Author's Note: I'm really sorry that I haven't updated in a long time but I just found out that my gorgeous English teacher who've I've been in love with for years is engaged (That's not depressing) but I'm over it now so . . . On with the fiction!

These next two parts are for all of you who have reviewed and waited so loyally (Sorry that Part One is so short -- And yes, Erin, I wrote more)

Chapter Twenty One -- Deflowering (Part One)

Tom lay on the bed, finishing up the last volume not yet read. Dumbledore had not yet chosen to let him work on those "projects" and Tom was getting restless. His days were filled with idle reading, wandering the school aimlessly, and helping Harry with all of his homework. "God knows," Tom thought. "The boy needs the extra help. His potions grade is dropping lower every week." At just that moment, Harry came bursting through the door -- Bright energy into a dull listless world. He had just come from Quidditch Practice. Sweat plastered his bangs to his forehead.

"I'm bored," Tom said, unconsciously trying to dampen Harry's mood a little.

"Really?" Harry asked, unconcerned. "Maybe you should try doing something then."

"What?" Tom scoffed.

"I don't know . . . Take up Quidditch," Harry laughed, tossing his broomstick at the bed. Harry headed into the bathroom. "Probably to take a shower," Tom thought to himself. He lay back on the bed, closed his eyes, and prepared for a short siesta.

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Tom's eyes flickered open when he heard the sound of a door clicking shut. He turned his head to the clock. 8:00? Harry had been in the bathroom for . . . Three hours? Tom slowly lifted his head to see Harry, leaning against the bathroom door. A dark blue bathroom hung loosely on his shoulders with a wanton sort of appeal. Soft, green eyes were looking timidly at Tom through brown bangs.

"Stop being a tease," Tom sighed, lying back in bed. "Just take that bathrobe off and come to bed."

Harry didn't move. Tom sat alert and upright.

"I said, take that bathrobe off and come to bed."

Harry undid the belt that held the bathrobe onto his lithe body. A few moments later and Tom found a decidedly naked Harry Potter standing in the middle of his chambers. Tom's authoritative nature automatically dissolved into nothingness.

"Oh," Tom whispered, genuinely shocked. "I didn't mean . . . Well, I thought you had something on under that. My mistake."

Harry made his way to the bed and slid in under the covers, tucking them up around his pale form.

"G'night then," he said tersely.

"You really are a tease," Tom yawned, turning over and closing his eyes.

"You're going to sleep?" Harry asked, somewhat surprised.

"Aren't you?"

"I was kidding," Harry said, perching himself up against the headboard.

"Oh." Tom quickly sat up next to Harry, fully attentive.

Harry blushed deeply. "I was thinking we could do . . . You know . . ." Tom smirked. Harry's age was showing now more than ever. He sounded like one of those second grade children on the playground talking about the infamous "it" -- Or, in this case, "you know."

"That's interesting," Tom said smugly. "You had absolutely no shame when it came to stripping down in the middle of our chambers but now you can't bring yourself to say the word 'sex.'" Harry blushed from rose to crimson.

"Sex," he muttered defiantly. With his eyes open, Tom saw a pouting, naked boy lying next to him but with closed eyes, it was a far different picture. With closed eyes, it was scraped knees covered with beige Band- Aids. With closed eyes, it was fingers, sticky with Popsicle drippings. With closed eyes, it was a tongue sticking out tauntingly or a "na-na-nee- foo-foo!"

"Child," Tom replied, his voice tangy, tart, and suddenly emotionless. Harry found Tom's tone particularly unpleasant and it made him squirm about under the sheets.

"If you don't want to do this . . ." Harry murmured, leaving the rest of the statement for Tom to fill in by himself.

"I never said I didn't want to do this," Tom said sharply. "It's just, now that I'm here, I'm not so sure if you're ready."

"What? Ready to be deflowered?" Harry laughed, remembering Snape's eloquent speech from earlier in the day.

"Stop," Tom scolded. "You sound like Severus." Harry wondered fleetingly how he knew. "All I know is that you're a child, probably not prepared for what's going to happen to you tonight. You say that you're ready but I have to know if I can trust your judgement."

"Why are we arguing about this?" Harry sighed. "You've been trying to get me into bed for months. Now you have me. What is there to argue about? I'm here. I'm ready. I want this."

Tom unflinchingly laid his hand on Harry's crotch. The gesture was done with so little passion that it made Harry almost wish that he really had just fallen asleep.

"Is this what you want?" Tom lulled. "Let me tell you Harry, I am sixty-nine years old, old enough to be your grandfather. I have been with more men in my lifetime than you could hope to imagine. I'm sure you even know a few of them." Tom purred the names into Harry's ear, making him press back against the head of the bed in a state of discomfort. Harry's breath especially hitched in his throat at the name "Lucius." "So Tom," Harry thought quickly. "There's more to this Malfoy rivalry than just pride and power." When Tom was through with an astoundingly lengthy list of names, he sat back on the bed, gaining distance from Harry, his hand removed. "With that taken care of," Tom said softly, "Is this what you want?"

"Yes," Harry said resolutely. "This is what I want."

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"Avada Kedavra," the man said, quietly so as not to disturb the blissful child. The tip of the branch glowed a lovely green color and the rest was darkness.

When Harry Potter awoke from deep slumber, he crawled around to the side of his crib. He attempted to stand, teetered on unsure feet, supported himself on the railing, and looked around the room curiously. Harry cried out for anyone -- His mother, his father, the man with the crimson eyes . . . But no one came. He was alone in the room.

He wanted someone here -- To comfort him, to protect him, to care for him. He wanted some sense that everything was going to be alright. Instead of comforting words, an empty house echoed his wailing. A baby should never be isolated from the rest of the world with no one to turn to, yet Harry Potter found himself in that position.

Alone . . . The baby fell onto the padded mattress of his crib and wondered how long he'd be alone . . .

Thirteen . . . Fourteen . . . Fifteen . . . Sixteen . . .

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"Don't think about it," Tom said softly, pressing his lips to Harry's. It was one of those experimental kisses, devoid of passion or wanting. Just done to gauge the reaction of both individuals involved -- To make sure that they liked the current situation. Harry looked expectantly up at Tom.

"Well?" Harry asked, wondering why Tom was biding his time.

Tom pressed his lips against Harry's again. The kiss was deeper this time. In a piece of fiction, it would be written as "searing and heated" but in Harry's mindset it was sloppy and needy and hasty. Tongues pushed against each other, both subconsciously wanting to gain the upper hand. Hands groped aimlessly, just wanting to feel more skin. Tom wrapped his legs around Harry, bucking his hips instinctively against Harry's thigh. Just wanting to satiate that need that loomed at the front of his mind . . . Hungry and wanting and . . .

"Slow down," Harry gasped, pushing Tom off a little bit.

"What?" Tom panted.

"Slow down," Harry said, softly. "It's my first time. I don't want it to be something that's rushed."

Tom smiled down at Harry.

"Fine," Tom said, whisking his fingers across Harry's cheek in an agonizing dreamy lull. He lay down on the bed next to Harry, getting comfortable.

"Okay, okay," Harry exclaimed, exasperated. "I said don't rush it. I didn't say make it painfully slow."

"Maybe I should," Tom grinned before taking Harry's bruised lips with his own once again.

Author's Note: Hate to leave you all like this but I worn out (Writing scenes like this is exhausting, really!)