Previously: Tom tells Harry about his experience in Hell, and about something he calls "the New Dream". After that, the boy and the shade's bond deepens fast. They spend carefree moments together, enjoying each other company, but it's too good to stay like that ...

Notes: Thank you to Trello for their amazing beta reading!

Of smoke and stone

Chapter 7: blinding sun

"I liked it. Despite myself. It was half-gross, half-engrossing," said Harry.

"I liked it too," agreed Tom after a pause.

"I thought you found them... deviant. You called them queer ."

"Well, Lord Voldemort was a deviant, wasn't he?"

Harry blinked, processing the absurd idea. Was Voldemort ... gay?

"Were you attracted to anyone? When you were alive?"

"I don't know. The more time passes, the more my past self feels alien. I'm starting to forget."

Harry shivered. It was Sunday, and they were having a lazy morning in bed, talking about Dean and Seamus' carefree under-the-blanket fondling from the night before. Harry hadn't meant to pry on the shade's internal conflicts.

"And now? Okay, I know Voldemort was old when he died, but you look like you're sixteen. Heck, you sound like you're sixteen most of the time. Isn't there anyone you find attractive in school? Someone you wouldn't mind having sex with?"

"I can't consider sex when I don't even have a body," replied impatiently Tom. "I don't think that way of living people. Maybe the bathroom girl gho -"

"Don't. Please. It's ... Just don't," Harry grimaced, a bit nauseous. The implication Tom would be able to bang Myrtle, whom he had murdered, was too much for him to take. After a couple seconds, a thought occurred to him. "Sure, you don't have a body, but you can still feel that, can't you?"

Harry carefully stroked the shade's arm. The smoke was thick and humid under his fingers, and it rearranged itself to embrace his touch, pliant and happy, like water hugging a rock, like a nest welcoming an egg.

Tom closed his eyes, his longing for physical contact bringing nonexistent tears to his eyes. Harry slowly withdrew his hand, trying to leave the smoke undisturbed, trying not to leave his mark.

"I wish I could touch you. Figure out if you're really gay," he said in a light tone.

"I'm a minor," retorted Tom, but he was smiling and wasn't looking like he was about to cry anymore.

xXx

Tom was a very addictive being. He had a soothing effect, as if he were a familiar or a guardian. He was safe to talk to, for he couldn't repeat any secret. He was also dependent on the Stone, meaning he was totally under Harry's control. Last thing, Harry couldn't accidentally kill him.

The shade was the perfect companion.

Except until he wasn't anymore.

Christmas had come and gone, it was January and Harry couldn't remember the last time he had actually talked with a living soul. He was drifting away from his friends and from the rest of the living world. He was upset no one was caring or trying to help anymore, even though he intellectually knew he could only blame himself for pushing them away too many times.

One day, Tom dared to lecture him about his unhealthy lifestyle.

"You're wasting your time away. You're drinking alone, in the middle of the day."

"Fuck you," Harry took a long sip of his beer. "It's my first one."

He was buried in his armchair, alone in the Common Room. Everyone else was at the Quidditch match. Harry didn't know which teams were playing. Merlin, he didn't know any of the captains' names.

"You'll regret it. This is your last year of school."

"The truth is you're just bored of staying with me, aren't you? Want me to give this shoelace to ... Neville? Maybe he will entertain you better," Harry took out the Stone from under his shirt, showing it to the shade.

Tom laughed without humor. "I'm not interested. I'm personally content being with you. But you , you are not happy."

"What do you know about happiness?"

"As much as you do, apparently," Tom pretended to sit on the armrest, his hand resting a millimeter from Harry's. Harry unconsciously leant against him, his skin yearning for the smoke ribbons' electrifying touch.

"You need to talk with people. You need to touch them. To hug them," Tom seemed unaware of the effect he had on Harry's heart and body.

The Gryffindor moved his little finger, starving for touch. The smoke answered at once, rippling, undulating, its feathery particles wrapping around Harry's finger.

"You're a creep. Have you ever been hugged before?" Harry managed to croak, trying valiantly to hide his trouble.

Tom looked embarrassed and desperate. "It's too late."

Harry's heart broke a bit, the budding desire he had started feeling in his belly withering and dying.

"It's not," he lied, while carefully surrounding the shade with his arms. The embrace was loose and a mere shadow of a hug. Soon, Harry's arms were aching, for there was no other body to support them. "I'll try to socialize. I'll hug many people."

Still, Tom's smoke was comforting against him. It was like hugging mist or clouds, a sweet, warm and soft fantasy. It was also sad of course, but it was them.

xXx

"No he didn't."

"He did. I swear he did, " swore excitedly the shade, clapping his hands. "Blaise joined."

How old Voldemort would have reacted, if he had known he would one day swear excitedly, clapping his hands ?

"Yesterday he told me he was 'unapologetically and uncompromisingly hetero'! And now ..."

"I was there yesterday, I heard him too. I'm always with you in case you'd forgotten," Tom sounded annoyed. "Anyway, if you don't believe me, be my guest, go and check."

Harry had started to attend the boys' wild parties again, but with a drastically different mindset. First, he only allowed himself two beers and he didn't smoke pot at all. Second, he always invited the other Eighth Years to come. Third, he was extra nice to everyone, apologizing profusely and randomly to everyone nearby for having acted like an arse for months.

He didn't mind these parties. He had fun, talking, laughing, hugging his friends. He still often retreated in a corner to talk with Tom, but the rumors about his potential broken mind were not as nasty as they were a couple of weeks ago. He was coping. He was healing.

And now, he was going to check if Dean, Seamus and Blaise were really having their own private party in the couch.

Holy shit, they were.

And it was disturbingly hot. So hot that Harry's dick was hardening for the first time since the beginning of the war.

In all honesty, he had thought it would never happen again.

"I'm hard," said Harry to himself.

His heart was beating violently, as if scared his dick would soften if it didn't pump enough blood.

"You can take care of that. I don't mind," whispered Tom in his ear.

Harry nodded and went to the toilets to jerk off. The slight humiliation was totally worth the knowledge that Tom was watching him hungrily, his smoke vibrating with need and desire.

To be continued...