Part Three: Tom (Gay)
The best part of Abraxas' parties was the sheer number of people in attendance. All of them rich, all of them influential. So many strings to pull, so many little emotions and behaviours to manipulate. It was not a daily sort of activity—it drained after a while—but it was an enjoyable one nonetheless.
With the added element of Harry Evans, today had shaped up to be very interesting indeed. Evans did not conform to the masses. He did not care to fraternize with high society, but this was not because he felt inadequate—no, Tom was certain that Harry thought himself above the rest, and wasn't that a curious outlook to have?
Harry, like Tom, had no notable surname to boast of. Tom had searched high and low for the Gaunts and the Riddles, for his family, and had found neither: only an empty, dilapidated shack and an old, remodelled house in the area of Little Hangleton. If Harry Evans came from a Pureblood house, he was doing a swell job of keeping that information to himself.
Now that they were to duel, Tom found himself excited. He had known, ever since viewing the memories of Hepzibah's House-Elf, that Harry was more powerful than he seemed.
During their brief interactions, Tom could sense the near-violent surge of magic that Harry held at bay. When they duelled, it would be marvellous, intoxicating. Even if Harry could not duel well, which Tom doubted, the sheer magical potency he brought to the table was more than enough to make a duel worth Tom's time.
Harry handed his robes off to a House-Elf, then undid his cufflinks, placing them into the pouch he wore around his neck before he rolled up his sleeves and drew out his wand. Harry's wand was laurel wood and perhaps twelve inches long; Tom could only wonder at what the core was.
As the two of them took their places in the duelling ring, Harry scowled at him. Amused, Tom tugged at the front of his shirt in an attempt to air it out. The motion caught Harry's eye, of course, which brought a smirk to Tom's lips. He would not hold back and neither would Harry, which meant this duel was going to be fun.
Under Rosier's direction, they bowed. Tom with a flourish and Harry with a stiffness that belied his dislike.
If Tom was being honest, he was not sure who would win. He had gone out of his way to show off in his duel with Orion, to dazzle the crowd and impress not only his followers, but also Harry. That decision had led to depleting his magic unnecessarily.
Still, his reserves were holding up well. He and Orion had limited themselves to basic spells, and although Tom had cast a large number of them, it was not enough of a drain to hinder a clever and determined mind. Physically, however, he was a bit winded, and that was his own fault.
He and Harry stepped back from each other. Adrenalin from before returned with a vengeance, accelerating Tom's heart rate. Tom kept a firm grip on his wand and paced out to the marker that Abraxas had placed in the grass. Once there, he pivoted and caught Harry's gaze once more.
While Tom's own expression was neutral, unreadable, Harry's was clearly incensed. Tom had provoked him into agreeing to duel, after all. Now it was only a matter of who would fire first.
Tom decided he would provoke again since it had worked the first time. Harry's first choice of spell would give him an idea of what fighting style to expect.
However, as soon as Tom opened his mouth to speak, Harry launched a Stunner in his direction. Instinctively, Tom raised a shield in response. The spell splattered harmlessly against it, after which Tom dropped his shield and cast two curses in succession.
Harry swerved out of the way and summoned a chair—a chair, really?—from outside the ring to block the next Stunner that Tom sent. There was no rule against using the chairs, Tom thought before he was forced to deflect yet another spell, this time a Disarming Charm.
On they went, spells flying back and forth with great speed. Harry summoned more furniture, most of which Tom either blasted to smithereens or stole for his own usage. Tom also noticed that the spells hitting his shields were growing stronger—Harry was using Tom's current lack of stamina to his advantage.
So Tom began to dodge instead, but that also took effort. Harry shot off spells with no discernible strategy, which meant Tom had to dodge wildly each and every time.
After several near misses on both sides, the duel paused for a moment. Tom suspended a shield in front of him while he tried to work out a new plan of attack. Harry was breathing hard, sweat beaded along his hairline. He had his own, smaller shield covering most of his abdomen.
Harry did not adhere to patterns, did not utilize any duelling styles that Tom was familiar with. He acted on instinct, but his instincts were exceptional. At this point, Tom could admit to himself that he would only win if he took Harry by surprise, or if Harry slipped up and made a mistake.
Tom summoned a wooden table and dropped his shield in the same breath, gathering his magic for what he was about to do. Harry reacted, firing a fresh set of Stunners. Tom fell sideways to dodge them, splintered his own table as it came barrelling towards him, then hurtled the shards in Harry's direction.
Harry set the shards on fire. He set the wooden shards that were flying towards him on fire. Most of them burned to ash before they made contact, but the rest died either on the grass below or in small, flaming specks against Harry's clothing.
Tom seized the temporary moment of distraction to fire off several more spells, determined to overwhelm and land at least one hit, but Harry conjured a new shield in place almost immediately, prompting Tom to understand why Harry had chosen to take the first hit.
Deflecting the shards of wood would have required a physical shield. For deflecting spells, magical shielding was required, and to maintain two shields at once was extremely difficult at best, especially during a duel, and impossible at worst. Harry had anticipated Tom's distraction and taken the physical hit.
Frustrated, Tom rolled to his feet, new shield in place, and gritted his teeth. His left arm was throbbing, the result of a previous Stinging Hex. His only consolation was that Harry's shirt was the proud owner of several new tears.
Tom blew out a rough exhale. There was nothing for it. He had to catch Harry off-guard, and he had to do it now. He drew on his strength to conjure a powerful magical shield, one that would withstand whatever battering Harry could throw at it.
They were mere paces away from each other. Harry would not expect him to run for a tackle. He would not expect the Muggle way from Tom Riddle, who until this point had relied upon shields to block spellfire.
Physical contact was not permitted in a traditional duel. Tom was not intending such a thing, but Harry did not know that. Harry would react instinctively.
It was not his best plan, but it would have to do. Tom held his shield aloft, prepared for the worst, and charged.
Several overpowered spells slammed into Tom's shield without mercy. Tom winced with each impact but carried on, weathering the blows. If his shield cracked, he was done for.
The distance closed between them within seconds. Three more spells shattered violently against Tom's shield, but Tom only snarled in response to the strain. Harry's eyes widened in surprise. He was alarmed enough to step back, but it was too late. At this point, it would be impossible for him to twist out of the way.
Tom dropped his magical shield and, with the remnants of his power, conjured a physical shield and slammed it into Harry Evans using the full force of his body weight.
Harry toppled backwards with an ungainly yelp, Tom floating half on top of him, the shield separating them both.
The trouble was, in his exhaustion, Tom had forgotten to consider the power required to suspend his own body weight in the air. The sudden addition of his own weight snapped his control—his shield broke, cracking loudly, and vanished into nothingness.
Tom landed on top of Harry with a painful gasp, but he had no time to recover from having the wind knocked out of him because Harry was rolling them over, pinning Tom's back to the ground, and aiming his laurel wood wand at Tom's throat.
Tom's breath rattled in his lungs and expelled itself with a faint wheeze. Harry, conversely, was red faced and panting, his expression a mix of anger and confusion as he braced one hand on Tom's shoulder for balance. The glowing tip of his wand was pressed against the hollow at the base of Tom's neck.
"It's over," Harry said breathlessly. The wand tip prodded down, digging into the skin there. "Do you yield?"
Tom began to laugh, much to Harry's further confusion. Oh, yes, Harry was one to keep. There was no going back from this. Tom grinned, baring his teeth in a feral manner. He could feel the sweat dripping down his face and soaking his neck. He could feel exactly where Harry was straddling his body, pinning him to the dirt and the grass.
Slowly, Tom flipped his wand so it was handle out, and offered it up. Surrender.
"Evans wins!" Rosier declared from somewhere behind them.
Harry glanced up, bewildered, like he'd forgotten that they were in the middle of a garden party. The anger faded from his face as a polite cheer sounded from the crowd. Harry stood and put his wand away, then looked back down at Tom, who had yet to move.
Tom propped himself up on an elbow and widened his eyes. With reluctance, Harry offered out a hand. Tom seized it and pulled himself up quickly, likely quicker than Harry was expecting. The end result was that they were standing chest to chest but inches apart, the both of them still breathing hard.
"Congratulations," Tom murmured, close enough that his breath would tickle the shell of Harry's ear and perhaps the side of his face. He squeezed Harry's hand once, then released it, pulling back just in time for their admirers to swarm in.
Of course, there were many of them; Harry had bested Tom Riddle in a duel. So Tom kept close, smiled through all of Harry's well-wishers and offered up his own praise of Harry's abilities.
His pride was not badly wounded; Harry was a formidable opponent and it was clear to all that Tom had not been at his best. He could grit his teeth and bear one afternoon of this.
They would rematch soon though, Tom decided. Now that he had a measure of how Harry duelled, he would formulate new strategies to win.
Tom watched as Harry fumbled through the attention and flattery that was heaped upon him. After a point, however, Tom began to fend off the unwanted enthusiasts. It wouldn't do for them to take up too much of Harry's time.
Harry seemed relieved by Tom's intervention, and Tom was reminded that Harry likely had little to no experience with high society. The likes of Walburga would eat him alive if given half the chance. With a subtle gesture to Abraxas and Ophelia, Tom ordered for the party to wrap itself up.
The guests made their way out after thanking Ophelia for hosting such a lovely afternoon. Soon enough, only Tom's most trusted remained. Many of them looked put-off. No doubt they were irritated that Harry had taken up so much of his attention.
With a sigh, Tom brought Harry over to Ophelia and turned him into her care. "I will return to discuss business." He gave Harry's shoulder a fleeting touch for good measure, then made his way over to where his Knights were currently sulking.
"Tom," greeted Mulciber. "Evans got his legs under him now? Or must you babysit him some more?"
Tom restrained his anger and forced a smile. To them, it would look natural and honest. "Odd thing to say about someone who has bested me in a duel. I daresay he's accomplished more than you have in that regard."
Mulciber had the sense to fake an expression of contrition, but he unfortunately did not have the sense to cease his pointless campaign against Harry. "He hardly belongs with us. No manners, no sense of propriety. The way he looks at you, like he constantly wants to hex you—"
Greatness inspired envy. Envy inspired spite. Tom sighed and stepped forward, laying a hand over Mulciber's chest. "I understand you mean well, Anderson, and I greatly appreciate that you put such consideration into looking out for my best interests."
"Yes, well, of course I do," Mulciber said hastily. Tom could feel the man's heart thud traitorously in his chest, could see his pupils dilate. "We all want what's best for you, Tom."
"And I am grateful to have such wonderful friends." Tom smiled at them all, pausing to make eye contact with each person. "I know Harry may not seem like a good fit for us at the moment, but he will. I promise. With time, you will see him as you see me, as you see each other."
"Does he even want to join us?" Rosier asked, sounding skeptical. "I can see him watching us. He seems far from impressed."
Tom withdrew from Mulciber, whose lips twitched into a frown at the new distance between them. Then Tom sighed again, theatrically this time, and ran a hand through his hair, aware of the eyes that gazed upon him. "I can convince him," Tom said slowly, thoughtfully. "You saw him today. Imagine how well he would do by our side."
"A Mudblood?" Avery pointed out. Then, into the pause that followed, he added, "What? You're all thinking it. None of you are saying it because you're too afraid." He sneered. "Well, I'm not. I want to know, Tom, why you're inviting this Mudblood into our ranks."
For Salazar's sake. Tom frowned, affecting an expression of hurt that he did not truly feel. "You know how much my heritage means to me, Edward. It wounds me that you would fail to extend the same courtesy to Harry." Tom spread his hands wide. "You have seen me at my worst, searching for answers and finding none. Family is a fickle thing, which is why I have created my own bonds. Bonds stronger than blood." Again, Tom took the time to regard each of his Knights in turn. "I have faith that we will be able to aid Harry in his quest for the truth."
This time there was no retort. The conversation appeared to have reached its natural end. Tom offered another smile, milder than the ones that had preceded it.
"Do we feel better about this decision?" he asked kindly. "I am more than willing to extend this discussion, though perhaps it would be best to shelve it for a future meeting. I do have business to attend to with Harry."
There were some hesitant nods from the group. Tom nodded in return, knowing that this was as much progress as could be expected.
"I appreciate your attendance today," he said to them, "and Abraxas, I thank you for lending us the use of your lovely home. I do hope our little spectacle of ruining your outdoor furniture has not put you off of hosting for good." Here, Tom cracked a grin and was rewarded with good-natured laughter from his men. "Please extend my thanks to your wives and families as well," he added. "It is always a delight to have such a large group."
"Of course," Orion said, speaking for the first time since their somber gathering had begun. "I know Walburga looks forward to our gatherings, if only to gather fuel for her gossip."
"Ah, yes. We must not forget about the power of your wife's sharp tongue." Again, more laughter, even from Orion. Tom smiled and took both of Orion's hands in his, giving them a firm shake. "But thank you, Orion, for the duel today. It was an honour, as always."
"Any time, Tom." Orion's eyes were bright with affection. The man did not care much for his wife, but he did care for Tom and the Knights of Walpurgis. Their group gave Orion purpose.
"Wonderful." Tom felt pleased with the outcome of the day. Things were going well. Soon the remains of Slytherin's locket would be in his hands. "I shall not impose myself on you any longer. We will see each other again next week, if not before then."
Tom bid each man farewell, folding them into a brief, friendly embrace before they departed. No one seemed to mind that Tom's clothes were stained with grass, dirt, and sweat. Tom lingered where it felt appropriate and made sure to tease out a smile if possible.
When they were all gone, Tom turned to Abraxas. "A moment with Harry," he said, "and then I will leave you to your privacy." In the background, the House-Elves had already begun their work of tidying the space up.
"Take your time," Abraxas said. "Ophelia and I will be inside if you need us."
This was why Abraxas was one of his favourites. Excessive pride and grandstanding aside, Abraxas was clever, understanding, and only ever brought his concerns to Tom in private. Tom laid a hand on Abraxas' forearm and squeezed gently. "Thank you."
Abraxas nodded in acknowledgement. "If you think Evans can be convinced, I trust you. His potential is obvious." Abraxas' gaze flickered to the now-empty dueling circle, where most of the turf had been ruined by Tom and Harry's duel. "But do be careful, Tom. The others may be bad-tempered and inhospitable, but that does not mean Evans is trustworthy."
"You are correct," Tom demurred. "I will be cautious. Thank you for your advice."
Abraxas offered a half-smile and laid a hand on Tom's shoulder, sliding his touch to the nape of Tom's neck and applying the slightest amount of pressure there before he pulled back. "I will leave you with Evans. Good luck."
Tom smiled back, then made his way to where Harry was waiting next to Ophelia. "Lady Ophelia," Tom said respectfully. "You were a gracious host today and have my utmost appreciation and thanks."
Ophelia fixed him with an amused stare. "You're very welcome, Tom. I'm glad to see you now that you've finished flirting with my husband." Next to her, Harry choked on nothing and did a poor job of hiding it. "I have kept your latest beau safe, as you asked of me. All I ask is that you please avoid ruining the rest of our estate grounds with your bizarre courting methods." She patted his arm condescendingly, then departed.
Tom turned to Harry, who was regarding him with wariness. "Did you enjoy yourself today?" Tom asked lightly, deciding it would be better for them both if he chose to ignore Ophelia's commentary.
"The Malfoys are gracious hosts," Harry said haltingly. He tore his gaze away for a moment as if to steady himself, then said, "I assume you're here for the locket?"
Straight to business, then. "If you don't mind."
Harry reached for the mokeskin pouch looped around his neck and opened it up. "Slytherin's locket." The locket leapt into his waiting palm. It was horrifically charred, the metal black and twisted beyond recognition. Could it even open anymore?
Tom felt a pang of disappointment in his chest. He had known, after all, what had been done to it, but seeing it in person was different.
Harry dangled the locket out and dropped it into Tom's hand. Tom closed his fingers around it, wishing he could squeeze down until his knuckles went white. However, he couldn't risk any further damage. Tom conjured a handkerchief and wrapped the locket up before tucking it into the breast pocket of his shirt.
"So now," Harry said, drawing the syllables out, "you'll keep your promise. You'll leave me alone, you won't seek me out again."
"Ah," Tom said quietly, smiling. "Do you remember what I said earlier? When I asked if you had changed your mind and you mistook my question for a different request." Harry grimaced, which was all the encouragement Tom needed to continue, "We have now, however, reached the point of our time together which prevails upon me to ask if you have reconsidered your potential place by my side."
"I haven't," Harry said, too quickly to be normal. "I haven't changed my mind. I told you that I would never join you, and I meant it."
Tom tsked, stepping closer. "But I am not what you expected, am I? Can you honestly say that what you saw today fit whatever misguided, convoluted idea you have of me?"
"I am not joining you," Harry said. His voice was firmer than before and there was a determined glint in his green eyes.
Tom was undeterred. "We duelled and I lost. I can respect a man who duels as well as you do, Harry."
"I don't—I don't need your respect."
Tom had kept a close eye on Harry's expression. He knew Harry would not be swayed with arrogance and threats. Harry had to be lured in, gently, with sweetness.
"I asked if you have reconsidered my offer," Tom repeated. "The answer need not be yes, not now. An open mind is what you promised me. Your consideration." He drew closer yet, resisting the urge to touch—it would not be welcome, most likely. Instead, Tom let his eyes drift over Harry's face, lingering on those bright eyes, on the dark pout of Harry's lips.
"If you have enjoyed yourself today," Tom said softly, "if you found my company to be inoffensive, then I would love to see you again."
Tom allowed that statement to hang in the air, hopefully settling into the crevices of Harry's mind, burrowing itself there as an idea that could not be killed.
Then, once he felt the moment had been given an appropriate amount of gravitas, he added, "I will forward you a new invitation when the time comes. Until then, I shall keep my promise and maintain my distance. Should you change your mind before then, feel free to send an owl."
Harry's mouth twisted into a scowl. "I'm telling you: I won't change my mind, Riddle."
It was not an outright refusal. Tom beamed and held out a hand to shake. When Harry took it, Tom twisted their joined hands in a single, fluid motion, lifting the back of Harry's hand to his lips and placing a tender kiss there. It took Harry by surprise; a second passed before he yanked his hand back as if it had been burned.
Tom gazed up at Harry from beneath lowered lashes and smirked. "Until next time," he promised and then before Harry could respond, he Disapparated.
A/N:
the next chapter has yet to be written out sooooo expect a longer delay :V
also harry still doesn't really understand that the knight of walpurgis are tom's no-homo harem but HE WILL. HE WILL VERY SOON.