A/N: Thank you all for your wonderful comments! Replies are at the end of the chapter)
Chapter Five: Threads and Chains. Part 1.
Denial was a sweet and comforting thing. It helped him hold on through the moments when doubts flooded him, whispering scary things he didn't want to hear, mocking his hopes and scoffing at his determination. It helped him live without constantly second-guessing himself; it let him love Tom with all devotion and passion that children were supposed to be loved with.
But now, even the relief of denial was gone. He was left with nothing. Nothing but sharp shards of crushed hopes that pierced his insides at the slightest movement or mental effort.
Tom. Beth.
Tom. Murder.
"Do you know why I'm here?" Harry asked. His voice sounded as dead as he felt.
"To see me, of course," Tom tilted his head, observing him, and though he was smiling, this wasn't a nice or an innocent smile. It was challenging, and dark, and entirely unremorseful. "You may tell yourself you're here for another reason, but I know the truth. You came because you missed me."
Somehow, this still took him aback, and Harry let out a short, disbelieving laugh.
"Your arrogance knows no bounds, does it?" he asked mirthlessly. "Believe me, missing you has been the last thing on my mind."
Tom narrowed his eyes, clearly disliking his words, but he kept smiling that awful cruel smile. It belonged on Voldemort, not on Tom. Never on Tom.
"Beth is dead," Harry said. He wasn't sure what he was expecting: for Tom's expression to change? For him to pretend to be horrified? It was useless. They both knew the truth.
But he still hadn't expected for Tom's smile to grow to a full-blown vicious grin.
"Good," he drawled, and another shard stabbed deeply in Harry's heart. "Now you can stop pretending you were ever in love with her. It was sickening. I would have never tolerated her presence during summer."
It took a tremendous effort not to step back under the onslaught of Tom's anger. Harry had tried to steel himself before this meeting — he thought he was ready. He had been planning to tear down all masks Tom would attempt to put on, but the problem was, Tom wasn't wearing any. He wasn't even trying to look upset, and this, somehow, was even more chilling than what Harry had seen at the police department. More chilling than the image of Beth's body that was ingrained in his mind now.
When had this happened? How could the transformation be this swift and violent? Or had he really been deluding himself so much that he missed all the signs, despite knowing what to look out for?
"You have one attempt to tell me your side of story," Harry said slowly when he regained the ability to speak. "If you lie to me, you won't get another chance. I won't listen to you no matter what you say. Do you understand?"
Tom studied him intently, as if calculating what to do next. Finally, his smile dimmed and his expression turned worried.
"I don't know what you want me to say," he spoke. "I'm not upset that she died but that's it. You're acting like I killed her. Why would you even think that? I was here all this time, you can ask Professor Dumbledore."
Harry took a deep, careful breath, clenching his hands into fists.
He had to stay calm. He had to control himself. If he allowed his emotions to take over, he wouldn't be able to stop, and even the remains of his life with Tom as he knew it would be destroyed.
"I told you not to lie to me," this time, his voice was miraculously steady. "You just did."
Turning his back to Tom, Harry began to walk away, towards the apparition border. If he knew Tom — if he had ever known him at all, he wouldn't go far. Tom wouldn't let him.
"You can't prove I had anything to do with it!" Tom protested. Just like Harry had thought, he rushed after him, the amount of his arrogance noticeably diminishing. "There is no way you could—"
Harry whirled around, silencing him with one look.
"You may think you are clever, but no matter how much it might pain you to admit it, you are still a child, Tom," he uttered through gritted teeth. "A child who cannot plan a murder efficiently. The man that killed Beth has been caught. I asked the Muggle police to let me talk to him. Do you know what I've seen in his memories? Or do you still want to deny your involvement? Because I can repeat what you told him word by word."
Tom's mouth fell open in shock before he quickly steadied his expression. A range of conflicting emotions ran through his face, and though Harry couldn't define them all, he still understood what was happening in Tom's mind. Probably better than he would have preferred. Because no matter how wounded and horrified he was feeling, he still knew this boy. He knew how he acted in stressful situations.
Tom was an expert in lying, but he was also very impulsive when there was something he feared. He had obviously come out to greet him with an intention to confirm what Harry already knew, but once the conversation actually touched Beth, he grew uncertain and tried to backtrack. Now, he was being torn between illusion and reality, unsure which of them to stick to. It was naïve and inconsistent, but that was also what Harry understood about him.
He didn't understand murder. He didn't understand how someone who was surrounded by love and acceptance could still do something like this. Maybe that's why it was so hard — this action of Tom didn't fit the image Harry had constructed, the one he believed to be real. The Tom he knew would never kill anyone, and since he had, what did it mean for him? For them?
He had made a fundamental mistake somewhere. If he just knew which one, maybe he could still fix it.
Then Harry thought of Beth's terrified face that he'd seen in the memories of her murderer. He thought of her body lying on the ground, crumpled and broken, just like the ones he'd seen during that fateful night at Hogwarts that never faded from his mind.
Was there even anything to fix? How could there be, after something like this?
Tom must have chosen his next strategy because he spread his shoulders confidently, sending him a challenging stare.
"There is no need to repeat what I told him," he said coldly. "I remember it perfectly. If you came to hear my regrets, you wasted your time. I'm not sorry and I would have done it again."
The shaking travelled towards his upper arms, and Harry crossed them behind his back, letting his nails dig into his skin hard enough to draw blood. His head was spinning.
This couldn't be happening. They couldn't be having this conversation.
"I came to listen to you," he said, but it was getting harder and harder not to shout. "I wouldn't believe in your remorse because I saw you in those memories. You were confident and you understood what you were doing. But I want to know why."
Tom snorted rudely.
"Why do you think?"
Harry had three possible versions. He wasn't sure which of them was worse.
"Did she hurt you?" he asked, praying for 'no' but hoping for 'yes'. The mere idea of Tom being hurt filled him with so much rage that he could taste its redness even as he imagined it, but on the other hand, it was the only explanation he could probably accept.
Tom blinked, astonishment and pleasure briefly colouring his face before it grew contemptuous again.
"Do you think a Squib could hurt me? Please," he rolled his eyes. "I would have never let that happen."
Harry's heart sank while relief spread through his blood in a thick stream. Such conflicting reactions issued by the same brain muddled his thoughts further, so he shook his head slightly, trying to clear them.
"Then her status as a Squib was the reason?" he uttered. "This is what motivated you: you thought she was too unworthy to be associated with us?"
"No!" Tom spat with disgust, as if the idea itself offended him. "I don't care about that. Not enough to bother with someone like her. Do you truly not understand or are you pretending?"
Harry was silent. He couldn't force himself to voice the third option. He wasn't sure what it would do to him and how he would react if it happened to be true.
"Because of you!" Tom snarled, and he suddenly looked furious. Harry bit the inside of his cheek, hoping to keep standing. He had never seen such blind rage on Tom. Not in this world. He cherished the realisation that his Tom didn't have the ugliness that Voldemort had carried, that he'd protected him from the worst, but what he was seeing right now was eating at this knowledge with no regard for the ache it was causing.
If he was the reason for this, he'd never forgive himself. It'd be another thing on the heavy shelf of mistakes he had made.
"Because of me?" Harry repeated softly.
"You are mine. You have been mine since the moment you chose me. Did you think you could flaunt her in my face and that I'd do nothing?"
"I told you I wasn't serious about her!" Harry raised his voice. "I told you that if it makes you uncomfortable, you have to talk to me and that I'll take it into account. You have always been more important, I made it clear from the start, so why would you still do this? Instead of coming to me, how could you ever think that taking another person's life is an acceptable solution to a problem? When you tried to take the photos from my room, I thought we achieved something! That you understood you can't be the only—"
"I understood that I'm incapable of erasing your past," Tom hissed. "I cannot destroy the connection to those you knew before me. But it doesn't mean I'm going to tolerate the presence of someone else, anyone else. If you bring another person into our home, I'll do the same, and there is nothing you can do to stop me."
"What's wrong with you!" Harry exploded, his control finally snapping. His heart was beating so madly, he could barely breathe. "We are talking about someone's life! Do you understand it? Do you understand the finality of death? What would you do if someone from Beth's family got me killed for the same reason?"
Tom's nostrils flared, craziness flashing in his eyes.
"No one would be able to hurt you," he denied. "You have good instincts and you know a sufficient amount of spells."
"I'm good but I'm not that good. If someone wanted me dead, I would be."
"Then I would revive you!" Tom growled, and there was more madness in his gaze — madness that made Harry shudder. "And I would kill those who hurt you, I'd do it before this thought even crossed their minds!"
"You hurt me," Harry said, and Tom flinched. Was it the only way to affect him? To connect everything to Harry himself? "You hurt me, and you don't seem to even understand it. You killed another person! You destroyed the life of Beth's family and you condemned me to years of guilt that will never go away now! I hoped you loved life enough to understand that taking it from others is not an option. That every person has the right to enjoy it, that if you don't like something, first thing you must do is come and TALK to me about it! Didn't I teach you that? Didn't I prove that I'd choose you above anything and anyone? If that meant nothing to you, then maybe I was wrong all along. Maybe you really are beyond sav—"
"Is there a problem here?" a third voice asked politely, and Harry froze, a fresh wave of terror suddenly washing over him.
Dumbledore. How long had he been standing here? Had he or Tom used any spells against eavesdropping?
Dumbledore's face was blank, so it was impossible to say if he had heard anything. Tom, on the contrary, looked stricken, and Harry's protective instincts burned brighter than his anger.
"Nothing serious, professor," he forced his wooden lips to twitch in a semblance of smile. "Just a disagreement."
"Indeed? Our rules don't allow parents or guardians to visit pupils without a meaningful reason, Mr. Potter. I was under the impression that you were aware of this."
"I didn't say the reason wasn't meaningful. Our family friend has died, so I thought Tom might want to come home for several days. He insists on staying at school and I think it's inconsiderate. That's it."
"That's it?" Dumbledore repeated, looking at him before moving his glance to Tom. Tom still looked lost, unable to collect himself, so Harry quickly stepped in front of him, hiding him from Dumbledore's view.
If Dumbledore used Legilimency, he would be unable to disclose anything he had seen, but he'd still be able to take some actions. Harry couldn't allow it. He couldn't, even if Tom deserved it.
"We'll be done in another minute and Tom will return to classes. I apologise for not warning you about my visit in advance."
"Nothing to apologise for, my boy," Dumbledore smiled at him, but his eyes remained grave. "Death is something we all expect but never anticipate. Please accept my condolences. I hope your friend will find peace."
Harry's throat tightened and he nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
"I understand the timing isn't right, but have you given thought to my offer?" Dumbledore asked, and Harry nearly laughed. Yes, because the last one ended so well. Maybe a female figure could make a difference, Mr. Potter? It could smoothen Tom's sharp edges. Why don't you try looking for a partner? Tom would only benefit from having a full family.
He was an idiot to ever fall for it. And now Dumbledore wanted him to consider his other suggestion.
"I'm still in the process of making a decision," Harry said vaguely. "I'll send you an owl in several months."
"All right, I'll look forward to it. Have a good day. Tom, I expect to see you at the castle as soon as your guardian leaves."
"Of course," Tom replied somewhere from behind Harry's back. When Dumbledore finally disappeared, Harry turned to face him again and froze.
Gone were the hesitance and the stupor. Tom wasn't smiling, exactly, but he was radiating smugness, studying Harry with a possessive, confident look.
"All right, you did prove it," he said casually.
"Prove what?"
"That you'd choose me over "anything and anyone". I knew you would, but I still enjoyed seeing another confirmation."
Harry stared, unsure if he'd head it right. Had Tom deliberately pretended to be scared of Dumbledore to trigger his protectiveness? Had that vulnerable look been a mask, too?
Bile roiled in his gut, pushing its way up his throat and threatening to come out as vomit. Harry backed away, unable to believe he could still feel this betrayed.
He wasn't used to this cruel and cold version of Tom. He had no idea what to do with it. But Tom was right, he had just chosen him again, hadn't he? He had shown willingness to lie for him and hide the truth from others.
And what was the alternative? To give him up to the authorities? To have him thrown in Azkaban? Did they even arrest children as young?
"I'm going home," Harry said. His words sounded too hoarse to be coherent, so he cleared his throat and tried again. "I'm going home. I have to think. I'll be there to pick you up after the term ends, but until then, don't contact me. I won't reply."
Tom's mood darkened again, his lips setting in a grim line.
"You won't ignore me," he warned icily, and at this moment, Harry was so sick at the sight of him that he wanted to be as hurtful as possible.
"Let me spell it out for you," he hissed. "Starting from this second and until summer, you don't exist to me. I can't stand to even look at you, and right now, I'm disgusted at the idea that I had anything to do with your upbringing. You are a murderer. Until you understand what it means and what you've done, I don't want to see you. You wanted to shatter my relationship with Beth? You succeeded. But you also destroyed my trust in you. Think about it if the thought of robbing another person of their life is not enough to make you feel something."
This time, Harry was almost certain that Tom's paleness, shock, and hurt were genuine, but he couldn't say for sure. He couldn't say he cared either.
Turning away from him, he swiftly walked towards the clearing, back to the apparition border. Tom called his name, sounding angry and upset at once, but Harry ignored him.
He was going to keep his promise. For Beth.
For himself.
HTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHT
Somehow, the truth hadn't sunk in. Not entirely. Despite everything he had seen, despite the conversation he'd just had with Tom, the impact was dulled up until he walked into their home and saw a bright Christmas tree standing there.
Beth had insisted on getting rid of it, claiming that the holidays had passed a long time ago, but Harry refused. Tom had helped him decorate it, and every time he looked at it, warmth and wistfulness washed over him, reminding him of their moments of laughter and joy.
He missed Tom. He missed him terribly, feeling purposeless and weightless, finding ground again only when the school ended and Tom came home. But now, every instance of happiness was poisoned because whatever Harry thought was happening, he was wrong.
Tom was a murderer. When Harry's thoughts were full of celebrations, Tom's focused on the ways to kill Beth. When Harry saw him off, already missing him and thinking of the day they'd reunite, Tom was counting days until the murder.
A murderer at fourteen. Several years earlier than in their former life. He had come here to save Tom and instead, he made him into a killer even sooner than it was supposed to happen.
A terrible pressure squeezed his lungs. Harry sucked in a breath, but the air dissipated before it could get inside. He tried again, but it felt like he was inhaling emptiness, not oxygen. His chest began to burn and he quickly lowered himself on the floor, burying his head between his knees, trying to hold on to reality.
How could it have gone so wrong? Why? When had it happened? He'd done what he could, hadn't he? Tom wanted for nothing. Whatever he needed, Harry gave it to him. But Tom still… he had still…
His breath hitched. Harry shut his eyes, hoping to deceive his consciousness and give himself a temporarily reprieve, but he was instantly bombarded by memories so vivid, they made him even sicker.
He lost. He lost. He lost. He hadn't saved Tom, he somehow made him worse. Myrtle had been a coincidence. This murder was planned. It was meticulous and calculated, and the fact that Harry had seen Tom discuss it with the man he hired, heard his emotionless voice give precise instructions… it shattered something in him, so when the tears came, he didn't fight them.
Look at him even now: he was more concerned about himself than about Beth. He was mourning his life with Tom, not her lost opportunities. He was despicable. He had killed people he cared for in the past — Sirius, Cedric, all those who believed and died for him, and now he started a new list here. But why? This life was supposed to be different. It was supposed to be better!
Tom had killed Beth, yes, but it was Harry who had thrown her onto his path. He was thoughtless. He believed Tom was slowly getting over his possessiveness and he missed the signs that had to be there. He missed everything.
A badly subdued sob tore from his chest, shattering what hadn't been shattered yet. Pressing his forehead against his knees, he cried, finally giving in to the grief that was busily occupying every damaged part of him. His shoulders shook, and the sounds he made got uglier with every second he failed to stop himself.
What now? What now? How could they possibly survive it?
HTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHT
On Tuesday, Harry realised he'd been sitting motionlessly for almost a day. His body protested but his mind was too tired to pay attention to it.
No matter how hard he tried, he could only see nothingness ahead.
HTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHT
He didn't want to live.
HTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHT
On Thursday, he discovered a way that helped make these endless hours of nothing but pain and self-hatred more bearable. He started pressing the edges of the Gryffindor ring Tom had given to him to the corner of his lips with varying degrees of pressure. Sometimes, he was trying to absorb the brightness of those times, to warm the ring with his lips and to find comfort in the unblemished memories. Sometimes, he pressed hard enough to scratch himself, letting his mind shift to the physical pain and forget about its masochistic streak at least temporarily.
This was better. Maybe he'd regain his ability to think critically soon.
HTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHT
On Saturday, Tom sent him a letter. It was poetic and remorseful, and not a word in it was authentic.
Dear Harry,
I know you are still angry with me. You have every right to be: I betrayed you in the worst way possible. I am truly, genuinely sorry about what I did — not just about hurting you but about hurting Beth, too. She was kind to me. She was generous and selfless, but I was too blinded by my anger to see this. Somehow, I didn't really think she would die. I know I asked another person to kill her but I didn't expect him to actually do it. I just wanted her gone and I never stopped to think about the consequences.
The thought of her death haunts me every day. I cannot believe that I have her blood on my hands. I don't know what to do about it; no matter how much I try, I can't stop thinking. It frightens me, Harry. I want to make it better but I don't know how. If I could turn back time, I would have never done what I did. I would have taken her place gladly — anything to avoid causing this much pain to you and her family. Beth deserved to live a full life, and I will never forgive myself for taking it from her.
I'm sorry. I hope one day, you will be able to forgive me. Please tell me, is there anything I can do? Also, what would you recommend against the nightmares? I don't want to go to Slughorn with this because he'll ask questions, and I'm getting desperate. I want to sleep. I need to sleep but I can't because every time I close my eyes, I see her. And I feel guilty.
Please help me. I look forward to hearing from you.
Your Tom
"This is the biggest crock of shite I have ever heard," Harry told the letter. Tom's demon bird stared at him expectantly, so he shook his head, indicating that he wasn't going to send a reply.
"Go to the kitchen, take whatever treats you want," he said. "Rest if you'd like and get out. No letters for you today."
Letting out a disgusted sound, Apophis jumped from the table, and Harry leaned against the back of the sofa, crumpling the letter in his hands.
The very idea of Tom sitting down to write this bunch of sweet poisonous lies was mind-boggling. Did he honestly think Harry would buy it after that display at Hogwarts? Did he think he could put on another mask and Harry would gladly accept it, jumping on the chance to get things back to normal, choosing denial over truth?
Maybe Tom didn't know him. And maybe Harry didn't know him either.
When did it happen? When did Tom feel the need to mask his true self from him? Harry had always tried to be accepting and understanding. They didn't always agree with each other, but they resolved most conflicts by talking, by refuting each other's arguments. Yet at some point, Tom must have felt that he wasn't going to be accepted again, so he started hiding himself, presenting the version he thought Harry wanted to see.
Who was Tom? Was anything in their moments together genuine?
The moisture he hoped he'd overcome suddenly flooded his eyes, and Harry shut them tightly, breathing carefully through his nose.
What they shared couldn't be fake. He made mistakes, yes, but he couldn't be this wrong. He knew love when he felt it. Whatever Tom's violence and coldness stemmed from, these weren't the only things he felt.
There were signs indicating that something wasn't right. Max, the child from the beach. Tom had broken his fingers in a burst of senseless jealousy. He had attempted to erase the images of Ron and Hermione from Harry's life, too, unable to tolerate the thought of him caring about anyone else.
Harry thought he was getting better, but maybe that was the one thing he got wrong? Tom didn't get better. He was genuinely terrified of losing him or of being moved to a less relevant position in his life, terrified enough to kill for it.
He still had panic attacks at any careless mention of Harry's death or something separating them. That was genuine, just as Tom's love for him. Harry felt it time and time again, in different variations and displays.
It was there. Tom loved him.
But maybe he loved him too much. That was what Harry had feared in the past: that his focus on Tom could be too overwhelming, leading to co-dependency so intense, none of them would be able to recover from it. And that was exactly what happened: he had effectively trapped himself and Tom. He did make Tom a murderer, in the most direct sense of this word, because if not for their relationship, none of it would have happened.
When another flood of tears came, Harry was powerless to stop them. Turning to the side, he buried his face in the pillow, wishing for something, anything, that could help him hold himself together. He was falling apart, and the sudden flare of longing for Ron and Hermione made him grit his teeth to stop himself from crying out.
If only he could talk to them. To share some of what he was feeling. He wasn't really used to doing it, too accustomed to overcoming his problems by himself, but right now, he'd give anything for a friend, someone he could trust.
He had been too intense. He should have realised that by making Tom the centre of his universe, he would become the centre of his, too. Tom wasn't like him. Whether he was affected by the fact that he'd been conceived under the love potion or by Gaunts' inbreeding, he was different. His emotions, his reactions weren't like Harry's or the people's he knew, and there were enough instances in their past for Harry to see this.
Yet still, he didn't change his behaviour. He jumped headfirst into the idea of bonding with Tom, and it birthed a two-sided obsession that was terrifying in its intensity and destructiveness.
His Tom wasn't interested in blood purity. He didn't think that other people, be they Muggles or wizards, deserved to die due to their alleged inferiority. The only thing that made him temporarily lose his humanity was Harry, and if there was one thing Harry could never hold against Tom, it was love. Love he had cultivated himself, even if unwittingly. Tom's love was twisted, unhealthy, and it cost Beth her life. But it was still love. And Harry still embraced it.
What should he do with all this? Was there any way out?
HTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHT
On Monday, Harry thought about Snape. He thought of how hard he had fought to clear his name, to get him acknowledged as the hero he was. Years of humiliation and resentment dissipated in an instance just because Snape had loved his mother and dedicated his life to Harry as her extension. The thought of it was enough to undo all damage he had inflicted, including the fact that he had been the one to deliver the prophecy to Voldemort.
If Harry held nothing but warmth and respect for the man who had never shown him kindness, how could he hate Tom for anything? Tom loved him. Harry could never hate someone who loved him, no matter what they did. Add his own profound and desperate love for Tom, and everything else paled in comparison — everything, including Beth and the heartbreak her family must be undergoing now.
Harry couldn't give him away. But he couldn't forgive him either.
Or could he?
A murderer. How could he continue to live with a murderer? It went against everything he believed in. It made him a pathetic and vile human being, someone he would despise almost as much as he did Voldemort. And if he could do it, then how could he ever live with himself afterwards?
HTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHT
Harry spent almost the entire Tuesday sitting outside, on a badly conjured chair, letting the snow slowly chill his skin, crawl inside, and freeze him there, too. The cold shifted from quiet and tingling to fierce and biting, but Harry didn't move even when his body began to ache.
This seemed fitting, somehow. His blood was gradually turning to ice, and self-hatred lessened along with his energy, hindering and scattering his thoughts.
What would Ron and Hermione say? Would they hate him for being unable to reject Tom even now, after the murder?
But he wouldn't reject them either, even if they killed someone. He loved them. And he was afraid that he loved Tom most of all. These years had built a dedication that was impossible to overcome — it was his second nature now. Tom was his world.
His magic thrummed weakly, trying to alert him to the fact that he needed to get warm. Harry ignored it.
He was sitting here, doing nothing, and as Beth's family must be still attempting to recover, all he wanted was to be hugged and comforted by Tom. To feel his warmth and his cool certainty, to hear justifications that would stop his conscience from rotting in guilt.
It wasn't realistic, but it was what he wanted.
The lion on his ring growled in an attempt to get his attention. Absurdly, it looked worried, and Harry tried to move his lips in a bitter smile only to realise that he couldn't. It felt like he had truly turned into an icicle.
He didn't want to get up. Sitting here, in this half-dead state, was preferable to the alternative of getting warm and coming back to life… but he really couldn't afford such luxury at this point.
Inhaling deeply, he released his magic, allowing it to tentatively spread through his body, melting the worst of the coldness. When he could move again, he got up and staggered into the house.
He couldn't go on like this. He had to tell himself something, to ground himself in a way that would let him live through this. Otherwise, he would simply lose his mind, with no chance to correct his mistake.
HTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHT
On Thursday, Tom sent him another letter. It was curt and angry, but it was more genuine than his first message.
Harry,
I apologised. I admitted I was wrong. What else do you want from me? Answer me right now. I told Apophis to wait for your reply.
Your Tom
Sighing, Harry put the letter away, closing his eyes for a moment.
Tom was Tom. He might have worked hard to blind him but Harry had only himself to blame for missing his trigger points.
The decision had already been made for him — he couldn't give Tom up. Not because of Beth's murder, and perhaps not ever, no matter what else he did.
But things weren't that bad yet, were they? Tom had done what he thought he had to. Harry could recall the words he'd spoken with frightening clarity: "I don't care how you kill her but it has to be effective." So it wasn't about cruelty, bigotry, or sadism. It was a necessity — in Tom's eyes. His sense of security must have been much shakier than Harry had imagined, so despite all reassurances, he still couldn't take a chance of Beth becoming someone more meaningful to him.
It wasn't okay, far from it, but maybe Harry could work with it. Now that he knew the danger, the weak point, he could try to…
Apophis pecked him aggressively, flapping his wings. It was painful enough and Harry jumped from the unexpectedness of it, torn out of his thoughts.
"Get away from me!" he snapped, trying to shake the stupid bird off. But like its owner, it possessed a unique kind of stubbornness, and no matter how hard Harry shook his hand, Apophis held on, refusing to unclench his beak.
There were always spells, but Harry wasn't ready to risk hurting a creature that was just following its owner's orders.
"All right, I'll give you a letter to take back to Tom! Deal?" he hissed finally. Apophis released him immediately, but his stare remained suspicious and bloodthirsty.
He was a smart bird, Harry could give him that, but he could still be tricked. And no matter what orders Tom gave him, Apophis would never be able to tell what kind of message Harry was sending.
Grabbing the first insulting letter Tom had composed for him, Harry evened out the crumpled bits and offered it to the bird. With a satisfied creak, it flew off, leaving him in his silent house.
Whatever thoughts he was having, he would not go back on his promise. He wouldn't reply to Tom until summer. Even if he wanted to.
HTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHT
The pain came and went in waves, so he spent Friday and Saturday outside again. Saturday was the worst because he kept himself sitting motionlessly for so long, even magic wasn't enough to restart proper blood circulation. Harry barely forced himself to crawl inside the house, and he still collapsed in the hall, pulling his legs to his chest weakly.
His behaviour was pitiful. He knew it. He'd survived much worse, so why was this situation killing him? He had never felt as destroyed as he did now.
Different. This life had to be different. It wasn't supposed to have any losses. Tom had to be… he had to be…
…himself. Harry couldn't demand anything else. But murder wasn't what Tom was about either, and it brought Harry back to the same train of thought that had sent him on this self-hatred-fuelled trip: the only thing he could do to try salvage their lives was to educate Tom better, to watch him more attentively, and to correct his own mistakes . And for that, he needed to forgive him, and he needed to forgive himself for doing it.
Harry knew what he wanted to achieve. But he wasn't sure where to get the strength for one more try.
HTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHT
The answer came in the form of Tom's next letter. This one was chaotic and disturbing, but it was so refreshingly genuine that Harry finally felt the first stirring of calmness waking him from his shell-shocked stupor.
I wanted to protect you from the truth because I could see you can't handle it. I gave you an illusion of comfort, but you decided to throw it in my face. Fine. If you reject the lies, then listen to the truth. I could care less about Beth's death. She should have never come into your life because your life is mine. Your time, your stares, your smiles, your feelings, everything about you is mine and I'm never going to share any of it. Do you want me to make a list? I will. It doesn't matter that I killed her. She was nothing, I don't understand why you are being so stubborn. You didn't love her. You told me that yourself! How can you care about someone you don't love? Why do you even bother to meet new people if you know none of them will be as important to you as I am?
I always make concessions for you because I know what you're like. But I won't make them here. If you want me to be honest, here it is: I don't want you to have girlfriends or boyfriends or friends. I don't want you to meet with any acquaintances, I don't want you to talk to anyone other than me unless it's for business purposes. If you won't give it to me, I will ensure you have no one by myself. And I'm not going to make another mistake — next time, you won't even know what happened. You will never prove I did anything. You are mine and I am yours, and it will be this way always. We don't need anyone else.
You won't dare to ignore my letters forever. You will overcome your senseless suffering and you will reply to me sooner or later. You will be fine. Everything will be fine. You won't remember Beth's name in a year but nothing will change for you and me.
Reply to me.
Harry put the letter aside, blinking slowly and trying to absorb everything he had read.
Well. Not that he'd learned anything new — he was already aware of all these things. But seeing them written so bluntly, so carelessly, with no regard for the fact that this outrageous, crazy letter could be intercepted…
Then again, who would dare to attack Tom's evil bird? It looked frightening no matter how you looked at it.
Harry brought the letter closer again, re-reading it, and a strange mixture of peacefulness and frustration filled him.
Technically, he would have no problems following Tom's demands. It was something he had already decided for himself: no new people, not until Tom grew up and realised that the world didn't start and end with Harry. But the fact that Tom demanded it in the first place was crazy. It was madness. And it proved again that Harry had to tread very, very carefully. He was the reason that had awakened Tom's murderous rage, and he had to alleviate the consequences and remove the danger in whatever way he could.
He wouldn't go along with this — submissiveness was never his strong side, but he wouldn't refuse Tom either. He could never bring Beth back or pay her family for the hurt and horror he and Tom had caused them, but he could make sure nothing like this happened again.
He could still make the future better. He just had to be cautious. Patient.
Strong.
HTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHT
The next months dragged by slowly, but Harry didn't mind. He dismissed all his students, leaving himself unburdened, and focused on rebuilding his belief in himself… and in Tom.
It was going to take time, he knew it. Self-hatred and a crushing sense of disappointment still stabbed at his brain at times, filling his head with thoughts he couldn't refute, trying to push him back into the now-melted snow.
Tom had already killed a person. Even if it wasn't done with his hands, it was still murder and it still tarnished his soul. Beth was dead.
But the more time passed, the thicker stream of optimism broke through, mending the wounds and soothing the throbbing scars.
The world could still be a beautiful place. It was over for Beth, and his father would never be born because Grindelwald had killed his grandfather, but everyone else was still asleep in a limbo, waiting for their time. Ron. Hermione. His mother. Sirius, Lupin, Fred and George, Tonks, Cedric, Snape — everyone. They would be born at some point, and Harry could still make their lives happier, brighter, fuller.
He didn't have an option to switch the worlds anyway — this was his one and only chance. And even if he did, Harry wasn't sure he would use it. He had a solid and stable life here — life with Tom. He treasured it, even if it was currently bleeding from several vulnerable places.
Tom kept sending him letters and he kept reading them, although he never replied. Their tone ranged from furious to upset, from vicious to pleading or desperate. Tom threatened. Made promises. Took them back. Swore. Raged and threatened again. Harry folded the letters after reading them and put them all in one heap on the table, watching how the pile got bigger and bigger.
Love overflowed him. Sadness was a frequent guest, too, because he knew Tom was being genuine, both in his threats and in his promises. He also knew Tom wasn't going to keep either of them. For such a smart child, he could be surprisingly short-sighted at times. Harry could easily use some of what he'd written to lock him up in Azkaban or even St. Mungo's. But he would never do that.
No, he had another idea.
By the time the school term ended, Harry was feeling collected. Each negative emotion had been reviewed, analysed, and put into its drawer, and he hoped he would be able to maintain his hold on them, at least until he and Tom got everything out in the open.
The magical part of King's Cross was crowded as always but he didn't find it concerning. He knew Tom would find him, no matter how many people stood between them.
Harry sensed him before he saw him. His attention was drawn to a specific carriage, and a moment later, Tom stepped out from it, his eyes immediately zeroing in on him. Tom's fury was palpable — Harry could feel it slide towards him in a hissing, vicious shadow, getting darker with every step Tom made in his direction. Finally, he reached him, and Harry's heart skipped an anxious beat when he realised that Tom's eyes looked unfamiliar. They were empty, with nothing but rage and violence reflected inside.
If he were ever asked how he imagined evil, he would think about Voldemort with the glare Tom was currently wearing.
"You—" Tom started brutally, but before he could say anything, Harry grabbed him by his shoulders and pulled him close, nearly crushing him against his chest. His lips pressed to the top of Tom's head in a familiar motion, and then he rubbed his cheek against his hair, inhaling the familiar, beloved smell. A part of his mind registered that Tom had become even taller, and he tightened his grip further, irrationally upset that he missed the way it happened.
Tom didn't have a chance to hug him back, with how tightly Harry was holding him, so Harry wasn't sure about his reaction. When he pulled away, he couldn't help but smile.
The transformation was immediate. Tom's body deflated like all the toxicity had evaporated from it. Anger and blackness were gone from his eyes. They looked alert and bright again, and there were confusion, hope, and vulnerability that would never stop having one and the same effect on him.
Harry reached for him again, brushing a longer strand of hair behind Tom's ear gently. At this moment, the pain was genuinely forgotten. Every cell of his body sang with love.
"Hello," he said. Tom's eyes had gone hazy after the touch, and now he jerked his head to the side, as if trying to shake off the dizziness.
"Hello," he echoed uncertainly. Silently, Harry offered his hand, and Tom clutched it in his instantly, his eyes still fixated on him, as if the rest of the world no longer existed.
Without saying anything else, they left the crowded place, and Harry apparated them to their house. Tom also said nothing: whatever biting words he had prepared were dispersed with one simple embrace.
"Are you hungry?" Harry asked as they stepped inside. "I've prepared some of your favourites."
Tom nodded, watching him warily.
"Good. Go unpack your trunk and change. Then we'll talk, and then we'll have our early dinner."
Despite his offer, Tom didn't budge. His eyes narrowed.
"What are we going to talk about?" he asked suspiciously, and Harry raised an unimpressed eyebrow.
"I think you know," he replied mildly. "About boundaries and your understanding of them."
Violence filled Tom's body again: the room seemed to go colder as his body coiled slightly, preparing for an attack. A verbal or physical one, Harry had no desire to find out.
"If you wanted to learn about my understanding of anything, you should have read my letters," Tom spat.
"I did," Harry said. For whatever reason, the angrier Tom became, the calmer he felt. "I kept them, too," he waved in the direction of the table, and Tom's aggressiveness dimmed the second he caught sight of the pile of letters. His posture softened a little, losing its sharp edges.
"You never replied," he accused, though anger was mixed with hesitation now.
"I told you I wouldn't. I keep my promises about everything I say to you."
Tom must have caught something in his voice because he crossed his arms defensively, burning holes in him with his stare.
"I want to talk now. Not later."
"If you are certain," Harry shrugged. The fact that Tom was so palpably nervous was good. It meant he still had a way to reach him. If he could, he would tell him that the need to worry would come later, during the second discussion, which was bound to be dirtier and upsetting… but that would defeat the purpose of his plan.
"From now on, you and I will be using a new system," Harry said aloud. "A simple but efficient one. Rewards and punishments."
Tom's lips curved down, a light sneer hardening his features.
"How old do you think I am?" he asked derisively. Harry ignored his tone.
"People of all ages respond to this system," he explained patiently. "What matters is the nature of the reward and the punishment. In your case, they'll be tailored specifically for you."
This wasn't going well. Tom was still tense, resentment accumulating in him in waves, and Harry wasn't sure he would hear anything even if he listened to what was being said.
With a sigh, he approached Tom and framed his face with his hands, tilting his head up a bit, brushing at his cheeks softly. Fascinated, he noticed how Tom deflated again, practically melting under his touch.
This was much better.
"I understand that you are different," Harry told him. "You don't see this world like I do, like I would prefer for you to see it. I think you would have changed it if you could, if I asked you to, but it's impossible, so I'm not even going to bother. The thing is, you are not a senseless child either. You are old and smart enough to realise that some universal rules must be obeyed even if you don't like or get them. You cannot harm others just because you find them annoying or a threat. You cannot actively hate someone for liking me, or for me liking them. This isn't sustainable. It damages your soul, it endangers innocent people, it hurts me and it ruins your chances of building a future you want to have. So from this moment, whenever you have an impulse to do what you know is unacceptable, you must come to me and tell me about it. Together, we'll find a way to overcome this impulse and channel your emotions elsewhere."
Tom's skin was burning under his fingers, but Harry felt he had his undivided attention. Tom was staring at him so intently, he didn't even blink.
"After we do that," he continued, "if you manage to act in the way you know is right, not feel is right, you will be rewarded. There will be two options. Either you ask me for something specific or you let me decide what to give you."
Since he was looking so closely, he saw how Tom's pupils dilated, greed and hunger darkening them.
"How do you know I won't abuse this system?" he wondered silkily. "I might lie to you and you will never know it."
A smile danced on his lips as Harry pressed their foreheads together.
"I trust you," he said quietly. "I don't doubt you can abuse any kind of system, but I hope you won't do it to me."
Tom wrapped his hands around Harry's neck, pulling him even closer.
"I won't," he promised. He looked dazed again, but he still thought to ask, "What about punishments? What will they be about?"
"We'll get to it later," gently, Harry untangled himself from Tom's hold and stepped back. "I'm glad we've reached an agreement. Go change now, it's time for dinner."
Tom looked at him for several more seconds, with such wonder, as if he had never seen him before. Then, with a nod, he hurried upstairs, and Harry closed his eyes briefly.
Now he just had to survive the next part of the agreement.
HTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHT
All the barriers seemed to be gone by the time they finally started dinner. Tom was chattering about school, mentioning friends and subjects, complaining about Dumbledore and voicing his absolute disgust for Quidditch.
"I can teach you how to fly," Harry suggested, struggling not to grin at how seriously Tom began to mull over it. You would think he's solving the riddle of his life.
"I will think about it," he finally said, so graciously, like he was a merciful king. Harry snorted in his cup of tea, and rolled his eyes when Tom glared at him.
It felt good to have Tom home, no matter what the persistent worm of guilt was trying to tell him. He preferred to be realistic, and realistically, the only thing he could do was make sure that Tom corrected his dangerous patterns of behaviour. He had failed to protect Beth but he'd protect everyone else. Better something than nothing.
Reassured once again, Harry picked up the empty plates, carrying them to the sink and ignoring Tom's frustrated sigh. Tom hated him doing things the Muggle way, so sometimes Harry did it just to make fun of him. Tom always looked so deeply offended, like the mere idea of doing something manually was incomprehensible to him.
"Harry? May I ask a question?"
"Of course," Harry turned to give him a confused look. When Tom wanted to ask something, he did, without redundant hesitations.
"Does your system cover the period from winter or does it start today?"
Alarm bells rang in Harry's mind, but he tried to stop his face from contorting in what would undoubtedly be an anxious grimace.
"Let's say it starts with winter," he said slowly. "Why? Is there something you'd like to tell me?"
Tom's mouth stretched in a pleased, predatory grin that instantly made Harry wary. Considering the context, there were few things as inappropriate as this smile. What else could have Tom possibly done? And if his simmering darkness wasn't related solely to Harry and spread to others, too, then what else could be causing it?
"There is a boy I befriended. Lestrange. I told you about him before." Tom looked at him, expecting a confirmation, and Harry nodded slowly. What on earth could Lestrange be guilty of to the point of Tom struggling with the desire to harm him?
"He has been very annoying recently," Tom pursed his lips in a thin disapproving line, and despite the tension that was rapidly digging through Harry's chest, he still felt a flare of endearment. Tom had the strangest rules sometimes – no wonder that even his friends couldn't always follow them. "I usually ignore his uncontrollable explosions of enthusiasm, but he was getting worse, and I was—" Tom's face suddenly shut off, going entirely blank. Harry almost reached out, wanting to touch him, to bring back the expression he'd just had. Anything was better than this detached coldness, this complete and frightening lack of any emotions.
Tom considered something before focusing on him again, more shrewdly this time.
"I was angry," he said quietly. "I was furious with you for ignoring me. I couldn't concentrate on my lessons or even on Slytherin matters. I kept thinking about what you were doing, who you were seeing, if you were all right. Other than that letter that you returned, you didn't react to anything. It was like you didn't even exist anymore!" Tom's balled his fists, and his fury that Harry had managed to fend off resurfaced with vengeance. It was like white-hot redness began to ooze from his body, colouring everything it touched, heating the floor until Harry could barely stand on it. "I asked the headmaster to let me see you, but he refused. I begged you — begged you to respond. To send me a blank letter, some thing from the house, anything. You still ignored me. You ignored me!"
"I told you I would," Harry echoed himself, but this time, his calmness only infuriated Tom further.
"I felt like I hated you sometimes," he hissed. "I felt so enraged, I couldn't see straight. Lestrange was bothering me with his nonsense all the time, and at some point, I wanted to do it. I wanted to kill him to make you come to Hogwarts. Dumbledore hates me, and if one of my closest acquaintances turned up dead, he would have tried to blame it on me. He would have summoned you to school and I would have finally been able to see you!"
Harry swallowed, chill pouring down his spine in a generous, numbing wave.
At least he wasn't wrong. There was a direct connection between Tom's darker mood swings and him… scary and bewildering as it was. Because if Tom even considered something like this, the situation was worse than he'd imagined. To kill a person, a friend, just to lure Harry into school, despite knowing they were about to meet at King's Cross? These were the impulsivity and short-sightedness Harry couldn't understand.
"What stopped you?" he asked carefully. Murder. They were talking about murder again. Harry didn't know Lestrange personally, but he was relatively certain that "uncontrollable explosions of enthusiasm" didn't warrant death. Or even a hex.
"You!" Tom spat, with so much disgust that Harry would have recoiled if he could still move. "I knew you would hate me if I did it. And I knew that even if I wasn't caught, you would never— you would—" Tom fell silent, his breathing laborious, his fists still clenched tightly.
Harry wondered if he should say what he wanted.
He shouldn't.
He definitely shouldn't, but the words still escaped, "I could never hate you."
Tom's eyes pierced him instantly, as if trying to assess whether he was telling the truth, and Harry bit his tongue to stop himself from bursting in more reassurances. What he said would have to be enough.
"Thank you for sharing this with me," he uttered softly. "I'm glad you did and I'm glad you stopped before acting."
Tom relaxed slowly, although the tension didn't leave him entirely.
"So do I deserve my reward?" he asked cockily.
"Yes," Harry said, and when a grin lit up Tom's face, he smiled, too, despite not feeling like it.
Tom would get a reward. But he would also get his punishment.
"Would you like to choose it yourself or let me do it?"
"I'll choose it myself this time. There is something I want."
Curious now, Harry tilted his head.
"All right. What is it?"
"I want to sleep next to you throughout the summer."
Harry's mouth fell open before he snapped it shut, staring at Tom incredulously. He was expecting a demand for an expensive object, a trip somewhere, a book he would have to search the whole country for, and Tom wanted this?
"Why?" Harry asked, completely mystified. It wasn't like Tom was actually scared of nightmares. What caused him to ask for something this inconsequential as a reward?
Tom's paleness changed to a flush.
"Because you ignored me," he uttered, hunching his shoulders slightly. "You ignored me and I missed you."
He clearly wasn't sure if he should consider this display a weakness or not, but Harry was still too stunned, pleased, touched to say anything about it.
"All right," he agreed easily. The remnants of tension slipped from Tom's body and he smiled, too, looking as pleased as Harry felt.
This request, Harry mused, was a staggering improvement from the cruel and malicious demand Tom had presented back when they were only getting used to each other, after he won the cooking war. And it reaffirmed his hypothesis that every strong emotion Tom experienced went back to him.
This would make the punishment even more fitting.
HTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHT
Harry was already in bed when Tom strolled into his room. For a second, a feeling of uncertainty jolted through him. Tom was fourteen and a half, but in this light, he looked almost like Tom Riddle from the Chamber of Secrets. He looked older — not a child anymore, and Harry wasn't sure if it was normal for teenagers to sleep with their guardians.
Then he thought of how obsessed with normalcy his aunt and uncle had been and banished the hesitancy. Who cared what most people did or didn't do? Neither he nor Tom belonged to the group that could be called normal. And if Tom missed him enough to want to stay with him at night, Harry didn't mind. He missed him, too.
As always, Tom grimaced in distaste when his gaze fell on a lion statue Harry had bought years ago, but then his eyes travelled to the photograph of him that was still standing next to Harry's bed. Lingering there, they moved to Harry, and the whirlwind of emotions in them planted something warm in his heart.
There was love in Tom's eyes. Confused, possessive, unvoiced, but it was love, and a surge of reciprocal feeling that rushed through Harry was twice as strong. It overwhelmed him, birthing restlessness that urged him to say or do something to show Tom just how much he was loved in return.
At this moment, Harry felt like the happiest man in the world. Tom never said he loved him, but at times like this, Harry discovered he didn't need it. Tom's eyes spoke louder than his often-lying tongue ever could.
"Since you intend to sleep with me, you'll have to tolerate going to bed before midnight," he said lightly. Tom let out a long-suffering sigh.
"If I must," he drawled. He crawled into the bed, shifting closer to Harry, watching him. Smiling, Harry stroked his hair briefly before turning away and closing his eyes. Trying not to think about the knife hidden under his pillow.
HTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHT
That same night, Harry woke up from the slight creaking of the door. When he raised his head, he saw that Tom had left the room — probably went in search of tea and 'night cookies', as Harry called them. Tom had taken to doing it about two years ago, driven by night hunger for something sweet that never failed to make Harry snicker. Still, he made sure to keep mint-and-jam cookies in stock at all times, and this day wasn't an exception. But this time, it also played into his plan.
Tonight, then. Why not? Reward and punishment had to go together.
This whole thing had an ugly chance of backfiring spectacularly, but it was the only weapon he had. So he just had to bite the bullet and hope that Tom would be affected enough to never risk harming another person again.
Harry took out the knife, clenched it in his hand, and began to wait.
Tom returned ten minutes later, looking sated and sleepy, and when he noticed Harry, it took him several moments to piece what he was seeing. Harry watched the change on his face, from delight at him being awake to confusion and incredulity.
"What are you doing?" Tom asked slowly. Harry touched the tip of the blade, pressing his finger against it.
"We haven't discussed punishment yet," he said, relieved that his words sounded detached. "I thought to wait, but since you insisted on getting a reward, it would be prudent to address both of them today."
"Yes?" Tom managed to suppress his bewilderment. His lips formed a small, derisive smirk. "Let's address it, then. What does it entail? You threatening me with the knife? 'Kill someone else and I'll kill you'?"
"Does it sound like me?" Harry raised his eyebrows. "Do you think I would ever hurt you?"
He waited for it to sink in. When Tom's eyes suddenly widened in alarm, Harry took it as a cue, and before Tom could lurch forward, he jerked the knife to the side of his own neck.
"Do you know how Beth was killed?" he asked conversationally. "You didn't specify the method, so the man you hired chose it by himself."
Tom was silent, but his breathing was rapidly accelerating.
"He slit her throat," Harry told him. "Quickly and messily. He started to run, but since he couldn't be sure she was really dead, he decided to come back and stab her again. He was grabbed before he did this, but even then, it was too late. Beth died soon after this. We both know you have vivid imagination — how long do you think it would take for a person to bleed out?"
"You wouldn't kill yourself to teach me a lesson! Stop this, put the knife down!"
Harry smiled.
"No," he said simply. "To your second sentence. As for the first… I don't intend to kill myself, but who knows how it goes? Maybe I won't die this time, but you could come up with a more elaborate and violent plan in the future. And since I will be replicating it, only you can say to what extent I will be endangering myself."
"This is ridiculous, it's the most stupid plan you could have possibly come up with!" Tom clenched his fists. His chest was heaving now, and with every second, a wilder look overtook his face.
"I don't think it's stupid," Harry pressed the knife harder, breaking skin, and Tom drew in a sharp, hitched breath. "All your letters and our previous conversations have made it clear that you have a very selected empathy. You can emphasise only with me. You said it yourself: you feel happy when I'm happy. You are worried something will happen to me but you wouldn't care if the whole world went up in flames. Correct?"
Tom's furious glare and silence were answer enough. Harry shook his head, feeling how his own heart began to pound.
This was traumatic for Tom. He knew it. It could have long-lasting consequences, it could make everything ten times worse, but this was his only chance at getting Tom to feel at least a flicker of thoughtfulness to others. A quiver of remorse, a gleam of compassion — anything Harry couldn't instil in him by himself.
"I'm not naïve enough to think that I can make you feel emotions you just don't feel," he continued more softly. "I'm also not a fool to trust your promises, so don't even bother lying to me. During these last months, I've learned more about the real you than I have in all the years we spent together. You were hiding many sides of yourself from me. Not entirely — you let me see the glimpses, but I never thought your capacity for compassion was this limited. If your feelings for me are intense enough to make you kill someone, then maybe they will be intense enough to make you stop next time."
The knife dug in deeper. First streaks of blood flowed down, and Tom stretched out his hands towards him in a warning, like trying to soothe a volatile animal.
"All right, I understand," he said calmly, his voice a vivid contrast to his shaking hands. "You've made your point. I will never act this thoughtlessly again. There is no need to take it any further — I accept your system and all your rules, even if I don't like them."
Harry shook his head slightly, gripping the knife harder. Being cruel to Tom was much harder than moving the blade, but it had to be done. He had to do something other than issuing empty threats, or he would never get his point across, no matter what Tom was saying.
"I have always preferred practical demonstrations," he noted wryly. Then his hand jerked decisively, making a harsh, semi-circular cut. Tom screamed, throwing himself forward, and before Harry could finish the cut, Tom's hands were there, gripping the knife right by the blade and tearing it from his grip. The blood rushed from the cuts Tom had sustained after his desperate move, but he didn't seem to notice it. He was still bellowing the denial, the barely coherent hysterical "no" that made Harry's heart break as it echoed through the room repeatedly.
His own thoughts were sluggishly slow, but even as blood escaped him in bursts, he was pretty sure he wouldn't die from this. His magic, triggered by what it perceived as disaster, was already working on hindering the blood loss, and a similar but considerably more powerful magic was thrust at him by Tom. His eyes were wild and terrified, and as he was clumsily trying to close Harry's wound with his hands, not realising this wasn't possible, he was almost glowing with instinctive, wandless power. Even unconsciously, he was directing every ounce of it to Harry's throat, attempting to heal it, to undo as much damage as he could.
Since dying wasn't an option for him, Harry could play with death. Tom didn't know it.
Harry hoped fervently this would make the impact stick.
He sensed how life stopped seeping out, but since a big amount of blood was decorating him at this point, Tom didn't seem to notice. His hands were still trying to hold the torn skin together, and he was making quiet, choked sounds, trembling so much that Harry raised his hand involuntarily, stroking his cheek in comfort.
"Do you understand what Beth's family felt now? When they learned how she died?" he croaked. "Do you understand that you should never—"
"I won't!" Tom gasped. "I won't! I promise! Take it back now, take it back, take it back—"
Harry wasn't sure what he was asking. Tom seemed to disintegrate right before his eyes, turning into a crazed, feral beast. He was still struggling for air, and his hands were doing more damage than good now, clinging to his wounded neck like they hoped to physically put life into it.
Harry felt his eyes water. Trying to blink them away, he scoffed internally at himself. Since when was he so weak? He knew this had to be done, regardless of what nightmares Tom would be fighting afterwards.
Tom. The boy who still had panic attacks at the thought of Harry being harmed and who needed to listen to his heartbeat to calm down.
He must have done a bad job of fighting tears because Tom's bloodied hands suddenly pressed to his cheeks. His dark eyes seemed enormous on his pale, horrified face, and they reflected such blind fear that Harry would give anything to never see it again.
"I'm sorry," Tom choked out. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
Harry didn't know what exactly he was apologising for. He was sure that if he asked, Tom wouldn't be able to say it either, but the mere fact of hearing these words from him — the authentic, heartfelt, emotional words, meant everything.
"Bring some water and bandages," Harry rasped. "Then some Firewhiskey. Have to clean the wound."
"No, I can't leave you!" Tom clutched at him, a new wave of tremors rolling through his body. "I can't. If I go, you will— you will—"
Speaking was still tough, but Harry still managed to push out, "I'll be fine. Blood stopped. I didn't cut deeply enough. Muggle wound, so magic's working."
Nothing changed. Tom was shaking his head, rejecting his words, digging into his shoulders with that same loathsome expression of primitive mindless terror on his face.
"The more you wait, the more danger I'm in," Harry tried, and it immediately pushed Tom into action. He jumped from the bed, rushing outside after throwing one more anxious look at him. In less than a minute, he was back, and his hands were still trembling when he started gently cleaning Harry's wound, soaking the cloth in warm water and pressing it to his skin. He said nothing, staring at his throat so intently, like he was afraid the cut would start bleeding profusely again the second he looked away from it.
Harry wasn't set on speaking either, so the next minutes passed in silence. When all blood was gone, Tom stared at the bare wound with a shudder, wringing his hands over and over again.
"I need to… I need to close it," he murmured finally. "Is there a spell? I don't know healing spells. Not like this."
"Wash it with alcohol first. Then bring the threads and a needle. Put it in there too."
"No!" Tom shook his head violently. "It'll hurt you."
Harry chuckled hoarsely.
"Can't hurt worse than it already has," he pointed out, but instead of having the desired effect, these words seemed to send Tom back into the abyss. He pressed his hands to his ears, as if trying to block the unwanted sounds, and his eyes took on a glassy look, staring somewhere Harry couldn't reach.
The night didn't look like it was going to end soon. Taking a deep breath, Harry grabbed Tom's hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze.
"Come back to me," he said quietly. "I need you."
He had to repeat it several times before the first light of acknowledgement lit Tom's eyes. Slowly, he let Harry remove his hands form his ears, and when he glanced at him, he looked like he was a second from bursting in tears. This was so atypical that Harry's heart clenched painfully, sending jolts of guilt through his body.
"This is just a scratch," he told Tom firmly. "We'll have to take care of it for several days, but in the end, it'll heal. Everything will be fine. But it won't be fine for Beth, who got a much deeper wound. If I had truly replicated it, I would be dead now."
Tom let out a half-choked whimper, pressing closer to him, and Harry pulled him to his chest, wincing when pain seized his neck. Noticing it, Tom scrambled back. He wasn't crying, but his eyes were wet, making Harry ache in love and sympathy.
"Bring the needle and some threads," he asked again. "I promise you, everything will be fine. And if you manage to hold off your irrational desire to hurt people you don't like for whatever reason, nothing else will happen to me."
Tom nodded jerkily, then got up and moved towards the door, a little unsteadily. Harry took his wand, intending to clean the bloodstains from the sheets, but hesitated.
It would be better if Tom washed them manually. If he saw that the mess and the ugliness had long-lasting consequences for everyone involved on all levels — physical and psychological, and in their case, even magical… maybe it would stick. At least in some ways.
Harry could feel a heavy weight of magical exhaustion pushing against his eyelids, urging him to sleep and to restore his energy. A blood-replenishing potion could help a great deal, but they didn't have a supply of it at their home.
When Tom returned, he still had a haunted look in his eyes. He stopped near Harry, and his fingers were even more unsteady when he tried to make the first stitches. Colours were fleeing his face one by one, with it changing from pale to white to grey.
Harry thought he wasn't fairing much better.
"I'm going to pass out soon," he warned. Blood was flowing out again, though more slowly this time. "Don't panic when it happens. Finish the stitches and have some rest. We'll talk in the morning if you want to."
Tom's lips moved, but not a sound escaped. He looked on the verge of passing out himself, and more than ever, Harry hoped that he hadn't made a big mistake.
He didn't notice how consciousness slipped away from him. The next time he opened his eyes, the sunlight was bathing the room in a warm yellow, and Tom was sitting next to him, cradling Harry's wrist to his chest. His thumb was pressed tightly against the pulse point there. Big dark circles under his eyes revealed the fact of sleepless night, and Harry had to forcefully ignore another sharp stab of guilt.
He wasn't going to regret his decision. In comparison to what happened, this was a relatively mild punishment.
His neck was hurting, but the ache was dull. Weakness still held each part of his body captive, though, so Harry grimaced even as he pushed himself up on the pillows.
Silently, Tom handed him a vial, and Harry's eyebrows shot up.
"When did you prepare the potion?" he uttered. Tom shrugged, not saying a word.
He still hadn't said a word by the time the evening came. He'd helped Harry get to the bathroom, made breakfast for him, cleaned his wound, washed the sheets, but he did it all silently. The rest of the time was spent in bed, with Tom curled up near him, holding his hand or placing his head on his chest.
How could someone who was so emotional and loving to him be so callous to others? Harry didn't understand it. It made no sense to him.
For a long time, he stayed silent, too. He was stroking Tom's hair and his back, drawing small, comforting figures there, waiting for the silence to break. When it didn't happen, he decided he had to do it himself.
"It wasn't meant to hurt you," he said quietly. "Do you understand it?"
Tom didn't react. After a pause, Harry continued.
"And whatever you might be thinking now, I'm not actually suicidal." At this, Tom snorted incredulously, and Harry chuckled. "I'm not. But there are things I care about more than I care about myself. You. Your soul. Your safety. People who don't deserve death… like Beth." Tom tensed, wrapping his hands tighter around him. "What you did was reckless on so many levels… I don't want to ever face this situation again, and most importantly, I don't want you to face it. So I'll do whatever it takes to protect you and others from it. If my life is important to you, I hope you will remember the last night before doing something like this again. In any case, talk to me. When something is wrong, when you feel overwhelmed or angry, talk to me. Together, we will find a solution, no matter what the problem is."
Tom sighed, burrowing his face into Harry's shoulder. For a long time, there was nothing, but then he said, "All right."
The words were barely audible yet Harry absorbed them, letting their impact spread through him, chasing away the last bits of doubt.
Tom could lie to him, he knew it. Tom could lie well enough to deceive him.
But after everything… Harry felt he could trust him. He wanted to trust him.
So he did.
HTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHT
Tom turned into his shadow. Wherever Harry went, he followed, sitting and observing him quietly or helping him do something, like cooking or cleaning. He didn't even mind doing it the Muggle way, and Harry found himself pleased and worried at once.
Tom's presence brightened his every minute, giving it a glow that died every time he went to Hogwarts. But somehow, with every obstacle they overcame, Tom's fixation on him grew worse. After what had occurred, Harry wasn't sure it was a good thing. Then again, it could mean Tom was going to keep his promise, so he tried to use this reasoning to calm himself.
Since Harry had abandoned his tutoring practice, they didn't have enough money to go on vacation. They stayed at home, busying themselves with mundane tasks. Tom helped with gardening, too, although he kept grumbling about it without stop. Somehow, no matter how carefully he kept trying to be, it always ended with him standing covered in dirt, bristling and demanding to be cleaned with the spell.
"I'm sorry, I don't use magic on strangers," Harry teased him. "You certainly don't look like someone I know. My Tom wouldn't allow anyone to see him in such a grimy state."
Tom growled and jumped on him, trying to tear the wand from his pocket. Harry dashed away with a laugh. Sensing that he was being chased, he made a rapid turn to the left, and Tom crashed into the blueberry bush. He managed to utter a curse before falling forward, squashing several berries that immediately painted his palms blue. Harry bent over with laughter, and he kept laughing even as Tom finally reached him, thrusting berries in his face and rubbing them into his skin vindictively. Tom didn't look like he was doing it out of amusement — he seemed genuinely miffed that he was being laughed at, but after he finished applying the blueness across Harry's face, a satisfied smile began to shine on his lips, too.
"You're still dirtier than me," Harry pointed out haughtily, and that turned Tom's smile into a scowl right away.
This time, when Tom tackled him, Harry wasn't even attempting to flee.
HTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHT
Another Hogwarts term was approaching with amazing speed, and Harry found himself growing moodier the closer September came.
He didn't want Tom to leave. He didn't want to stay in this house alone, wondering what Tom was doing and if he was keeping his promise, counting days until winter holidays. This routine had gotten old a long time ago — Tom was away for almost nine months every year, and each time, it was harder and harder to let him go.
Dumbledore's offer kept resurfacing in his mind, and shortly after his birthday, Harry sent Apophis to him with a letter stating, "If Headmaster Dippet doesn't mind, I would be honoured to accept the position of DADA teacher."
He spent the next day in a restless, anxious state, rethinking his decision at least several times but ultimately waiting for confirmation.
He wanted to be a part of Hogwarts again. Hogwarts had been his home for so many years, Harry knew that this unique, magical connection he felt with it would never fade. Having a chance to watch Tom, seeing his school persona with his own eyes, was worth even more, and he had no desire to miss it.
Dumbledore was rather swift in his reply, so next evening, a confirmation letter arrived. Harry clenched it in his hands, feeling absurdly, deliriously happy.
He would be able to stay with Tom. He would be able to re-discover Hogwarts with its endless mysterious corridors, quirky portraits, and independent staircases. He would get a chance to teach children, to maybe steer some of them in the right direction.
He was returning to his first home.
"I've got a new job," he told Tom later that evening. He knew he must still radiate happiness, so it wasn't surprising when Tom stared at him suspiciously.
"I thought you intended to go back to teaching pre-schoolers," he said slowly. "I tried hard to secure that position for you. What kind of job did you find? If you want to work in that bar again—"
"That wasn't a bar, not really, and no, I wouldn't have gone back there unless I had to. I was miserable in that place. But anyway, I'm not telling you what I'm going to do now."
"What?" a dark shadow marred Tom's face, and the temperature in the room dropped. "You can't do that."
"I can't do what? Find a job without telling you about it?" Harry snorted. "Don't be silly. Of course I can — and it's going to be a surprise. You'll know all about my new workplace, but later."
"No!" Tom raised his voice, and the darkness on his face bled to pure, uncontrollable fury. "I want to know about it now! Tell me!"
The compulsion in his voice hit Harry with a surge of harsh power, and for a second, it blurred the thoughts in his head, making his tongue tickle with the need to confess. Then rationality took over, and he narrowed his eyes, staring at Tom.
"Why are you so worked up about it?" he asked slowly. "I know you are concerned about me, but you aren't entitled to know every single thing that happens with me the moment it does. I'm an adult. I've been an adult for years. If I decide I want to find a new job, that's exactly what I'm going to do."
"Not without telling me," Tom hissed. He didn't sound any closer to calming down, and Harry had to stay silent for several moments, subduing his own awakening irritation.
"We are a family," he said finally, watching how these words immediately took off a layer of Tom's rage. "A very close one. But if I don't want to tell you something, it's usually for a good reason. Don't you know that?"
Tom said nothing, though his glare didn't soften.
"If you had approached this topic in any other way, I would have told you," Harry uttered. "If you're really that impatient. But your reaction is… What's happening? Where is all this aggressiveness coming from?"
Tom's muscles tensed even further, like he was one step away from physically launching himself at him. Harry stared, unable to believe this was happening. Tom had gone from calmness to irrational rage in a matter of seconds – and over what? Something as innocent as Harry's new workplace?
But suddenly, the fury was gone, as unexpectedly as it appeared. Tom relaxed and sat back down, sending him a slightly apologetic smile.
"I was just taken aback," he explained calmly. "It's fine. Of course, you can do what you consider is right. I'm not going to dictate where you should work. I did have something planned already, so I'd appreciate it if you told me about such things beforehand, but it's not all that important. I'm more than prepared to wait for you to share it with me when you feel like it."
The response was so perfectly polite, it instantly threw up a red flag for Harry. At the same time, he couldn't figure out what could possibly send Tom into such deep rage that he'd blow up like this and then try to pretend everything was fine. So maybe it was really a simple overreaction? Tom was overprotective of him, especially since the 'punishment'. It could explain it.
"Is our dessert ready? I'm hungry," Tom added, still smiling.
"You always are when it comes to sugar," Harry replied automatically, with a smile of his own.
The evening went on like it hadn't been interrupted. Everything was fine, and yet his heart felt heavy. A vague alarm rang somewhere in his mind, but the ringing was quiet, and soon, Harry dismissed it.
He wasn't going to worry. This argument was too small and insignificant to feel concerned about it.
HTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHT
Tom spent the next day writing letters. Apophis departed to one place, returned, and was sent somewhere else right after this. This procedure was repeated several times, and Harry finally asked, "What's so urgent? Your bird is going to hate you after today."
"Apophis knows how to obey orders," Tom waved him away dismissively. "And I'm doing a new project this term. I need some books to prepare for it."
"Really?" Harry tried to peer at his letter, but Tom immediately put his hands on it, preventing him from seeing anything. "What will it be about?"
"Defence against the Dark Arts and Charms," Tom folded the letter carefully, hiding it in his pocket. "I'd like to do something that no one has ever done."
A rush of affection warmed him from inside, and Harry smiled.
"Your success wouldn't surprise me in the least," he said, and Tom beamed, pleased.
"You'll be the first to know it," he promised.
Apophis was busy during the next several days, too. Instead of letters, he was carrying books now — heavy volumes with ambiguous titles that could mean a thousand things. Tom plunged into reading. He seemed entirely focused on it, but as September approached, his mood took a darker turn. Eventually, he abandoned the books and spent all his time with Harry, watching him with attentive, intense eyes, as if worried he might disappear as soon as he was out of sight.
Harry woke up several times at the sensation of Tom stroking the scar on his neck, looking at it with grim, vacant determination. He was so engulfed by his thoughts that he didn't even notice the fact that Harry was awake.
"What are you thinking?" Harry whispered after the fifth time it occurred. Tom replied without raising his eyes, in a mechanical, distant voice.
"I don't want to leave you. Not for Hogwarts. Not for anything else. One day, I won't have to."
Maybe it was the cover of the night or Tom's detached state, which showed he might not be fully aware of what he was even saying, but the thought Harry had been dreading for years, maybe since those terrible days following their Gringotts visit, suddenly burst through.
"I'm afraid that one day, you won't care."
"What?" this seemed to startle Tom out of his thoughts. "I won't care about what?"
"About staying with me," Harry said quietly. The inevitability of this outcome weighted heavily on him, and whenever he considered it, depression and blankness were the only things he could see ahead. "You are still young. At some point, you will fall in love, or you'll lose yourself in politics or whatever area you'll choose for yourself. Childhood connections break more often than they don't. They lose their intensity, so one day, you'll laugh at the memory of how you never wanted to leave me."
He'd laugh, but his naïve, innocent intention would stay in Harry's memory forever. At the very beginning, he had looked forward to him and Tom parting ways. He thought he'd raise him, make sure he entered a future that differed from the one Voldemort had chosen, and then retreat, waiting for the birth of those he really cared about. His parents, Sirius, Ron and Hermione.
Now, even this perspective couldn't water down the greyness he saw when imagining his life without Tom.
"What?" Tom said again, his eyes round and very alert now. "But that could never happen. I will always… Do you actually think that? It makes no sense!"
He shouldn't have mentioned anything. Winding Tom up wasn't his intention. Why had he not just stayed silent?
"Unless they're unhappy, no one thinks they're going to want to build their lives elsewhere at this age," Harry uttered with a sigh. "It comes later. You're going to meet someone who you'll want to have a family with. It's only natural to—"
"I'm never going to meet anyone more important than you," Tom snapped, clearly annoyed, and a side that Harry despised clung to those words, desperately wanting to believe them.
Still, he made himself say, "You don't know that."
"I do."
"All right," Harry tried to smile. "Let's revisit this conversation later. Could be interesting to—"
"You don't understand," Tom grabbed his hand and shook it. "Some things… you just know them about yourself. I don't see other people like I do you. They don't matter to me. Nobody can be you, and you are… to me, you are…" Tom floundered, at a loss for words. With a low, frustrated growl, he tugged at Harry's hand before climbing on top of him, digging his fingers into his temples.
"I won't change my mind," he announced. "You are mine. I told you that. I don't give away what's mine." There was a pause. "Unless it's stolen," Tom added, and Harry nearly laughed at his blatant and out-of-place attempt to show himself from a better side. "But you aren't. You chose me. And since I accepted it, there is no going back now."
It was unexpected to have Tom attempt to comfort him. Unexpected and endearing. It didn't really alleviate any of Harry's fears — only time could do it, but it was more than he thought he'd get and maybe more than he deserved after starting this stupid conversation.
Tom dropped his head on his chest, listening to his heart, and Harry wrapped his hands around his back. No matter how tall Tom was or how heavy he was getting, the feeling of rightness behind this embrace never wavered.
At least he was going back to Hogwarts now. So whether the separation was looming over them or not, there were still years before he found out.
HTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHT
Tom was grim and reluctant when they were saying their goodbyes on September first. Ignoring the gazes directed at him, he held Harry for what seemed like eternity, unwilling to let go, and when he finally did, the dark cloud in his face grew even more prominent.
"You will reply to me this time," he said quietly. "Right?"
"If you write to me," Harry agreed, suppressing his grin. He was going to apparate to Hogwarts apparition point as soon as he left the platform, but naturally, he wasn't going to share this with Tom. He couldn't wait to see his face once Tom realised who was going to be one of his teachers.
Tom's eyes lingered on him. Stepping closer again, he brushed his fingers against the scar on Harry's throat. Then he turned and walked to board the train stiffly, without looking back.
Harry waited for the train to depart, and then, already feeling the stirring of excitement, he apparated.
He had never been this eager for the start of the feast.
HTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHT
He was accepted by other teachers so warmly, he instantly felt at ease. The only source of annoyance came in the form of Slughorn. He was among the first to greet Harry, looking at him with acute interest.
"Are you related to Potters?" he asked, examining every feature of his face shrewdly. "Dreadful business with their heir. Dreadful. We are all so certain that Grindelwald won't come knocking, and then something like this happens."
"I'm aware of Charlus Potter's murder," Harry said as emotionlessly as he could. "But I'm not related to them. We just share a name."
"Indeed?" Slughorn frowned. "There is definitely some resemblance here."
"Confirmation bias. You know my surname is Potter, so you expected to see a member of their family."
"I see," disappointment in Slughorn's eyes was so undisguised, Harry nearly snorted. Fortunately, the death of interest in him was palpable. Harry doubted teachers received invitations to the Slug club, but who could say for sure?
He tried to imagine Slughorn getting Dumbledore to come to his meetings and had to fight a stupid grin. Now this would be something he'd pay to see.
Students began to arrive when the evening fell, taking their places at different tables. Tom walked in soon enough, in the company of several other students who almost resembled bodyguards, with the way they were moving. Harry blinked, struck by the way Tom looked.
This boy was almost unfamiliar to him. His expression was impersonally cold and assessing, and when someone greeted him, he sent them a fleeting condescending smile. He held himself like a king — but at least this was something Harry could recognise.
Tom Riddle had been known as charming. His Tom looked like he was already above such things, fully confident that his position wouldn't waver no matter how cold he was to others.
"What a pretentious brat," Harry muttered under his breath. He doubted anyone heard him, but he did catch Dumbledore's amused glance.
Tom took his seat, glancing at his classmates with a bored look. Gradually, his eyes moved to the staff table, and though Harry was sitting at the farther end, they immediately snapped to him, as if sensing him.
Tom stared. Harry could see how he closed his eyes, kept them shut for several seconds, and looked at him again. Very slowly, he turned his head to his classmates, as if checking if they could see him, too, and Harry raised his eyebrows mockingly.
"Silly," he mouthed. Tom's jaw dropped, and it didn't close even when others started throwing confused glances at him. It felt like hours had passed before he finally regained control over himself, straightening and closing his mouth. He was still staring, but now that the first shock was melting away, joy and pride were taking its place. The mask of coldness shattered and Tom glowed, grinning so widely, it was a wonder his lips didn't split.
The Sorting started, and Tom kept looking at him. It was like no one else existed for him; like they hadn't seen each other for years and now he was taking his fill, memorising every detail of his face anew.
Harry stared right back.
HTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHTHT
Replies:
. .tragedies, ah, thank you so much! I'm happy you like Tom - I'm fascinated by his complexity, and I'm glad if you think I managed to convey it. Harry will never take such things lightly, that's for sure :D
Stregian, thanks so much for such detailed review! You're totally right, Beth was destined to leave the moment she came in :D This is not something Tom would be able to tolerate. And there is no cure against psychopathy, so Harry can only try using unorthodox methods and hope one of them will work... but we'll see :D Thanks again!
Iamfandoms, thank you, I'm so happy you liked this! :D The angst will go on for some more time, and who knows when it'll end? If ever ;)
Bibliophile Otaku, thank you! And yes, I'll definitely finish this story (well, unless I die or something!). It wasn't even supposed to be this long, but these chapters are really getting bigger and bigger :D
Gery O Donut, hello again! Thank you, I'm happy you liked that chapter and I hope you enjoyed the next one, too. Tom's possessiveness is a dangerous thing, and for now, there is no stopping it.
isylador, thank you, it makes me so happy to hear this!))
Hadrianpotter01, thanks, so glad you think so! And sorry for the long wait - my loved one died, and then I had another story to update first, so it took ages. I hope the next update will come sooner :D
eria.dmg17041, thank you so much for such lovely words! I'm pleased you enjoyed the chapter. Harry's state of denial about Tom was deep - he really thought they were making progress. Naturally, the guilt will follow him for years now, if not forever. I hope you'll enjoy the new chapter as well!
CrypticSilhouette, thanks! Long chapters are a curse - I can't seem to be able to stop making them so large. The events in this one were supposed to tak about 5K - I was planning to focus on Hogwarts times! My plans never work as I think :D And yes, I love smart and overpowered Harry, but I also like him flawed and more grounded.
Crystal Aquafina, thank you, that's so pleasant to hear! Tom is a complex character, and I'm happy you like the way I portray him.
Hiina, that's a great description of Tom - he is indeed dark and obsessive, and his love for Harry only makes him more so. At the same time, his philosophy is a bit better, so it's a double-sided situation :D
Randomly Talented, thank you so much, and yes, I understand perfectly :D Tom loves Harry, he does, but his feelings are shaped by his worldview a lot, and he genuinely doesn't think anyone else is important. Taking another person's life is nothing to him - unless it's Harry. And yes, what you said is one of the reasons why Harry decided to talk to the Muggle police))
RavenclawGryffindor35, thanks, I hope you'll continue to enjoy it!))
ruinedsandwich, oh, thank you so much for your wonderful words! I'm so happy to hear this, and I understand perfectly. Dark types of romance that are built on obsession are my weakness, too, and I can't get enough of reading or writing them.
nickles1600, thank you! So happy you enjoyed it - writing from Tom's POV is something I enjoy greatly because he's such a murderous brat, but at the same time, he genuinely loves Harry - in his way. I hope you'll enjoy what comes next!
MusicInfiresMe, ah, thank you for your praise! I'm so happy that you enjoye Tom's characterization. I didn't really research obsessiveness, but I did read some articles about psychopathic behavior. Overall, I've been fascintaed by such characters for such a long time that writing them just feels natural. I hope you'll enjoy other chapters!
