Epilogue

Harry opened his eyes to sunlight. Brilliant gold that momentarily blinded him before the automatic vision filters kicked in. Gradually, the world around him dimmed until it became bearable to look at.

And so Harry looked.

He looked at the sky, at the wash of blue-grey hues that were occasionally broken by heavy streaks of sunshine. His eyes focused, without conscious effort, on the bits of dust and pollen floating just in front of him, distracting him from his explorations.

"Harry?"

That was distracting, too. That warm, almost honeyed voice. Harry dropped his gaze to the figure before him, a figure both familiar and unfamiliar. He was too used to seeing Tom's face—his real face, not the facsimile he wore in-game—projected only on screens.

"How do you feel?" Tom asked kindly. He had not moved closer, perhaps thinking that he ought to give Harry some space to adjust.

"Strange," Harry responded, then startled at the sound of his own voice—and it was his voice, pulled directly from his data, but it sounded so odd to these new ears that without the pre-existing knowledge he possessed, he might have said the voice belonged to a total stranger.

This body, too, was a stranger's. An adult body based on the scrawny, knobby-kneed youth he'd been frozen as for so many years. His Aunt Petunia had once mentioned to him that youth was a gift, and so was the opportunity to live forever.

But the fact remained that Tom had aged while Harry had not, and although Tom had once offered to alter the appearance of his bot avatar, truthfully the idea of it frightened him.

It did not matter, after all, if the digital version of himself grew and matured. It would not bring him any measure of joy to erase the body he had grown so comfortable in. He had already conceded to Tom's minor requests, to smooth over the sickly, prominent ribs and thin, stick-like limbs leftover from a childhood of abuse and mistreatment. He did not wish for more adjustments to his virtual form.

Others might have flinched back, horrified, in response to his awkward, transitory state, existing on the cusp of adulthood in perpetuity, but to Harry, it didn't matter. In the game, Tom was always the same, so why should Harry be any different? Tom's avatar had never wavered, and neither had his affections. Even now, Tom looked upon Harry with radiant adoration that seemed to pour out in overflow.

Harry had never imagined such excess before he'd known Tom. Excess of luxury, excess of love. Tom gave him everything. Tom was everything.

Despite the very real, very enticing world Harry could now see and touch, he focused on the handsome man standing before him. His worldview narrowed to the way Tom reached for him with tender, careful hands.

Slowly, Harry took a step forward, mindful of each unfamiliar flex of muscle required to propel this new body towards its destination. He raised his arms, gradually, degree by degree, until his hands met Tom's, their palms meeting in the middle of the empty space that separated them.

The sensation of touch was overwhelming. The cleverest programmers of Hogwarts Online could never accomplish anything like this—the solid, grounding pressure of Tom's flesh and bone against the smooth silicone of Harry's android hands.

"Still strange?" Tom asked, still in that same honeyed voice. A wry smile lifted at the left side of his mouth; Harry recognized that smile, something about it so wholly Tom, and then was promptly fascinated by his own recognition.

Harry had new eyes and new hands, but his heart was unchanged.

"Yes," Harry admitted, this time braced for the foreign noise that emerged from his throat. The sound of his own voice was a memory long forgotten, tucked into some secret crevice of his brain. It felt as though his new, finely-tuned ears had unearthed it just for today. "But it isn't bad," he added quickly, when he caught a glimpse of worry reflected in Tom's eyes.

Tom lifted one of Harry's hands to his lips and kissed the knuckles. Then he took a step back, looking reluctant as he did so, and inclined his head to the space that surrounded them. "What do you think?"

They were, of course, standing in a garden. The barest garden that Harry had ever seen, an endless green lawn with absolutely nothing to decorate it, not even weeds.

"It's beautiful," Harry said, knowing that Tom would understand what he meant. The shortfalls of this empty, lifeless space were easily ignored compared to the infinite possibilities.

"It is yours," Tom murmured, drawing near again, this time to pull Harry into his arms. "As am I."

Though Harry was the one composed of synthetics, the enclosure of Tom's embrace was as solid as steel bars. "I love it," Harry said softly as Tom turned them slowly on the spot to take in the size and shape of the grounds.

"I thought you might." Tom kissed the top of his head. "It's why I woke you here."

Harry fell quiet, an unusual flutter blossoming in the pit of his stomach. As he caught sight of the pleased gleam in Tom's eyes, he realized that the sensation was excitement. He was excited.

Nearly a decade of slaving away under the Dursleys had failed to dampen his enthusiasm and love for nature. Further years spent with Tom had only solidified his enjoyment of rich, earthy dirt moulded in his hands and buried beneath the soles of his feet.

Tom was now peppering the side of his face with kisses, firm arms closing tight around Harry's new body. Harry did his best to relax despite the surreal, startling sensations. It would take a while to get used to this, he realized as Tom moved further down, nose and lips skimming the column of Harry's neck.

It was only when Tom's hand settled on his hip, pulling their bodies taut, that Harry stiffened.

Tom withdrew, and though he did an excellent job of masking it, Harry thought he could tell that Tom was... disappointed.

"How do you feel?" Tom asked, a repetition of his earlier concern, and Harry felt guilty.

"Fine," he said, quick to reassure. "It's just new, that's all. It's strange."

"Strange," Tom agreed, and it was like they were having the same conversation over again.

Harry fiddled with his new fingers. The motion of them was smooth, just like he was used to, only there was so much more detail than before. The physical world contained multitudes that lines of game code simply could not capture.

"Should we go inside?" he asked, hoping his request would serve as a decent distraction from his meek, self-conscious retreat.

"Of course," Tom said, and led the way. As he guided Harry around the house, he kept up a steady stream of exposition that permitted Harry's mind to wander and wallow.

It was not as though he and Tom had never been intimate before. Harry had once doubted his capacity for such acts—the thought of foreign hands on his body was enough to send him into a frozen, catatonic state—but Tom's kindness and patience had eased the way.

It was more than enough to know that Tom wanted him. Harry's perception of the virtual world was dampened, limited, but Tom's was not. Tom had layered so many mods onto the game that he swore Harry felt as real to him as people in the outside world did. And so where Harry had felt phantom pressure, Tom had felt pleasure, which was reason enough for Harry to agree to whatever Tom asked of him.

The act itself was no chore, either. Harry liked it despite the lack of sensory input. He liked how Tom regarded him with dark, hooded eyes and an indecent smile. He liked to fake noises which resulted in Tom's glowing praise. And he liked how his body looked in Tom's hands, when they were so connected that Harry felt every movement of Tom's like they were his own.

But those missing sensations now stood a very good chance of returning to him, and so Harry was anxious. Harry had thought his days of being difficult and skittish around intimacy were behind him. He hated to feel like he was sinking back into that mindset, his body automatically tense and mistrustful of physical contact even though he knew that Tom was safe. That Tom was and would always be good to him.

"This way," Tom said, his hand on the small of Harry's back as they ascended the stairs that led to the second floor.

This house was much nicer than the place that Tom had moved into after liberating Harry from the Dursleys. Tom had moved twice since then, in fact, trading for progressively fancier and fancier living spaces as his empire continued to expand.

Harry no longer knew how rich Tom was, or what it was, exactly, that Tom did for a living, but he suspected those questions were better left unanswered.

With the privacy of the second floor came more of Tom's personal touch in terms of the interior design. A statue here, an ornament there. Brass snakes curl around the bases of various light fixtures that hang from the ceiling. But Harry paid little attention to these things; the true reveal, he knew, lay at the end of the hall, where their final destination awaited them.

The door to the master bedroom was framed by gorgeous, hand-chiselled carvings: the garden swing Harry had built for Riddle Manor, a pattern of hexagonal shapes that resembled a honeycomb, and various formations of flowers. So many flowers. Harry had picked each one personally, had gone over the meanings so that the finished product carried the right message.

The words he wanted to say were hidden in those flowers. Love and devotion. Trust and admiration.

Harry ran his fingertips over the bumps and ridges. Tom stood behind him, half-pressed against his back, breath fanning lightly against the nape of his neck.

"All yours," Tom murmured. "All for you."

Harry laid a hand on the doorknob and twisted it open. The room was bright, filled to bursting with sunlight. As Harry stepped forward, gold drenched him, further blinding his new eyes.

When his vision adjusted, he saw that the room was beautiful.

Colours everywhere. So many of them. Gorgeous royal blues and delicate pinks and forest greens that reminded him of the virtual trees in Hogwarts Online. Chocolate brown curtains and sunshine yellow cushions laid on squashy orange chairs.

The outrageously vibrant furniture and the contrasting decorative pieces should have been an eyesore, but to Harry, who had lived far too long in a world of pixels, it was perfect. He wanted to touch everything, to pick up the misshapen purple vase and examine it from every angle, to make sense of the physical world he had left behind over a decade ago.

"What do you think?" Tom asked from somewhere behind Harry's left shoulder.

"It's amazing," Harry said reverently, and though it was difficult for him to tear his eyes away from the room, he did so he could instead turn to look at Tom. "You're amazing."

Tom came towards him, scooping Harry into his arms. "Anything you want, I'll have it added." He kissed Harry on the forehead. "But I do want to have some paintings done."

"Paintings," Harry repeated, glancing at the walls. They were admittedly bare compared to the rest of the room.

"A few prints," Tom said, brushing his fingers along the fringe of Harry's bangs. "And a portrait or two." He kissed Harry's cheek next; a heavy warmth sank into the skin where his lips had been.

Harry felt himself blush. The sensation was similar to that of his virtual avatar, except the heat was much more potent here. There was a fire inside of him now, a blazing inferno that was fed purely by Tom. His touch and his words.

"This is your home now," Tom continued. "I want you to be comfortable."

Harry considered Riddle Manor as home. The virtual space where he had met and fallen in love. The place where their garden thrived, an endless sprawl of green that Tom continued to expand upon, buying up land squares by the dozen so Harry could do whatever he liked.

But this was a new home. A different kind of home. Perhaps, Harry thought dazedly, it was the start of a real one. He wanted to be comfortable here.

"Thank you," Harry said, unsure what else to add.

Tom smiled widely and leant in to kiss him—it was as if now that Harry was real, was really there with him, Tom couldn't get enough. It rapidly became overwhelming; those familiar sensations of fear and anxiety crept up on him, numbing his limbs and shutting his brain down.

Harry held as still as he could, but eventually he could no longer mask the trembling that shook him head to toe.

Tom's hands rubbed at his arms. Up and down, and then he pulled away and met Harry's hesitant eyes with his own.

"I'm sorry," Tom said smoothly. "I can't quite help myself with you."

Harry felt the heat rush through him again—fusing his cheeks with colour and sending his poor heart into a wild fit of erratic thumps. Embarrassed by his reaction, he ducked his head and stared down at the floor.

"I want…" Harry began haltingly. He glanced back up at Tom. "I want to do everything, but I—" He wasn't sure he was ready for everything just yet.

Tom's gaze softened. "Of course you do. Why wouldn't you?" He settled one hand against Harry's face. "The world is within reach, Harry. Everything you have ever wanted. All you must do is say the word, and I will deliver it to you." He pulled Harry to rest against his chest; Harry went willingly despite the odd tension holding his body captive.

Tom's embrace was warm and comforting. Harry laid his head to rest on Tom's shoulder and listened carefully to the ambient sounds: the steady breaths that passed in and out of Tom's lungs; the near-silent whirring of the room's climate control system; and the crisp spring breeze that poured in through the open window.

"It takes time," Tom murmured, "as these things do. But I am here to help you with them."

Harry was comforted by that thought. He did not think he could bear to navigate this alien, frightening world without Tom. Not when it held such painful memories. He had spent so long feeling separated from other people, feeling different from them, that he doubted his own capacity to be human. He doubted his own humanity.

People were not meant to live virtually, to permanently exist as digital copies of themselves. Though Harry no longer slept, no longer suffered nightmares, he was often fearful that he had lost the part of him that made him a real person. More than that, he was terrified that Tom would find out and leave him.

Now that Harry had a physical body, a real body to hold and touch, it was almost worse. Having a body should have been reassuring, but what if the same issue came up again? Harry still lacked flesh and blood. He would always be more synthetic than organic.

But it was silly, he told himself, to still worry about these sorts of things. Hadn't Tom proven time and time again that he would never leave? That Harry was his only love?

Harry felt ungrateful for doubting Tom's intentions, but he couldn't help but wish there was a way to tie Tom to him completely, to make sure Tom would never change his mind or turn a violent hand in Harry's direction.

"Stay with me," Harry mumbled, reaching for Tom's hand. He twisted their fingers together and squeezed as hard as he dared, mindful of Tom's fragile, human hand.

This line of thinking was leading him down a dangerous path. But if given the choice, Harry had the awful suspicion that he would make the wrong choice. He couldn't live without Tom, not anymore. He could only hope that Tom would always feel the same way.

Tom's arm tightened around his waist. "Of course," Tom said, still in that soothing, reassuring tone. "Always, my love." Then, slowly, he slid one hand to the back of Harry's neck. His grip felt almost proprietorial, but Harry didn't care. If he was going to belong to someone, he wanted it to be Tom.

Harry exhaled, marvelling at the subtle compression of his lungs as the air escaped them. He kept firm hold of Tom's hand as he took a step back. Then he led Tom to the door that led to the balcony. The balcony that overlooked the empty gardens.

Outside, the weather was still achingly vibrant and real. Harry pulled Tom towards the decorative, wrought-iron balustrade. With his enhanced vision, he could make out each curling blade of grass, each jagged rock and rough patch of dirt. The air lingered with scents, grass and pine and a hint of salt

"The world is beautiful, isn't it?" Tom asked in a low voice.

Harry swallowed down the sudden lump in his throat, focusing on the feeling of Tom's hand tangled with his. "Yeah. It is."

"Yours to design," Tom promised, gesturing to the grounds. "I'll hire out for the labour if you'd prefer."

"No," Harry said immediately. There could be no other hands laid upon this sacred space but his own. "No, I want to do it." It would take longer, but it would be worth it.

Tom smiled. "I thought you might."

"Don't worry, I'll still keep up with my other work," Harry added quickly, but before he could go further, Tom silenced him with a severe look.

"You work because you enjoy it," Tom said flatly. "The moment that ceases to be true, you will not be permitted to lift so much as a watering can, let alone build another garden."

Harry did enjoy working. He could not imagine a day would come where he found gardening distasteful. "I'll always enjoy my work," he said in a mild voice.

"Then I will continue to seek and provide clients for you," Tom said kindly. "My lovely little gardener."

Harry blushed again. "I'd really wish you'd stop this," he muttered, rubbing at his face.

Tom's eyes gleamed as he responded, "But why would I, when I like it so much?" He pressed his lips to Harry's cheek, gentle and warm.

Harry's brand-new heart stuttered in response, and just knowing that—knowing that he had a heart, and that it loved Tom as much as he did—settled something in him, a final piece slipping into place.

His body, still new to him, would not feel foreign forever. So long as his heart was in the right place, so long as Tom lived in the core of him, he knew everything else would follow.

.

END.

A/N:

they are both obsessed with each other, which is... good? good for them. it's really tom's fault, but what can i say? the boy's an idiot in addition to being a walking red flag.

i do think if tom ever broke harry's heart, harry would absolutely snap and kill him, so if you like the sheer angst that comes with that, feel free to imagine it! otherwise you can trust in these two being unhealthily in love for the rest of their lives and then some!

thank you to everyone who followed along with this story, to those of you who were here from the start, joined in the middle, or found your way here after its completion.

sci-fi has always been a favourite genre of mine, and i'm really happy i got to finish this story. i think i'd definitely like to write something with an even heavier sci-fi aspect in the future.

for now, i thank you again and hope to see you again on some of my other works!