.
departure
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December 1939
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The morning of their exam results, Harry wakes hours before dawn after only a few hours of restless, anxious sleep. His body trembles all over, cold sweat damp on his back and all across his forehead. Not for the first time, he doesn't remember what he'd dreamed of. This doesn't happen often. He usually remembers all of his nightmares in painful detail.
Lately, though, Harry finds he wakes more often in the middle of the night, a nameless fear pulsing in his chest. It unnerves him more than his regular nightmares, even if it's not as scary. Something about forgetting terrifies him.
A few minutes pass. Harry settles his breathing down on his own, then casts his eyes to the hangings that hide Tom's bed from view. Is Tom awake? Harry's not sure. If Tom isn't, then Harry doesn't want to be a bother and wake him.
The dorm room is silent, filled only with the muffled snores of the other boys. Harry keeps his eyes open despite his weariness. He's not ready to fall back asleep yet; he's worried the nightmares will return. When he wakes for the second time, he might not be so lucky as to have forgotten it all.
Harry doesn't know why he has so many nightmares. He ought to be too old for such things. He hates feeling small and afraid. He hates the memories they bring back. He hates that his nightmares drag all his deepest fears into the open: the burning cupboard, the cruel jibes, and the violent laughter. Worst of all, the idea that someday he and Tom will no longer be together.
So Harry doesn't share the subject of his nightmares with Tom. How could he? Tom would be hurt by them. Tom is nothing like the bullies Harry has known. Tom would never hurt him.
Tom only does things to protect him. To protect them both—
Harry knows that Tom only hurts people who he thinks deserve it, but his and Tom's definitions of 'deserve' tend to differ. That won't change easily. Tom sees the world in black and white, as two sides of a war.
Harry shakes his head and inhales a large gulp of air to clear his thoughts. He's getting caught up in the same thoughts over and over again. All it does is upset him.
A few more hours, and then they'll see the result of their hard work. Nothing new has happened since the day Harry decided he would come up with his own plan to deal with the Slytherins. It leaves Harry, and everyone else, feeling rather uneasy. Tom thinks the Slytherins are biding their time, and Harry supposes that has held true.
He and Tom have been productive in the meantime, at any rate. Tom has devoted a decent amount of time to helping Annalise with Transfiguration. It's kind of him, but Harry knows better. Tom doesn't want Professor Dumbledore to outdo him. Tom wants everyone to know he is the best so that they will always look to him first.
Just outside Harry's bed curtains, there is a soft rustling sound. Harry freezes, which is stupid because no one can see him right now anyways, then decides it must be Tom. It seems like they always wake together. It also seems like Harry bothers Tom with his problems no matter how hard he tries not to.
Harry sighs softly. It's as good a reason as any to go back to bed. Whatever waits for them in the morning, there is no changing it now.
The trip from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade station is uneventful.
Harry, Tom, Septimus, and Annalise share a carriage ride together. Tom is at the top of the rankings, as expected, and Harry has scored the same as last time. It is all very anticlimactic, but Tom is pleased about his marks. His chest had been puffed with pride while their classmates congratulated him.
"I knew I would, of course," Tom says to Harry in an undertone. "They may be privileged with their tutors and their large vaults, but they're weak. They don't know what it means to work for their own achievements. You'll catch up soon enough, Harry. I'll help you. Then it will be you and I at the top of the list every year."
Harry wants to believe it. He'd love to see his name listed under Tom's and know that he belonged there because of his own merits. It's just that Tom excels at everything, all the time, almost effortlessly. Harry can't count the number of instances where Tom has mastered a new spell on the first try. He can't imagine himself doing the same thing. No matter how hard he studies or how much Tom helps him, there will always be subjects and spells that are difficult for him to learn.
Which is fine, really. Harry is content with the classes he is good at: Charms, Defense, Potions, and Transfiguration. He's happy with what he has. Before they'd left for breakfast, Professor Dumbledore had given out copies of their marks to take home to their families. Harry's parchment sits in his bag, neatly rolled. The only other person who will ever look at it is Tom.
Across from him, Annalise is tight-lipped and distant as their carriage bumps along the road. Had her marks gone well? Or, even if they had, were they good enough?
Adelaide is probably somewhere in a carriage behind them. Harry has seen less of her lately. Annalise says her sister has been worried about exams and spending time more with her dorm mates.
Soon enough they arrive at the Hogsmeade station and board the Hogwarts Express. Tom leads them into an empty compartment a third of the way down the train. The four of them sit—Tom and Harry across from Septimus and Annalise.
The train pulls out of the station. Tom brings out a book to read, leaving the rest of them to make quiet conversation. Septimus starts in on his plans for the holidays, going on about his family traditions and how they decorate the house. Annalise joins in here and there in an absent-minded manner, but she is mostly quiet, leaving Harry to hold up the other end of the conversation.
Halfway through the ride, Harry can tell something is not right. It takes a further fifteen minutes for him to realize why he thinks so. Adelaide usually comes by to say hello, but as of right now their compartment has yet to be interrupted.
Harry wants to ask what's going on, but the energy of the compartment is off. It's not quite right. If he interjects now, he is fairly certain that he will cause more problems than he solves. So Harry shoves his curiosity down for the time being and sits on it all the way until they arrive at King's Cross Station.
If Tom notices anything, he doesn't act like it. As they grab their things, Tom fusses over their cloaks and robes, intent on ensuring they both look perfect for when they greet Septimus' parents. Harry has to bat Tom's hands away from his hair, much to Septimus' amusement.
"It's a lost cause," Harry mutters.
Tom tuts in a way that reminds Harry of Mrs. Cole. She used to cluck with disappointment at the way his hair refused to lay flat. Harry is sorely tempted to poke fun at Tom for acting like a crotchety old woman, but it is nice when Tom pays attention to him. It makes Harry feel important and cared for. He doesn't want to dissuade it, not when their relationship continues to feel awkward and stilted at times.
"We're going to be late," Annalise interjects, thoroughly putting an end to Harry's indecision with her anxious tone. "I still need to find Adelaide! She didn't come to see us during the train ride."
Septimus sucks in a breath. "I noticed but… I didn't think too much on it. Is she alright, then? She seemed alright at breakfast."
"I don't know. I haven't spoken with her today."
Tom tugs down his and Harry's bag from the top racks. "Let's disembark, then. She won't be far off."
Tom is right. They've hardly touched their feet to the ground of King's Cross when Adelaide comes barrelling over, bookbag slung around her shoulder, expression stern as she fixes her gaze on Annalise. Adelaide's hair is pulled into a severe bun piled on the top of her head. It makes her serious expression look even harsher.
Annalise flashes a wide smile, but when she speaks, her voice is pitched and squeaky, faltering at the sight of her sister's flat stare. "Adelaide!"
"Annalise." Adelaide's shoulders are stiff as she holds out a hand, waving it impatiently. "Let's go. Sebastian said he'd wait for us at the next pillar over from the entrance."
"Oh, but can't we just have a moment? I haven't seen you all day, really. Don't you want to say goodbye?"
Adelaide looks the rest of them over. "Good bye, Riddle, Evans, Weasley. Have a happy Yule."
"You too," says Septimus.
Tom slides his hands into his trouser pockets. "Happy Yule."
Despite his misgivings, Harry can only echo the same sentiment as the others. "Happy Yule."
Annalise grips the handle of her trunk and tugs it closer to her body. Then her brows tug together. "But I just—"
"We can't stay here forever," Adelaide snaps. "Alright? We have to go. Putting it off just makes it worse for both of us."
"But—"
Adelaide takes Annalise by the arm. "We're leaving. Let's go."
Annalise jerks backwards, eyes wide. "What's wrong with you? Why are you acting like this?"
"Not everything is about you, Annalise!" Adelaide's voice shakes, her hands balled into fists at her sides. She blinks rapidly, like she's holding back tears. "Why can't you just listen to what I say? You're supposed to be the eldest, not me. I always have to do everything for you because you're afraid of your own shadow. I don't know what the Hat saw in you, to put you into Gryffindor."
Annalise starts to cry. Not loudly, not visibly—a tiny hiccup escapes her mouth, and tears slip down her cheeks.
"You won't even stand up for yourself," Adelaide finishes, her jaw jutting out in defiance as though to prove her point. But as Annalise wipes at her eyes, Adelaide's anger cracks, faltering. She tears her gaze away to the rest of the crowded platform, her mouth pressed into a thin line.
Tom stares dispassionately at the scene, likely unwilling to intervene. Harry feels guilty, though he's unsure why. Perhaps he should have said something about Adelaide's absence sooner. Had something upset her on the train?
"Adelaide," says Septimus, in a voice just loud enough to carry over the uncomfortable silence. "That's not alright."
Adelaide swings around to look at him. Her irritation is plain on her face as she scowls. "This is none of your business, Weasley. Has it ever occurred to you that your parents don't care about your grades because they already have older, more successful sons to boast about?"
The moment sharpens, freezing over like ice. Harry finds he has his breath held.
"Fine," Septimus says flatly. "Maybe you are right about that, and maybe it isn't my business what you say. But you won't change my mind, Adelaide. I think you need to calm down."
Alarmingly, Adelaide lets out a burble of hysterical laughter. "Right," she says, once she's pulled herself together enough to be coherent. Harry thinks he might see the sheen of unshed tears in her eyes, but he can't tell for sure. "Annalise, come on. They're waiting for us."
Shockingly, Annalise inhales a shaky breath and nods. "Okay. Yes." She holds out her hand for her sister to take.
After a pause, Adelaide grabs it, and the rest of them watch as the two girls walk off together.
"Let's go find your parents, Septimus," says Tom, speaking for the first time since the altercation had begun. "They're likely waiting for us as well."
Septimus grimaces at Tom's bluntness, but says, "Sure, let's go."
Septimus' parents are just as kind as they'd been at the start of the year. Harry notes that they don't ask after anyone's grades, although that may be because he and Tom are around. It wouldn't make sense to ask Septimus about his marks in front of other people.
"Did Atticus get some time off for the holidays?" Septimus asks his mother.
Mrs. Weasley purses her lips together. "He has been trying, bless him. We may only see him closer to Christmas, I'm afraid. He told your father that he plans to work extra so he can have the days off that he wants."
"I hope he can," Septimus says, then looks over at—at him?
It takes a minute for Harry to realize why. Atticus is supposed to give him a proper healer's check up. It's nice that Septimus cares enough to remember that. Given the stress of the past few months, Harry had forgotten all about it.
"Atticus is very nice," Tom agrees aloud, which is how Harry knows that Tom also remembers what Articus had promised to do.
Shortly after that, all of them Apparate to the Weasley's home. It is only Harry's second experience with Apparition, but it is infinitely preferable to the Floo.
"You can both stay in my room," Septimus says as they tromp up the stairs. "I can share with Nate or something."
"You're not staying with me," Nathaniel calls from the ground floor. "It's my room, sorry. There's plenty of other space in the house."
"Well, alright," Septimus says, unbothered. He turns back to Harry and Tom. "Maybe I could fit you both in—"
"Septimus," scolds Mrs. Weasley from a few steps ahead of them. "There really is only room for two people in your room, not three. You wouldn't want to squish your friends into your room when there are perfectly good rooms in this house for them to stay in."
"We don't want to be any trouble," Harry says awkwardly. "Any room is fine, honestly." Then he glances between Septimus and Tom, trying to judge their reactions. Honestly, he wishes the three of them could just share a room together. While he has roomed with Tom for years now, he also doesn't want Septimus to feel left out.
"Harry and I are used to sharing a room together," Tom says, "at the orphanage. I'm sure all of your rooms here are lovelier by far, Mrs. Weasley."
Mrs. Weasley looks chagrined. "Yes, of course. Well, we don't quite have the room for one each, as much as I'd like. But perhaps you and Harry can take Jon's old room? I would believe it's the one of the larger ones aside from the master bedroom."
Tom smiles. "That would be wonderful, thank you."
Jon's old room is larger than their room at Wool's. Harry and Tom watch as Septimus' father unshrinks an extra bed into the mostly-empty space and summons bedding to cover it.
When all is said and done, both beds look exactly the same, which Harry is glad for. If it came down to a difference, Tom would try to give him the nicer bed. Harry isn't in the mood to be babied. All he can think of is the way Annalise and Adelaide's argument echoes in his head, making him uneasy.
Add on that his nightmares have been worse lately, and it is a recipe for disaster regardless of what bed he sleeps in.
"What do you think about what happened at the station?" Harry asks Tom later that evening, once they're alone and assured of their privacy.
Dinner had been a quick and painless affair with the Weasley parents, Septimus, and Nathaniel. After the long train ride, none of them had been much in the mood to engage in anything other than polite conversation. With an amused comment on their suppressed yawns, Septimus' mother had then sent them all off to bed.
Tom smooths back the blankets on his bed in a thoughtful manner. "Adelaide is right. It's none of our business."
The answer is not surprising. Tom doesn't tend to concern himself with the problems of others unless it suits him. It's just that Tom had promised to make an effort that Harry feels a need to speak up. "So you don't care?" Harry asks bluntly.
Tom's hands slow in their motions. He straightens up and turns to meet Harry's stare. "It isn't that I don't care," Tom says. "But what do you expect me to do, Harry? If they're having a spat with each other, then it has nothing to do with you or me. They'll sort it out in due time on their own. Adelaide won't stay mad at Annalise forever."
Harry scrunches his brows up. It's not that he disagrees with what Tom has said, it's more that this feels like an excuse not to intervene. However, arguing won't get them anywhere. Harry doesn't want to start an argument today.
"I suppose," Harry says. He walks over to his bed and falls onto it, spreading his arms and legs out for a moment before reaching for the covers.
Soon after that, the lights are out. Tom breathes softly from across the room, in and out at a steady rate. Harry shifts in place, trying to get comfortable. It will be a while before he can fall asleep, he realizes. He's always had trouble with sleeping in new places. First at Wool's, then at Hogwarts. Despite how friendly the Weasleys are, Harry doesn't expect it to be any different here.
Still, he closes his eyes and tries to match his inhales and exhales with Tom. In a way, he's glad that Tom is here with him. It would be strange to do this with Septimus. Not to mention it would be uncomfortable if Harry had a nightmare and woke them both up. At Hogwarts he has the privacy of his bed hangings and the spells cast on them. Here, he has none of that. He only has Tom as his silent protector across the room.
Harry doesn't want Tom to pity him or feel a need to look after him, but he does have to admit that he is more comfortable knowing Tom is only a few steps away. It is with this in mind that he can relax his body and even out his breathing enough to feel sleepy.
Eventually, Tom's quiet breaths send him drifting into slumber.
Harry wakes some hours later, sweating all over. He is shaking violently, wordless gasps forming in the back of his throat. The vividness of his fear consumes him, fills him with numbness. Harry feels trapped in his own body, unable to move, unable to call for help.
"Harry?"
Tom rushes over and wraps his arms around Harry's shoulders. Harry trembles and trembles like a crinkly leaf in the wind. Even Tom's presence isn't enough to dispel the panic coursing through him.
His lungs seize up, then, straining with the effort of keeping his erratic breaths steady. Harry coughs roughly, which prompts Tom to start patting his back. Then Tom mumbles some nice words that Harry can't quite hear. Harry hates being like this. He hates that every time he gets into a panic, he can't even breathe properly.
"T-Tom?" he rasps, trying to get enough air into his lungs to speak. His eyes are watery and slightly sore from being rubbed at.
"I'm here, Harry. Are you alright?"
Harry isn't, but Tom probably already knows that. After a few minutes, Harry is at last calm enough to squirm around in Tom's embrace and look into his eyes.
"Feeling better?" Tom asks.
Harry nods, then sniffles, embarrassed. "Yes."
"Good." Tom's voice is rough, a bit shaky around the edges. It's unusual to hear Tom sound like that. Harry half-wonders if it's just his own failure to focus on what Tom is saying. Maybe he's imagining it.
"I'm sorry I woke you," Harry says, and he's glad to hear his own voice sounds a bit steadier. He shifts over so that they are sitting next to each other, arms touching.
When Tom replies, he sounds grim. "No trouble. I was already awake."
Harry pulls his knees up to his chest. "You've been awake a lot, lately. At least one of us should be getting some sleep," he jokes.
Tom taps his fingers on his thighs. "What are your nightmares about, Harry?"
"They're nothing," Harry lies. "I don't even remember what I was dreaming about." This, at least, is the truth.
"But you do, sometimes." Tom nudges Harry with his shoulder. "You know you can tell me anything, Harry. I won't be upset."
Harry's throat closes up. Everything about his life is related to Tom, even his nightmares. He trusts Tom with his life, but… but he can't quite bring himself to trust Tom with this. "It's not important," Harry says, injecting firmness into the words.
"You are important to me. Perhaps if you talk about what's upsetting you…?"
Tom has never pushed on this subject before. Harry had always been content to let Tom believe these nightmares were from the period of his life before they'd met. Back when Harry had been young and friendless and bullied.
"They're just nightmares," Harry says quietly. "I'll grow out of them eventually."
"It's upsetting you," Tom insists. "You will feel better if you talk about it."
"I said no, Tom."
Tom goes very still, and Harry worries that Tom's gotten mad at him. Then Tom says, "If it was Septimus asking, would you tell him?"
Harry frowns. "That's not fair, Tom. This has nothing to do with Septimus."
"Fine. It doesn't," Tom says, and his voice is so flat that Harry has to resist the urge to shrink away.
"It doesn't," he repeats. "I'm sorry, Tom. I know you only want to help me but—" He pauses to take a deep, calming breath. "This is something I have to sort on my own."
"I see." Tom seems to relax; his hands smooth at his sleep trousers for a moment. Then he gives Harry's hand a pat. "That's alright, Harry. I believe in you."
Harry is relieved. He had been firm about what he wanted, and Tom had listened to him. "Thank you," Harry says, grateful. "I think we should go back to sleep now," he adds.
"Do you want me to stay?"
Tom means in the bed, together. Harry nibbles at his lip, considering the offer. Part of him wants Tom to stay. Tom means safety. But he'd just said to Tom that he wanted to handle his problems on his own. It would be hypocritical of him to ask for help now, wouldn't it?
"I'm okay. Thank you for asking."
Tom sighs, the pass of air so quiet that Harry nearly misses it. "Very well. Good night, Harry."
"Good night, Tom." Harry feels the mattress shift underneath him as Tom's weight pulls away. He ignores the pang that shoots through him and tries to go back to sleep.
A/N:
next tuesday is the one-year anniversary for this series! i will try to have another chapter out by then, but no guarantees. thank you for reading, your thoughts are appreciated!
Come join 'The Room of Requirement', a community Discord server for fans of the Harry / Tom | Voldemort ship (and characters). The server is 16+ and can be found with invite code: 2suak9y
