potters, "It does sound like a rather reasonable option. I would dislike Harry feeling compelled to use the stairs in order to navigate his own home, when they are still rather treacherous for him."

Lily licked her lips and looked to James. James was silent for a moment, staring at Tom—who stared back as openly and innocently as possible. "You would be willing to open your home to our son, just like that?"

Tom smiled, and it was as angelic as anything James or Lily had yet seen on his handsome face. (Which should have been warning enough…but wasn't.)

"I would be honored to have Harry stay with me for as long as it takes for his recovery to be completed. It would also be convenient for me to restart his tutoring lessons, as I've taken it upon myself to keep up with his coursework and have assured his professors I would be there for his catching up in time to pass on to his next proper grade."

Lily hummed and said, "I suppose that would be rather convenient, as Harry has also missed quite a bit of school…and we're not exactly equipped to handle catching him up education wise in a timely manner…on top of everything else he'll need…"

Tom gave Lily a reassuring look, continuing smoothly, "It would be no trouble for me to have Harry on hand with my study materials and library and extensive knowledge of his academic and bodily weaknesses. I am also very capable of continuing his therapy at home, for I do have access to my own fitness equipment and can keep other necessities in stock for his management."

"What about meals? It wouldn't make sense for him to travel so much back and forth just to eat…" Lily frowned and chewed her bottom lip. Tom was quick to assure her, "I generally have more food than I need in the house, being as I stock up for every eventuality. And I do enjoy cooking…but have never had the occasion to actually cook for anyone besides myself. I'm rather health conscious, so I can guarantee he'll be well nourished."

James watched Tom, seemingly coming to a decision after a rather long beat…before turning to his wife and saying, "Tom has been here and done well with Harry all this time. I'm sure we can manage to allow him to continue along the same vein if he is really so willing to oblige us."

"Oh…well, I suppose you're right…so long as Harry—you don't mind, do you dear?" Lily finally addressed Harry, who had been mentally freaking out and tamping down on an inordinate amount of excitement sending chills rapidly up and down his spine for the prospect, the very suggestion of staying with Tom…alone.

Clearing his throat softly and being careful not to talk too loudly, or actually look at Tom who was still holding his hand loosely and could definitely feel the way his palm was growing clammy.

"I don't m-mind, Mom. T-Tom will take care of me…and it'd b-be easiest on y-you and D-dad."

James nodded and addressed the doctor, "There you have it. Harry will be staying with Tom then, and all his needs will be met. How soon can we take him away?"

Remus was having a hard time suppressing his too amused grin as he was apparently the only one to note the unrestrained elation shining on Tom's face as the parents addressed the doctor in the background.

His gaze suddenly landed on Luna—with the light of knowing filtering unchecked between them…and he was made to amend his earlier thought.

Obviously someone else was attuned to this whole situation besides himself.

Huh.

Did this make him an enabler?

He glanced back at Harry and could only chuckle softly for the obvious excitement on the boy's face. He looked like all this Christmas presents had come early this year.

Honestly…kids these days.

Did they really think themselves subtle?

"He may leave as early as today, just as soon as I have your signatures on all the paperwork." The doctor was now leading the Potters out of the room, and Remus followed dutifully behind them.

Ah well, at least everybody was happy today.

If there was one thing he had no reservations about, it was that Tom Riddle would allow no harm to come to Harry Potter.

Any such would happen over that one's cold dead corpse.

And as a professional, he could only applaud his patient having such a fantastic support system.

It had been the easiest paycheck he'd ever gotten for the therapy process.

Almost felt like robbery.

-v-

xXOXx

-v-

Harry was discharged from the hospital that Saturday afternoon, and the only affect he stood to recollect from the hospital before leaving had been a cell phone with a cracked screen…which apparently had been in his pocket during the fall and had been put into storage for until this very day.

His mother had looked questionably at the device, and Harry had merely shrugged and maintained that he'd likely picked it up for someone before the fall…while trading a speculative glance with Tom, who merely smirked quietly at his side.

Harry had been glad the phone was still working even with the damage, and his mother had thought nothing else of it as he'd again pocketed the device.

His father was pulling the vehicle around to the front of the hospital whilst Lily signed Harry out at the front desk.

Tom had surreptitiously crept up behind Harry and extracted the phone from the boy's pocket, murmuring into his ear, "I'll get that fixed for you…"

Harry's heart had leapt to his throat, and a rather telling grin made its way to his face.

So apparently…Tom had gotten him a phone…at some point.

His head throbbed, and he touched the bandages which were still wrapped securely around his forehead.

The doctor said he could remove them tomorrow, and gave him some cream and a rather apologetic grimace as he specified there'd be a scar on his forehead from some point in the surgery which they were unable to prevent.

Harry had only smiled and said, "At least I'll h-have a c-cool reminder."

To which the doctor had shook his head and laughed.

Harry was rather eager to see himself without the visible bandages, and he was looking so very much forward to being with Tom…at his apartment…unsupervised…

Should he call himself a lucky bastard?

He certainly felt like it.

Silver-linings had never looked this good.

-v-

End Violation.

-v-

A/N: YAY! We got #Discharged!😁 Who else is glad we're finally getting away from the hospital? (I know I am…)

So…I did know where I wanted to get us, but my muses finally got us all there. And now…the real fun can begin. I'm looking forward to hearing back from each and every one of you wonderful readers!

Any and all suggestions for future scenes of #SteamyDomesticity will be most encouraged and #Adored.

My muses have a definite taste for candy and spices right now. So let's get them balls rolling. (Almost #Ashamed my mind's in the gutter for that innocent statement.)

#WillRegretNothing

Until the next time,

Take care! ~ 🌺🐍🌕

And Yaaas...double update. You're welcome! 😉

Obligatory Disclaimer: ...my silence is my answer.

~ Ravenslith-FledglingMoon ~ 🌺🐍🌕