Hi. Anyone else see the meteors this week? So pretty. :)

Here's the chapter!

Tom didn't often have nightmares, but when he did, he dreamed about death. Terribly unoriginal, but a powerful fear nonetheless; after all, no one mastered death. He would, but not yet.

A person woke up when they died in a dream. This was common knowledge. Tom's nightmares tormented him because he didn't dream that he was dying, he dreamed that he was already dead. You could escape life, but you couldn't die again to flee death itself, and so his dreams entrapped him.

In the afterlife he didn't have magic. He sank to the level of his muggle father; no, he grew even weaker than his muggle father. The afterlife allowed the man to seek his vengeance, and Tom suffered endlessly at his hands, suffered endlessly at the hands of all the people he had yet to kill. Even Myrtle tormented him, shrieking about yellow eyes and an eternity of madness, and Tom could handle pain, but he couldn't handle weakness.

He'd always sworn to never be helpless again, to show his superiority, but in the afterlife he became nothing more than a powerless shade of what he'd been. He hated it, he hated it, he hated, hated, hated-

"-om," a voice broke through the haze. "Tom! Wake up."

He awoke with a sharp breath, but otherwise made no other sound, his wide eyes the only signal of his consciousness. Green ones looked down at him, pinched and worried, their color dulled by the darkness.

"You were having a nightmare," Potter whispered redundantly.

"I wasn't," Tom breathed, denying the obvious. If he spoke confidently, most people were perfectly willing to be fed a lie. "Go back to bed."

"What was it about?," Potter asked quietly, and instead of going back to bed, he plopped down next to him. He'd brought over his own pillow, suggesting that he didn't intend a short visit.

"Go back to bed," Tom hissed, shoving the boy violently and rolling away to put a few more inches between them. "It wasn't about anything, because I wasn't having a nightmare."

"You were too," Potter said accusingly.

"I wasn't," he snapped.

"Were."

"Wasn't," he said viciously, before cutting himself off, his patience and wit dulled by his exhaustion. "Your concern is touching," he forced out, his voice odd while caught between his anger and his compassionate veneer. "But you should go back to bed."

"I had a nightmare too," Potter mumbled drowsily, burrowing his head in his pillow and ignoring him completely. "I think it's these bloody dungeons. They're freezing, just like dementors. They got Cedric, and I could hear her screaming..."

"Who was screaming?" Tom asked warily, curious despite himself. Had Potter been in the presence of dementors before? That sounded like a revisit of his worst memory.

"My mother," he murmured, squinting at Tom and continuing before he could ask why his mother screamed. "What are you even afraid of, that you can have nightmares? Death, I guess, but I thought you were supposed to wake up when you die in a dream."

Tom sat up, his hand twitching for his wand, but this time resisting the urge. A wand at Potter's throat hadn't helped in the past, and he hated to admit it, but seeing no spark of fear made him feel more powerless than before he'd drawn.

So he told himself that Potter's comment had been a lucky guess. Everyone feared death, so naturally Potter thought of it when nothing else struck him as immediately obvious. He lowered himself back onto his pillow. Potter knew nothing.

Even if the boy did potentially know about the horcruxes.

You'll tear up your soul, your sanity, and all for what?

He brushed away the thought.

"I will toss you to the floor," he threatened darkly, feeling increasingly irritated as Potter made himself comfortable in his bed. The boy stretched languidly, giving a somnolent groan.

"I'll toss...you..." Potter muttered, interrupted briefly by a yawn. "On the...floor..."

Tom narrowed his eyes, picked up his wand, cast a quick silencing charm, and felt a level of satisfaction when Potter fell to the floor with a thud, letting out a loud yelp as he hit. Tom looked over the edge to see Potter trying to glare at him, but without his glasses, his squinting rather ruined the effect.

"I do not make idle threats," Tom warned him.

"I don't either," Potter said, stumbling to his feet and plopping right back into the bed. Tom felt his eye twitch. "Remember that, because I'm telling you that I'll keep coming back, even if I have to crawl or wake up Malfoy to get through the wards."

"Abraxas wouldn't dare," Tom said venomously. Nor would he have the skills.

"He would if I said I thought something was wrong," Potter said, his eyelids already drooping.

"Malfoy, I don't know what's wrong, I just keep hearing him whimpering," he said in a voice of faux concern and panic, his arm flopping sleepily for emphasis.

"You wouldn't dare," Tom hissed.

"I thought Abraxas wouldn't dare?" Potter asked with another yawn. "Shut it, would you? We're both having nightmares, I might as well just sleep here."

"And this has nothing to do with the love potion, does it?" he asked scathingly. "How do I know you won't molest me in my sleep?"

Before he could blink, Potter propped himself up and leaned over, pressing their lips together. A hand tangled in Tom's hair, holding him in place so he couldn't flinch away, and he felt something wet and firm touch his bottom lip—Potter's tongue—before he reacted and roughly shoved the boy away.

Potter slumped back onto his pillow, face-down and unbothered. "I promise to only molest you while you're awake," he promised sluggishly, his voice slurred and muffled in the fabric.

Tom didn't move for a moment, breathing harshly, almost blinded by rage. He had his wand at Potter's nape, despite his earlier resolve, trembling with fury. He caught himself just in time, and took a deep, calming breath.

"Then for your sake, I hope you fall asleep fast, Potter," he spat hatefully.

He waited half an hour for the idiot to drop off into a deeper sleep, and after strengthening his silencing charm, he found great satisfaction in listening to Potter's muttered curses about being deposited on the floor for the second time that night.

After all, one woke up when they died, but they also woke up when falling.

ooo

Tom had spent his six years carefully cultivating acquaintances, making enemies only when deemed advantageous or necessary. He would have doubtlessly gotten through seventh year just as well, if it hadn't been for one unfortunate and infuriating fact.

Potter had, it appeared, a penchant for inadvertent trouble.

To be fair, the gossip doubtlessly would have died down if MacDougal hadn't been a vindictive, vapid halfwit, but Tom had given up on fair since the tender age of four. Fair didn't reclaim his stolen lunch from Billy Stubs.

In angering MacDougal, Potter had antagonized a good portion of the fool's friends. This wasn't all of the Gryffindors, not by a long shot, but the cretins blamed all of Slytherin for the humiliation. The Slytherins, in turn, blamed the growing hostility on the entirety of Gryffindor house, not distinguishing between individuals in their retaliation. Other Gryffindors and Slytherins were thus drawn into the fight, and even if they didn't have anything against Tom or Harry personally, the situation continued to escalate.

Before, the House of Slytherin had been content to overlook Potter, mostly due to his introverted behavior, acceptable surname, and the fact that he only had one remaining year left at Hogwarts. Now they noticed that the boy wasn't as unthreatening as he had initially appeared, and had, in fact, induced a House War. Combined with his potion-induced infatuation with Tom, he became the direct target of malicious gossip and taunts.

Tom was infuriatingly dragged into the mess, since Potter refused to leave his side. He considered taking drastic action to rid himself of the pest, but he knew how quickly the target of Hogwart's rumors could change. He didn't dare try anything with so much attention on the two of them, not when Potter could easily be turned into a tragic victim—such a quiet boy—and Tom into the villain: it's always the nice ones, isn't it?

Tom found himself left with limited options. Cutting off Potter would garner unwanted attention as well, and would gain the boy sympathy, since the love potion spill had been an accident. He couldn't help acting like a fool, and the school would view Tom unkindly if he punished the boy for it.

Besides, he found himself unentirely sure he could successfully ditch Potter, since the boy had an uncanny knack for finding the school's best retreats. If all else failed, he supposed he could always use the Chamber, since Parselmouth or not, Potter would never find it.

On the other hand, he could subtly encourage the House War, while maintaining an outward appearance of a Head Boy pandering for inter-house unity. As one of the focal points of the rumors, he could...manipulate them, so that they reflected more favorably on the both of them.

He favored the second option, especially since he had already formed a plan on how to do so.

There was a Quidditch match tomorrow, and the relations between Gryffindor and Slytherin would only worsen in the upcoming time. His plan gambled on the boy's skill, but based on the information he'd procured from Potter, he had a talent for the game. Probably better than their current Seeker; Tom knew enough about the sport to recognize the two-year failure to catch the snitch as an extremely poor record, especially when up against mudbloods who'd thought of brooms as nothing more than cleaning contraptions before Hogwarts.

So Tom planned, and in the meantime, he worked on his potion's homework. Potter sat across from him, pretending to do his Charms, but in reality spending more time staring at Tom with a besotted expression.

The Slytherin common room had a tranquil atmosphere, given that only a few classes had a free period at the moment, quiet chattering filling the background. He normally would not have spent his own free hour there, but he passed enough time in the common room socializing that it wasn't remarkably unusual. They had claimed the table closest to the fireplace, faintly warming the cold dungeon air.

Finally, Winky Crockett entered ten minutes later, sitting in his usual spot, incidentally only a table over from where Tom had chosen to sit. Crockett looked unsurprisingly stressed; as the Quidditch team captain, he knew well Slytherin's unfavorable chances at the cup this year. One of Ravenclaw's Chasers was the pureblood nephew of Lars Lundekvam, professional Quidditch player extraordinaire, who unfortunately had the talent to back up his incessant boasting. Gryffindor's players were all sixth and seventh years, skilled veterans, and even Hufflepuff had a "natural talent" for a Keeper.

"You said you were a good Seeker, didn't you, Harry?" Tom asked idly, loud enough for Crockett to hear, but not so loud that he obviously wanted him to hear. "Shame it's your last year."

"I'm all right at it," Potter mumbled, seeming genuinely embarrassed, his face flushing red under Tom's scrutiny. It mystified Tom somewhat, to see someone truly uncomfortable with admitting their skills, and not just presenting a humble front to hide his vanity.

"Nonsense," Tom said, flashing a smile just a bit too wide. "Come now, surely you want to impress me. I'm offering you the perfect chance to boast without coming across as immodest," he teased with calculating precision.

"Well...I did swallow the snitch once, in my first game, although I'm not sure I should be bragging about that," Potter said wryly.

"Very dedicated," Tom said with humorous solemnity, flashing the boy a flirtatious smile in the hopes that Potter would better cooperate. He saw Crockett listening from the corner of his eye; he needed Potter to say something impressive, not entertaining. "What about your second game?"

"Not very exciting," Potter admitted. "I caught it in under five minutes. My team was upset that I didn't give them a chance to show off."

Tom saw Selwyn lean closer, visibly interested now. "Well, the fastest capture recorded is seven seconds, so there's always room for improvement," he teased deviously, hoping to goad Potter into more impressive feats.

"Three and a half seconds," Potter corrected absent-mindedly, seeming to warm to the topic now. Most people did enjoy apprising others of their talents, and he was no exception with the right encouragement. "You know, speaking of dedication, the game after that, I caught the snitch with a broken arm. Hermione threw a fit when Wood congratulated me for continuing to play. And in second year her rants were terrifying," he grinned, eyes dancing with mirth. "I hadn't developed an immunity yet.

Tom studied him for a moment, ignoring Crockett's visible appraisal of Potter, a hungry expression in the captain's eyes. At the very least, Crockett would want to try out the boy for the second or third matches of the year, even if for the first game he preferred to stick with the team he'd been training. Never mind that; Tom would arrange the sine qua non.

No, what troubled Tom was that yet again, Potter had acted just a little bit off. To the casual listener, there wouldn't have been anything out of the ordinary in what he'd just shared, but Tom heard the peculiarities, having grown conscious of them the past few days.

Three and a half seconds. The record for the fastest catch was most definitely seven; Tom had heard it plenty of times throughout his stay at Hogwarts, and with a memory like his it was impossible to forget, despite his disinterest. Perhaps it could have been credited to Potter's terrible memory, except that Potter actually played Quidditch, not like him, and he'd said it so assuredly that Tom had almost wondered if there'd been a recent record-breaker, except that undoubtedly would have been reported in the Daily Prophet. Potter had provided such a specific number, as well, to the half-second...

So perhaps the boy was mistaken. But disregarding that small detail, how had Potter not only stayed on his broom with a broken arm, but managed to maintain the focus to win? At age twelve? How had he developed such a high pain tolerance?

"Sorry, I'm bragging," Potter muttered, smile gone, snapping Tom out of his whirling thoughts. He silently cursed himself; he'd let himself be distracted when he should have been encouraging Potter's reiteration of his talents.

Of course, the most obvious explanation remained that Potter was lying, but somehow Tom doubted this. He had a way of... knowing, when he was lied to.

"Not at all," he reassured him, making his lips twitch into a fetching smile. "You simply charmed me into silence, I was so impressed by your illustrious career."

Potter eyed the smile suspiciously, while at the same time looking quite taken with it, resulting in a rather amusing frown-turned-gape. Tom wondered vaguely at the fact that at this point Potter's ogling had started to entertain him, whereas normally he condemned others for doing the same. He supposed it indulged his ego, especially when he viewed Potter as harmless, too stupid and love-sick to threaten him. Even with the love potion, a few close-mouthed kisses were the most that he'd tried.

"What is it?" he asked pleasantly, after he'd decided that the boy had gaped for long enough.

"You're beautiful," Potter murmured unexpectedly at that, catching him off guard, although he'd never admit it. He covered it quickly, sending the boy a disapproving look. He hadn't expected the idiot to be so forward, but again, love potion. At least it caused Crockett to turn away; Tom only enjoyed being eavesdropped on when he'd arranged it in the first place. The conversation had served its purpose.

"Do your homework, Harry," said Tom.

ooo

Wow, you guys. The support from last chapter was staggering. I was completely blown away. I don't even know what to say, except...

...I AM HONORED TO HAVE SPARKED THE TACO REVOLUTION! YES, ALL HAIL TACO! TACOOOOOOo bwahahahahaha. Taco appreciates your undying support.

No, but in all honesty: Taco!revolutionary or not, thank you so much for the feedback. Reading through your comments is so motivating and uplifting. Thank you thank you thank you. :)