Tom laid awake in Harry's bed for hours until he was overwhelmed by his exhaustion and fell asleep. He should have pushed those intrusive thoughts away, should have relaxed in the warm, comfortable bed that was so unlike the one at Wools. He should have enjoyed it while he had the chance.
But he couldn't.
Not when his mind was running rampant with regret.
He hated how his cheeks reddened, remembering how vulnerable he let himself become last night, spilling his feelings like a bloody puff. What had he been thinking? A few years ago, he would have known better. A few years ago, Tom would have fought tooth and nail to keep anyone from hiding out. And now look at him. Pathetic. Harry wasn't going to tell anyone that much he already knew. The Gryffindor was fiercely loyal. He would go to his grave whilst keeping a secret. But still! It was the principle of the matter. Just knowing what he'd done; knowing that he revealed information that he'd never told a single soul was enough to make him feel humiliated.
What had come over him? The holiday, perhaps. Seeing Harry with his parents, how they were so loving with each other, happy in comparison to Tom, who had nothing but a stone cold room awaiting his return.
Irrational it may have been to be envious of Harry. He knew that. But it hardly mattered. For he could not stifle the jealousy that bubbled up within him, that made his chest ache in a way he wished it didn't. Why was Tom so unlucky? Was he unloved while people like Malfoy had loving, almost suffocating parents? It wasn't fair. Not fair at all.
And now Harry knew. He was aware of how he truly felt. Tom should have kept his mouth shut instead of blabbing like a first year. He was fifteen years old for Salzar's sake! A Slytherin with a reputation to maintain. Which would surely be in tatters if any one of his housemates knew of the conversation that took place, Malfoy especially.
When Tom woke up after nodding off, he realized the room was utterly freezing. What on earth had possessed Harry to leave the bloody window open? He pulled a jumper over his head, shivering slightly. He stepped over Harry's sleeping form, eyes dropping down to glance at him. The Gryffindor had his face buried so far in the pillow it was a wonder he hadn't stopped breathing. Had he been in this position when they'd first met, Tom would have probably kicked him in the face.
But they were friends now and that was something he never believed he would get.
After his trip to the loo to relieve himself, he didn't know what to do. Lingering in the hallway, he wondered if he should go back to Harry's room and wait there until he woke up. Although, the Gryffindor was in no way a morning person. Tom learned that from how there were mornings where Harry, sometimes accompanied by Weasley, came scurrying down to the Great Hall to catch a piece of toast before they had to go off to class. Having no time management whatsoever, he'd stay asleep for another four hours easily and Tom did not want to be confined that long. It was all too familiar of when he would get punished by Mrs. Cole and forced to stay locked in his room until she deemed him fit to leave.
"Morning Tom!"
He would deny it until his dying breath but he jerked, whirling around with his heart beating rapidly. He found Harry's father standing behind him, looking mightily amused by his reaction. The man was doing a horrible job of covering up the snickers that desperately wanted to come out. He was already dressed for the day; Tom eyed his gaudy jumper. It lit up and he wore antlers on his head with bells on the end.
"Good morning," Tom managed to get out without sounding angry or embarrassed.
"Not dressed yet, aye?" Mr. Potter noted, rubbing his chin contemplatively.
"I just woke up, Sir," Tom responded, anticipating a lecture coming. Mrs. Cole harped on him for the same thing; it was rare, as he almost always put his clothes on before leaving to use the bathroom, but when he didn't feel like it or had to hurry, she would eye him disapprovingly and bark out orders. Perhaps the Potters were the same way? He couldn't see it, considering how Harry was, but then why would his father mention it?
Mr. Potter wagged a finger at him. "Now, now. None of this 'sir' business. James is fine. Unless of course, you prefer Sir Potter the Great, but Lily would probably poison my tea so James is fine." He laughed at his own joke. Tom did not, though he did put on what he thought was a convincing smile. "So, tell me, Tom. Has sleeping beauty awakened yet?"
Harry. He was referring to Harry. "No, not yet," Tom said, shaking his head.
Mr. Potter snorted. "Don't think I've seen him up before noon when he's around here. It's amazing he gets up for his classes."
Was he supposed to contribute to what was being said? Admittedly, he wasn't quite used to being around adults who didn't despise his presence. "Yes, I agree," He said quietly.
Tom watched as the man's eyes abruptly lit up. "Say, Tom, you wanna assist me?"
Tom looked at him cautiously. "Assist you in what?"
Mr. Potter's smile was mischievous. It was all too like Harry's whenever he got one of his...ideas. "Oh, just a bit of fun. I think we need to spice up this Christmas morning. What do you say?"
/
Tom Riddle did not get involved in things. Much less juvenile things.
Well, technically that was a lie. When Harry had a problem, he would come up with his own scheme to get out of it, which meant Tom had to help him get out of that problem. Honestly, Gryffindors were more trouble than they were worth. Why did he keep Harry around?
Ahh, yes. He was a good companion. Curses.
"Mr. Potter-James," Tom said when the man gave a deep sigh at his slip up, "what exactly are we doing?"
"You'll see," Mr. Potter told him.
The man had conjured up a bucket of ice cold water. Tom hadn't a clue as to what they would be doing with it. What started off as them being in the hallway, changed to the two of them creeping back into Harry's room. Mr. Potter was in front, gesturing for Tom to follow him while also staying quiet.
"Watch and learn, Tom," Mr. Potter said with a devilish smirk, "as we wake the primitive beast that is known to man as the teenager."
Tom blinked.
Mr. Potter crept forward, throwing his arms back and then forward; the water came pouring out of the bucket, splashing onto Harry in an instant.
Harry woke up with a rather girly shriek. Tom found himself unable to hold back his laughter. It sort of surprised him; he didn't laugh freely. But he couldn't help himself. He watched the Gryffindor scramble to his feet, drenched and slightly disoriented.
"Dad!" He cried out, shooting the man a glare and a look of betrayal in Tom's direction.
"Sorry, son," Mr. Potter said jovially. "Couldn't resist. Had to show Tom how we do things around here."
"You just wait," Harry threatened Tom. "I'm so getting you back for this."
He wasn't truly upset. Tom saw the light in his eyes. He was teasing, the Slytherin realized. Just teasing.
"You can try," Tom responded easily.
"What on earth is going on?" Mrs. Potter was still wrapped in a bathrobe when she found the three of them. She took one look at Harry and then at her husband, sighing. "James."
"Oh, come off, Lils. It's Christmas! We needed a little excitement," Mr. Potter said with a grin.
"You do this every time," Harry groaned, pushing his soggy bangs out of his face.
"But not to where you know when I'm doing it," Mr. Potter said as he clasped his hands together.
Mrs. Potter rolled her eyes, shaking her head at his antics. "I'm sorry you have to see this," She said to Tom with a slight laugh. "And that he decided to involve you."
"I don't mind," He said with a shrug of one shoulder.
She smiled endearingly at him. He didn't know how to feel about that. It made him feel strange on the inside. "Well now that everyone's awake, come downstairs for some breakfast. I've made casserole and cinnamon rolls."
"I'll be down in a minute," Harry said, voice deliberately going flat, "once I change."
Mr. Potter grinned shamelessly.
/
Tom excused himself to the loo after breakfast, where he got dressed, fixing his teeth and his hair. He then joined the Potters in their living room. It wasn't too big or too small, but bigger than the one at the orphanage where all of the children, Tom included, had to huddle in. If things were good around there and they'd received donations, the children would all be given one gift each. It didn't always happen. Tom specifically remembered Christmases where he stared outside his bedroom window as the snow fell, wishing things were different. Other times, even if they were given gifts, it didn't mean he necessarily received one. Mrs. Cole had withheld gifts before, saying he didn't deserve any of them. Then there had been a time or two where what he did get-nothing more than a pair of socks that cut the circulation off at his ankles or a generic jumper-was destroyed by Billy Stubbs or Amy Benson who had it out for him.
Alright, some of it may have been his fault. But they certainly couldn't think he was simply going to take it without retaliation.
The Christmas tree was in the corner of the room. Its multicolored lights illuminated through the room, since the curtains were kept shut to keep it dimly lit in there. Presents were put underneath, wrapped neatly with red and green colored bows on the top. He sat down beside Harry, who had decided to don the same pair of antlers Mr. Potter had on.
"You look ridiculous," Tom muttered to where only Harry heard him.
"I look spiffy," Harry corrected him.
Tom scoffed quietly.
He saw danger incoming as a sparkle came to Harry's eyes. That was never good. That was one of the telltale signs he'd gotten an idea. A horrible, very bad, not good at all idea. "Dad," Harry said in a sickly sweet voice just before Mr. Potter reached for the first gift underneath the tree. The man paused in his movements. "I think Tom should have some antlers of his own. You know, join in on the tradition."
Oh, he didn't.
That little bloody prick.
Tom narrowed his eyes dangerously at the Gryffindor, who hummed cheerfully, wanting nothing more than to throttle him.
"You're right!" Mr. Potter exclaimed.
He thought he heard Mrs. Potter mutter something along the lines of poor Tom.
"Oh, no," Tom quickly said. "I couldn't possibly-"
But the antlers were already conjured up. Mr. Potter jammed them onto his head, the bells dinging in his ears. Tom grimaced. He must have looked completely undignified.
"We should get a photo of all of us together," Harry suggested.
"Good idea, Harry!"
"You're dead to me," Tom hissed at him.
Mrs. Potter looked amusedly at them. "Who's going first?" She said with laughter laced through her voice.
"Tom," Harry said immediately.
Him? Why would he need to go first? He'd rather not. He'd already opened the gifts from Weasley and Granger-a package of sweets and a study plan for their upcoming O. respectively. The only gifts left were from Harry that were still wrapped. He didn't want to simply sit there while the rest of the family opened up their own presents. Perhaps he'd wait.
Before he got the chance to say anything, Mr. Potter shoved a rather heavy box into his arms.
"Open this! It's from me."
From him?
Tom stared. "You...you got me something?"
"We all did, sweetie," Mrs. Potter said warmly. "You didn't think you were going to come here without getting gifts from us, did you?"
That was exactly what he thought.
"I don't have anything for either of you in return."
"Which is fine," Mrs. Potter said. "We don't need anything."
"We don't?" Mr. Potter said, though he was clearly joking.
"No."
Tom slowly unwrapped it, feeling all eyes on him. It turned out to be a book but it wasn't just any book. It was a book on Salazar Slytherin, a complete history. A part of his history. His head snapped up to face them in disbelief.
"Harry told us," Mr. Potter said by explanation. "I was in the bookshop and saw it, figured you'd like it."
"I love it," He said honestly. "Thank you."
He stiffened for a moment when Mr. Potter reached over, ruffling his hair.
Just like what he did to Harry.
"You're a good kid," Mr. Potter said with a smile.
"A great influence on our Harry," Mrs. Potter added.
"Harry is a good influence on his own," Harry protested.
Mrs. Potter disagreed. "You have your father's genes."
Mr. Potter looked smug.
They all took turns opening some more gifts. Tom's eyes widened dramatically at how things kept getting added to his pile. It was the most he'd ever gotten. Other than Harry and his friends, he didn't get things like other people did. None of his housemates bothered to get him anything, not when he was the dirty invader of Slytherin and Malfoy successfully turned everyone against him.
Harry gave him some sweets like Weasley had, a snow globe he'd eyed once Diagon Alley and a single photograph of his parents that was taken the day they'd gotten married. Tom was incredulous; he didn't know how Harry had gotten ahold of this and the Gryffindor refused to divulge the secret.
He also received a few more things from Harry's parents. None of which he expected to get. Tom was feeling lighter as the minutes passed and not simply because he'd been given gifts. But because they'd thought of him.
"How do you like your gifts, Tom?" Mrs. Potter asked him.
"They're wonderful," Tom couldn't repress the smile. "Thank you. I appreciate every one of them."
"I know you do," Mrs. Potter said before turning her attention onto her husband who was struggling with a rather difficult bow.
/
Harry's family had a television. It wasn't particularly big or fancy, a simple basic one that they were going to use to watch a handful of Christmas movies on. It was a tradition, so he'd been told. Once the gifts were all open, they would sit there until it was time to prepare the supper.
"Your pick, Tom," Mr. Potter told him, holding onto the remote control. "Frosty or Rudolph? Which is your favorite?"
Tom rubbed at his arm. He'd never seen either of those. Mrs. Cole had one television in the orphanage and that was for herself to use. "I don't know," He said truthfully. "I've never seen them."
Mr. Potter was scandalized. "Never?"
"No, Sir."
The older man didn't scold him for his slip up this time. He was shaking his head, unable to believe it.
"Surely you've seen other movies, then?"
Tom shook his head. "No, I haven't."
"This is a disgrace! Don't they have televisions at that orphanage of yours?" Mrs. Potter and Harry gave him a look for verbalizing it like that. Dad and James rang through the air but Tom didn't mind.
"It's just movies," Mrs. Potter said and added, "You never saw them when we got together either."
"I have an excuse," Mr. Potter insisted. "Tom here should know. Oh, well. No matter. We'll just have to cram them all in today!"
"All of them?" Mrs. Potter looked at her husband doubtfully.
"Yes, Lils, all of them."
"Oh, here we go," Harry muttered.
"Son," Mr. Potter put his hands on Tom's shoulders, "I'm about to give you the education of a lifetime-" Out of Tom's peripheral, Harry rolled his eyes. "Are you ready for this?"
The man was attempting to look serious but that was ruined by the grin overtaking his face.
"I believe so?" Tom decided to humor him and his strange behavior.
"Brilliant!"
"Oh, dear," Mrs. Potter sighed.
They went through dozens of movies that day, starting with classics. Tom had never watched so much television in all his life. Or ever, truthfully. He almost felt out of place with the Potters. Soon that gave way and he slowly relaxed, allowing himself to enjoy this.
Mr. Potter talked a lot, he learned. Harry and Mrs. Potter would continually shush him, especially when he broke out in song along with the characters on the telly until finally, Mrs. Potter put a silencing charm on him.
He and Harry laid on their stomachs, munching snacks that were in no way healthy but just right for the occasion; buttery popcorn, moist pieces packaged cakes with holiday themed sprinkles , the sweets they'd received as presents and fizzy drinks.
To say the least, Tom was having a wonderful time.
The credits from Frosty were playing now. Mrs. Potter sat up to stretch her arms. She got a fond look on her face. Tom guessed she was thinking of a memory.
"You know, I remember when Harry was tiny and we bought him this adorable Frosty onesie," She cooed.
"Mum!"
"He did not want to wear it," She laughed, ignoring her son's horrified protests. "He threw the biggest tantrum. I think we have pictures. Would you like to see?"
"No," Harry cut in hurriedly. "He doesn't."
"I'd love to," Tom smirked, amusement bubbling up at the mental image. Any chance to tease Harry was something to take advantage of.
"Mum, please," Harry groaned, burying his face in his hands.
Mrs. Potter accio'd a photo album, flipping through until she found her desired page; there was Harry in his Frosty onesie glory, sobbing. Tom couldn't keep from laughing. That was too good.
"May I have a copy of it?"
"NO!" Harry shrieked.
"It is adorable, isn't it?" Mrs. Potter winked. She turned to another page. "Oh, I have others to show you, if you'd like. Did you know Harry used to hate having to keep his clothes? That boy was a menace after bath time, I swear."
Harry grabbed the nearest couch pillow and jammed it on his face.
/
The lights in the living room were turned off, all except for the lights. Have yourself A Merry Little Christmas played softly in the background. There, in the center of the room, Mr. and Mrs. Potter danced closely together whilst Harry and Tom stood in the doorway, quiet as they watched them.
"They do this every year," Harry said. "It's a tradition for them. They've done it since before I was born."
Tom exhaled through his nose, thinking of his own parents. Had they stayed together, would they, too, have formed their own traditions? Would they have been like the Potters and tenderly hold each other, engage in gentle teasing and other reminders of their love for one another? Would Tom have sat at a beautifully decorated table with delicious looking food or helped his parents decorate the Christmas tree? Would they have looked for the perfect gifts for each other ever so carefully? Would they have felt like a real family?
He was brought back to Harry shaking his arm.
"You okay?"
The Potters were still swaying; Mr. Potter, with one arm wrapped around his wife's waist, pulled her close for a loving kiss.
"I'm fine."
/
Christmas was over.
It was officially the twenty-sixth of December. Sometime ago, Mrs. Potter had yawned, remarking that it was time for her to retire to bed. Mr. Potter joined her and told them not to stay up too late. He and Harry had gone up to the Gryffindor's bedroom, still messing around with their gifts they'd gotten. Harry pinned another quidditch poster to his wall; with that many, there wasn't much room for another.
Eventually, Harry fell asleep. But Tom was unable to. For one, Harry had left the blasted window open again and it was bloody freezing in there. How he was able to sleep through it, Tom didn't know.
But the other reason-
He'd had a spectacular Christmas. The best he'd ever had.
And he hated it.
It had been easier to think about how terrible this trip would have gone; entertained by the idea of Harry's parents taking a dislike to him right away. Perhaps something as trivial as his House. He would have had a reason to justify not coming back, to stay as clear as he could of Godric's Hollow as possible.
But it didn't happen.
Tom wished it would have.
And so, he sat at the island in the kitchen, dressed in his pajamas and feeling the melancholy greater than usual. The snow was still falling, as he took a glance at the window that was over the sink.
If only something had gone wrong. If only the Potters hadn't been so bloody nice.
Tom had been dreading to come.
And now he didn't want to leave.
"...If only in my dreams."