Hi.

Tom supposed he should be grateful for small mercies, since the boy would eventually return to normal. Potter currently infuriated him, but at least he'd never clung to him before the potion. The clumsiness from before was much more tolerable than this new, incessant chattering, or it would have been, had his clumsiness not landed them in this mess in the first place.

"What's your favorite food, Tom?" Potter asked, despite having been refused answers for his last dozen questions.

Even with his golden boy status, Tom didn't need to maintain the patience of a saint, and he'd started ignoring the constant barrage. No one would think him unusually cruel, since they assumed Potter's new infatuation to be completely without basis. When the whole disaster ended, the boy wouldn't blame Tom for dismissing his questions; he would feel too embarrassed for asking them in the first place.

It grew worse as the day went on. "Do you want a chocolate frog, Tom?" Potter asked in Transfiguration. Professor Dumbledore watched them with twinkling eyes, and Tom wanted to gouge them out with his wand.

"Is there a spell that makes your hair so perfect? Or is it naturally beautiful?" the boy pondered on the way to dinner, showing no signs of tiring. Abraxas snickered, and Tom recalled a particularly painful spell which ripped out all of the hair on one's head, and thought that Malfoy would be exponentially less irritating while screaming in agony and sobbing over the loss of his immaculate blond tresses.

"What's your favorite Quidditch team?" Potter inquired innocently while Tom studied. He was reading about the Blood Boiling Curse, and he felt unusually tempted to practice it, in the middle of the common room or not. The witnesses could be obliviated...

"Can I kiss you, Tom?" Potter asked, in the middle of the library, in front of several underclassman Tom had been tutoring in Arithmancy. His quill snapped. The boy was utterly unaware that he'd been closer to receiving the kiss of death.

And that was the last straw. Tom decided he'd be best off alone, or at least alone with Potter. While the situation humiliated the boy more than him, Tom preferred every bit of his dignity intact, no matter how little sacrificed. He would not become the standing joke.

On the way back to the common room, he pulled Potter aside into an empty classroom. The potion might make the boy obey him, and he cursed himself for not trying this earlier. He still had to be polite, since Potter would remember this later, however embarrassing the boy found it, but no one could blame him for not wanting to put up with a neverending inquisition.

"Look, Potter," Tom said lightly, with his temper carefully in check.

"Harry," Potter interrupted eagerly. His face flushed, and he looked adoringly up at Tom, a smile on his lips as if the very fact of Tom's existence made him absurdly happy.

Tom had never had anyone look at him like that; admiration, yes, greed, yes, hate, plenty of times. He thought it said something about the world, that this expression could only be created artificially.

"Harry," Tom continued unenthusiastically, but he had a larger goal in mind, and he knew better than to waste effort on a small hangup like ugly names and over-familiarity. Potter smiled impossibly wider at the gesture. "I understand you're asking about me because you...care about me," he said, trying to cover up his distaste. "But you must understand that it's because of a potion, and I would prefer it if you acted more...reserved."

"A potion?" Potter asked, confused. "But I don't just care about you, I love you."

Tom held back a disgusted cringe. "Yes, Harry. You spilled a love potion on yourself, and now you think you're in love with me."

Potter shook his head vigorously. "No, I really do love you, you have to believe me-"

"I believe you," Tom cut him off, sensing the upcoming rant. He had to keep the conversation focused, a challenging task due to the drug, but surely not impossible. "If you love me, Harry, could I request that you...limit the questions you ask me, especially in public? I'm afraid they're rather...distracting."

Potter looked crushed. "I'm sorry," the boy said, a desperate edge to his voice. "I'm so sorry! I didn't even realize, but I must have been annoying, you must hate me now-"

"Of course not, Harry," Tom lied smoothly. "It's just something I'm asking you to consider for the future. You've done no harm."

"Right," Potter said, shoulders slouching. Then, hesitantly, he looked up. "Could I ask just one question? And this time you answer?"

Tom considered him. He supposed answering one question about Quidditch or favorites wouldn't hurt, and he could always lie.

"What's your question, then?"

Potter bit his lip, then took a deep breath. Tom wanted to snap at him to get on with it, that Quidditch and favorites were useless, and that such questions only proved his insincerity if those topics struck him as the most significant. It showed love's artificiality and weakness, that those things mattered so much. But he held his tongue, a thousand lies ready to spring forth, and then Potter's chosen question shattered the pattern.

"Why did you do it?" he asked, sounding strangely vulnerable in the empty classroom, his voice bouncing off the walls with echoing sincerity.

"What?" Tom asked, wondering if the potion hadn't adled the boy's brains.

"Why will you do it?" Potter corrected his sentence, as incomprehensible and irritating as the first.

"I don't know what-"

"You're willing to kill," said Harry Potter, his voice soft and unreal and his eyes an unnatural green. Tom froze unwillingly under their scrutiny, stuck by the sudden thought that those eyes matched the color of the curse he'd used on his father.

"You have killed, you will kill...and all for what?" Potter continued, as if he didn't see Tom's growing shock. "Kid's parents will be dead or tossed in Azkaban, and your precious purebloods will die right along with the rest of us. Muggleborns are never going to die out because more are always being born, but purebloods will die out trying to kill them anyway. You'll tear up your soul, your sanity, and all for what?

"You're perfect like this, Tom. You're whole and sane. You could have changed the world without torturing and murdering everybody. So why did you do it?" Potter's voice held no blame, just a sincere desire to know, his eyes still deep with false love. Enchanted and enchanting.

"You're mad," Tom said blankly, taking an unconscious step back. How did Potter know about his plans for horcruxes? He said Tom would tear up his soul...and the muggleborns, and the killing, how did Potter know? Perhaps one of those would have been a wild conjecture, fishing for information, but he'd provided too many little things which added together, too many to be a coincidence.

"Mad with love, maybe," came the soft reply, and Potter smiled, and Tom could not understand how the boy could be smiling.

"How much do you know?" Tom demanded, gathering his wits at last, asking the question and drawing his wand in the same moment.

His wand dug into Potter's throat before the boy had time to flinch, but he received no response beyond a startled blink. Potter just watched him with wide eyes which contained little to no surprise, completely devoid of fear. The love potion must dull his reactions.

He pressed the wand harder into Potter's throat. "How. Much. Do. You. Know?"

And Potter shrugged. Tom snarled in frustration, his golden boy facade forgotten in light of the fact that someone had seen through it and had guessed more than Dumbledore.

"Have you been spying on me? What do you want? Tell the truth," he commanded, loud and rattled. He fought to keep his composure.

"I want you, Tom," Potter said earnestly. Tom narrowed his eyes, about to curse him, torture him, anything until he told the truth-

But no. Tom wasn't thinking straight. He let out a breath when he realized; such an obvious thing, he should have seen it sooner. He'd need to be careful, of course, but the situation wasn't unsalvageable.

He'd ordered Potter to tell the truth, and he'd inflected his voice with power not unlike that of the Imperius Curse. It was unlikely that Potter could resist its strength, so when Tom had asked what the boy had wanted, he'd likely have told the truth.

He had answered that he wanted Tom. Perhaps the potion had interfered with his response, but it still made sense that he had wanted Tom before the potion's incident as well. After all, just this morning, hadn't he deduced Potter's infatuation with him?

So Potter had spied on him, and had been remarkably efficient about it, too efficient...but the boy hadn't once approached him with blackmail, hadn't once gone to a teacher, and hadn't once confronted him about the questionable morality of his actions.

Potter liked him, even without the potion, and therefore would protect his secrets, for however long the feeling lasted. He remained furious that someone had found out so much, but he wasn't blind to the potential value. He'd already seen Potter's talents in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and come to think of it, it wouldn't be surprising if it came from knowledge, or at least an affinity, with the the dark arts.

But this was even more useful. Potter had managed to gather a shocking amount of information without Tom noticing, and had only divulged the knowledge to Tom himself, under the additional influence of a love potion. Taking into account the boy's infatuation with him, Tom realized that he could now exploit his impressive investigative skills.

Cautiously, Tom stepped back and lowered his wand, although he didn't put it away.

"You won't tell?" Tom demanded, while an idea formed in the back of his mind.

Potter shook his head rapidly. "Of course not. I would never betray you, Tom."

"No," Tom said slowly. "You won't. Will you prove it for me, Harry?"

"Oh, I'll do anything," Potter said enthusiastically.

Tom knew better than to believe such promises, having heard too many lies from too many lips. He supposed he could almost forgive Potter for this, at least, but never the others. The potion forced the boy to tell such lies, so Potter didn't intend manipulation: the false love had made him stupid and blind. Then again, Tom wouldn't think Potter above manipulation without the potion, and he disliked stupid people almost as much as liars.

Yet circumstances forced him to acknowledge that Potter was not an idiot. He'd knocked over the potion and turned into a nervous fool because of a crush, but the information he'd gathered and the secrecy he'd maintained proved him to be of at least some worth.

Tom would be amiss to disregard such opportunities.

"Will you vow it?" he asked softly.

For the first time, Potter hesitated, and he kept his own face blank. He appeared to be fighting the potion's effects, and Tom could respect that, safe with the knowledge of his own ensured victory.

But as Potter continued to struggle, he wondered if he had a stronger will than he'd first assumed, and he began feeling the first whispers of worry. This was the weakest love potion, after all, no matter how well-brewed. Demanding absolute servitude would cause resistance, but if it was a small sacrifice, something that Potter had intended to do anyway-

"I shan't ask for much," Tom reassured him, keeping any accusation out of his tone, because Potter's guilt would work for him, but his defensiveness would not. "Only a vow to keep my secrets. Do I not deserve an insurance of my privacy? I apologize, it's just, the thought that someone investigated my past, without my permission... Of course I trust you, Harry, but can you imagine the scrutiny of the school if rumours spread, simply because you made one accidental slip?"

Potter's features softened at that, and Tom knew he'd succeeded.

"I don't need to imagine," Potter murmured, and Tom felt a vague, unwilling curiosity at that, but he forced it down. "You have no reason to trust me. I'll do the vow, if it makes you feel better."

"Thank you, Harry," Tom said, his voice filled with feigned gratitude.

He led Potter to the door, a hand on the small of his back, deceptively gentle. He smiled with his teeth, too wide and predatory, but Potter wouldn't see it while influenced by the potion.

"Your devotion is admirable," he whispered into his ear, and he watched Harry Potter shiver as his breath ghosted over his skin.

ooo

It was too late in the evening to perform the necessary ceremony when they arrived back to the dorms, but the following morning, Tom hexed Potter and Abraxas awake, demanding that they accompany him a few hours before breakfast. Abraxas followed stoically, confusion subtly present beneath his impassive gaze, but agreed readily when Tom requested him as their Bonder. But perhaps he only agreed so readily because he knew it wasn't truly a "request".

Tom held out his arm. Potter blinked at it uncertainly, and Tom realized the boy didn't recognize the ceremony. Still, the boy held out his arm anyway. They linked arms, and Abraxas whispered "nox", casting the three teenagers into darkness. The shadows made Potter's eyes look black, flickering green only when the torch light danced across them. The sun had risen, but Tom had led them to an abandoned corridor in the dungeons, no windows to distinguish the time of day. Abraxas placed his wand on top of their clasped hands.

Tom spoke.

"Will you, Harry Potter, keep my secrets, unless my life depends on your action?"

"I will," said Potter, watching with awe at the thin flame that wrapped around their arms. His grip tightened, but he didn't flinch.

"And if you discover any more of my secrets, inadvertently or not, will you share them with me and only me?"

"I will," said Potter.

A second line of flame met the first, intertwining to create a chain. Tom studied their clasped hands, and suddenly disliked this ceremony, in which they acted as each other's counterpart, as though they were equal. Potter should be bowing before him, not standing proudly and holding his hand tightly, looking into his eyes with confidence and false love.

"And if you disapprove of my intentions, will you agree not to use my secrets against me, even if you tell no one of the specifics?"

"I will," said Potter.

The third coil of flame wound down their arms, Abraxas's breath catching and his wand trembling ever-so-slightly, the three rings of fire combining and brightening so that only one long, fiery snake remained.

The three of them watched, fascinated, until the flames died. Potter kept holding onto his hand despite Tom tugging away, until finally he lost his patience and yanked himself out of the boy's grasp. He pulled out his wand in a fluid motion, and before Abraxas could register the attack, Tom spoke.

"Obliviate."

Hahahaha. Tom is quite good at anticipating loopholes. How much trouble is Harry in? :D