LAST TIME: Harry got invited to the Malfoy Christmas party, and Orion- along with several classmates- went home for the holidays. Harry was attacked by Lestrange, learning that Lestrange murdered Daisy Meadowes, and Harry was then rescued by Tom. Harry fell unconscious (fainted), and upon awakening, learned that Tom had murdered Lestrange. He'd also betrayed Harry, telling Lestrange that Harry had the locket that would lead to Lestrange's capture, and provoking Lestrange into his attack on Harry. Harry and Tom had a conversation, within which Harry made the decision to call Tom by his first name. Tom ran into Dumbledore and had a vague conversation. Harry returned to the dormitories, where he found a set of old dress robes left by Orion, and realised he would have to go to the party.
And that was what you missed on GLEE!
The party came sooner than Harry would have liked. The days leading up to it were spent dodging Tom and trying not to close his eyes: he heard the crunch of a body thrown against a wall every time he did.
At the beginning, he hadn't meant to avoid Tom. It had just sort of happened. Harry went to the hospital wing to get a headache potion after he awoke following Lestrange's attack, and then had proceeded to coincidently miss Tom in every lesson. And then when he'd caught sight of him at dinner…
An ugly, bitter wave of betrayal rose within him. Huh. He thought he'd gotten over that. But in the cold light of day… without a concussion or the desperate shaking of his limbs to distract… wow. Tom had really been a dick.
Harry had trusted him — told him about the locket, despite the hungry, almost serpentine flashes that sometimes lit the Slytherin boy's features — and Tom had told Lestrange about it; and sent him violently crashing after Harry. It had been reckless, and badly thought out, and cruel. It had been cruel.
But Harry knew that Tom probably didn't understand ideas like that. Tom was half emotionally-dead, after all (you had to be, to become what he would become). He'd acknowledged that he'd made a mistake, and he'd apologised. It was actually a bit of a miracle — Tom Riddle apologising, and seeming genuinely repentant. Well, Harry knew he couldn't ask for more.
It didn't stop him wanting more.
He would forgive Tom eventually, of course, he would — Tom hadn't meant any actual harm — but Harry knew it would take time. Time, and the reminder that Tom was a palatable human being, but perhaps that would come later. Everything felt a lot less complex without the sight of Tom, so Harry ended up… just sort of… not seeing him?
It didn't stop Montgomery Lestrange from haunting Harry's dreams. He couldn't close his eyes without remembering his death and feeling the heavy, hot weight of guilt. Harry had thought he'd moved on from that, thought he'd put it behind him — but apparently those nagging stabs of nobility just wouldn't let it go. They weren't as sharp as they would have been a few months ago, Harry was sure of that, but they were still there.
Merlin, couldn't he get a rest?
Oh. Tom blinked as he entered the Slytherin dorms and saw Harrison on the other side, staring into a mirror with a thoughtful frown. For a moment, he had forgotten the other boy was attending the party that evening, despite how hard Tom had fought to get him an invitation.
Harrison was clearly in the middle of getting ready, dressed in shimmering, well-cut, expensive dress robes that Tom remembered Orion wearing two years ago. Harrison had better be prepared for snide comments. Although, Tom considered with a tilt of his head, perhaps the gossipers would be distracted by other things. Harrison did look handsome, and the dress robes did all the right things to his shoulders and waist. Objectively, Harrison Peters was a beautiful young man and would surely attract attention.
Oh, this was going to be hilarious. Tom knew he'd wanted the boy at the Malfoy party for some reason.
There was just one thing…
"Your hair looks awful," Tom said critically, stepping further into the dorm. "And you need to shine your shoes. Or maybe replace them."
Harrison jumped, spinning around in an overdramatic whirl of stumbling feet and flailing arms. "W-what are you doing in here?"
"I live here," Tom replied, raising an eyebrow.
"Yeah, I know, I mean, I just—" Harrison stuttered, his cheeks flushing. "You shouldn't sneak up on people! I swear I said this before…"
"Well, perhaps you should work on your peripheral vision, then. I made no attempt at artifice."
Harrison huffed with something that could have been laughter. "You 'made no attempt at artifice'? Most people don't step with all the impact of a kitten."
Tom wasn't sure he appreciated the comparison.
"And what's wrong with my shoes, anyway?!" Harrison continued defensively.
"They're your school shoes."
"They're comfy."
"They have a hole in the heel."
"They're well ventilated."
"You're ridiculous." Tom hid a reluctant smile, giving up. "At least fix your hair."
"Trying to do anything with my hair is pointless. It's unfixable." Harrison shrugged, running a hand through the bird's nest atop his head.
Tom winced. "If I could just maybe use some water and a comb—" Without realising it, Tom had stepped forward and raised his arms, as if to forcibly wrestle Harrison's hair into some semblance of neatness. He froze, and let his arms fall. "Yes, well." He coughed uncomfortably.
Harrison shifted from foot to foot, glancing at the door. "What are you doing here?"
"I am attending the party too. I require some time to prepare."
"Ah, yeah." A pause. "I'm pretty much done, so I'll just get out of your hair." Harrison turned to leave.
"Where are you going now?" Tom asked quickly.
"I'm flooing to the party. I'll see you later."
And Harrison exited, leaving Tom feeling more bewildered than he had in years.
Harry hated travelling by floo.
He stumbled out of the fireplace into Orion's arms; his knees weaker than jelly.
"Woah!" Orion laughed, but held Harry up as he swayed dizzily. "Don't throw up — I'm awful at cleaning spells."
"I'm fine," Harry mumbled. "I just really, really hate floo powder."
"I love it," Orion said cheerily. "It gets my blood pumping."
"Weirdo," Harry replied fondly, and patted Orion on the back once the room stopped spinning. "Hey, mate. It's been a while."
Orion shocked Harry by throwing his arms around him and enclosing him in a tight hug. "I missed you."
"It's only been a few days." Harry laughed, squeezing him back. It felt like longer — in fact, Harry felt like almost a different person after the Lestrange attack.
"I'm still allowed to miss you," Orion said earnestly. "You're my first proper friend."
"Sap," Harry said, but a burst of warmth filled his chest. At least something good had come out of this trip to the past. Harry had always had Ron and Hermione; he didn't know what he would've done without them. He was glad he could give Orion the same thing.
"So, this is the Malfoy Manor, huh?" Harry said, looking around a large, space with a tall ceiling, elegant panelling and luxurious wallpaper.
"This is just a floo lobby," Orion dismissed. "The rest of the house is much more impressive."
Harry thought it was pretty impressive already, but he didn't want to start an argument this early on — he was sure there would be plenty more lavish extravagancies to disapprove of.
"Come on!" Orion declared, grabbing Harry by the wrist. "We're rather early, but a few people have arrived. I think the Rosiers are here, and the Li's, and perhaps the Babbages. Oh, and we can thank Abraxas for a wonderful evening before the masses arrive."
"We don't know if it's going to be wonderful yet," Harry said snidely, but allowed himself to be dragged down a corridor.
They soon came to a large open archway, the view inside restricted by a curtain of falling snow. Harry extended an arm cautiously, putting a hesitant hand underneath the snowfall. Immediately, his hand warmed up, the snowflakes melting into his skin like pinpricks of fire. Curious, Harry stepped through it; and each snowflake that fell onto his shoulders as he passed under felt like a tiny spark of warmth. It was peculiar and wonderful, and heated Harry up from the very inside.
The hall inside was certainly impressive; Orion hadn't been lying. Harry could see the main doors on one side, lit up with millions of lanterns and what might have been actual fairies, through which the guests for the evening were arriving.
"We got the Hogwarts-regulated floo," Orion muttered discretely. "There's another one just outside."
The rest of the décor was just as overwhelming. They had certainly taken the 'snow' theme and run with it, as giant crystalline structures hung from the ceiling; some appearing like oversized snowflakes, some appearing like huge dragons and various other creatures, swooping down upon the guests from great heights. The ceiling was enchanted to the same effect as in the Hogwarts Great Hall, but this ceiling was much more impressionistic: the stars turned into swirls of bright light and the sky a mix of purples and greens. Sumptuous fabrics tumbled from open windows in waves of velvets and silks, and the floor was a sparkling, polished marble.
"It's beautiful," Harry admitted.
Orion sighed happily. "I know." He perked up, looking excited. "Let's go and say hi to Abraxas!"
"Yes," Harry said, wearing a falsely cheerful smile. "Let's."
It wasn't difficult to find Abraxas, as his hair shone brightly under the lights, glistening like silver. Harry was very certain he'd put some kind of glitter in it. Abraxas wore gorgeous purple robes, and they swept past his knees and behind him in an elaborate bridal train.
"Abraxas!" Orion greeted enthusiastically.
"Orion," Abraxas greeted politely, nodding his head. He turned to Harry, and his eyes got colder. "Peters."
"Thanks for the invite. I was so surprised to receive one," Harry said, a saccharine smile decorating his features.
"Well, Tom was very persuasive."
"It's so nice that you listen to your friends' advice about your own party guests."
"And it's so nice to see that you're into recycling," Abraxas retorted with a petty glint in his eyes.
"What?"
"Well, Orion wore those robes to our party two years ago." There was a little snarl to Abraxas' lip that made Harry want to punch him.
"You can wear clothes more than once!" Orion piped up helpfully, looking like he was trying to be genuinely helpful.
"Yes," Abraxas acknowledged patronisingly. "But it doesn't often happen at a Malfoy Ball."
Harry clenched his jaw. "Perhaps that says more about your guest list than my outfit."
"Perhaps."
It was then that Orion decided to engage Abraxas in a passionate discussion about the decorations, and Harry was lost once they got onto the topic of ceiling roses. He drifted away, letting his gaze trail lazily over the growing number of guests.
Oh — was that a familiar head of smooth, neatly arranged hair? Shit. Running into Tom earlier had thrown him off, and he really didn't want it to happen again. Harry ducked away in the opposite direction and kept his chin tucked into his chest. He wondered how long he could keep this up.
Tom arrived at the party in a pair of well-transfigured robes, sparing little more than a considerate glance to the towering walls and polished sculptures. He'd quickly found himself pulled into Walburga and Druella's conversation and had stayed to satisfy his own morbid fascination.
The two of them had dressed for the occasion: Walburga in a long, elegant red dress with beaded silver snowflake details over her right rip, and Druella in a shorter white number, strings of gold-tinted pearls strung amongst her wild hair.
"It's odd, isn't it?" Walburga asked, taking a sip from a glass.
"What's odd?" Druella sighed, frowning at a wall of male-centric portraits.
"The way that Montgomery disappeared so suddenly."
"Very odd," Tom added, a sly kind of smirk settling itself on his lips. He peered around the hall subtly, trying to see if he could catch a glimpse of Harrison. He'd been elusive these past few days — it was very out of character. Usually Harrison would join them and eye Tom oddly, whilst throwing in his passionate two sickles if anyone insulted Muggles or their offspring. Cassius was the one who slipped through meals and classes like a ghost.
"He went abroad, didn't he? I didn't think he'd ever expressed any interest!" Walburga pouted, like she was disappointed she'd missed out on the gossip.
"He called foreigners filthy, once," Druella pointed out cynically. "I find it hard to believe he'd go to meet more."
"If Lestrange decided to avoid everyone he deemed unsuitable or 'filthy', he might as well crawl into an early grave," Tom said with hidden amusement. "And perhaps he's decided that it's not worth possibly throwing away a possible cure for his petty intolerances."
"That's the thing — he's never indicated that he wants to cure his illness before. He just sort of spits about it."
Tom had the urge to correct the conversation to past tense but thought it would be a little on the nose.
Walburga nodded her head enthusiastically in reply to Druella, fluttering a fan with her other hand. "Yes," she agreed, swallowing. "He once told me his madness helped him to sniff out impure blood. Like it was some sort of sensor spell."
Druella looked thoughtful. "He really is crazy."
"In the politest and most politically correct way possible," Walburga said quickly.
There was a new arrival at their gathering.
"So, Lestrange turned into a fucking globetrotter!" Rupert declared, sidling into place next to Tom.
Tom didn't look towards him. "That's what we were just discussing," he said curtly.
"In a less crude manner, of course." Walburga smiled sweetly.
"Who'd have guessed it, huh? Lestrange got out before all of us." Rupert slung an arm over Tom's shoulder, removing it quickly when Tom raised an eyebrow at him. "Although Peters might be next, with all that hiding in bathrooms and gazing at the sky he's been doing. And he's back to avoiding you! I saw him heading in the opposite direction just now." He crowed triumphantly at Tom.
"We just haven't seen a lot of each other," Tom sad coolly. "He merely seems emotionally distressed. Perhaps he misses Montgomery."
Everyone burst into laughter.
"Ha… ha!" Druella doubled over, clutching at her stomach as her shoulders shook.
"No one misses Lestrange." Dolohov sniggered.
Walburga looked as if she might try a weak rebuttal, but gave up.
Tom smiled in satisfaction. He didn't know what Harrison was sulking about. Clearly the world was better off without Montgomery Lestrange in it.
"How are you?"
The soft voice behind him barely made Harry flinch. "Hello, Cassius." He sighed, turning to face his classmate remarkably. "That was a weirdly normal greeting."
Of course, he shouldn't be surprised that Cassius found him out here, even if it took Harry accidentally falling through an unlocked door to stumble upon it. The little garden behind the door had been quiet, modest, and beautiful; and Harry had quickly found himself a seat. At least Riddle wouldn't find him out here, and it was a welcome respite from the party.
"I thought I'd try something new," Cassius said vaguely. He joined Harry in staring out onto the courtyard, sitting next to him on the bench. "I can't say the same for you. Still wallowing in guilt, I see."
"I'm not wallowing," Harry said hotly. He bit his lip uncertainly. "…Just reflecting."
Cassius rolled his eyes. "You do too much of that."
Merlin, it was like Hermione had joined him in the 1940s. "Yeah, I've heard that before." Harry rubbed the back of his neck tenderly. It was still twinging from the Montgomery attack, but not nearly as painful as before.
"How's your head?" Cassius asked him.
"It's fine. I went to the hospital wing, and the Matron said I was okay."
Suddenly, Cassius burst out laughing.
Harry blinked in shock and flinched, inching back away from the boy on the bench. "What's so funny?"
"You told Hallpepper that you slipped in the shower?" Cassius giggled. "Only you, Potter."
Harry turned red, both from the shock of hearing his real second name and from embarrassment. "It was the first excuse I could think of!" He spluttered. "I didn't tell you about that, anyway."
"You didn't need to," Cassius said, smiling enigmatically.
How irritating. Harry sat up as he spotted a dark head of hair in a distant window. He relaxed as the head turned, revealing a sharp profile and a hawkish nose. It wasn't Tom.
Cassius, as usual, missed very little. He raised his eyebrow curiously. "Now, why are you avoiding Tom?"
"Can't you just 'psychic' the answers?" Harry said bitterly, hunching his shoulders.
"I don't know everything — that's not how it works. But I can certainly guess." Cassius looked like he was having far too much fun. "Anger? Fear? Guilt? Gratitude? All of them?" Cassius guessed, scanning Harry's face.
Harry set his jaw stubbornly. "You're talking nonsense."
Cassius gave a coy, small smile. "You're angry because he betrayed you; scared because he killed someone; guilty because he killed them for you… and grateful that he did it." Cassius threw back his head in delight. "Gods, nothing was this interesting until you came along!"
"Someone died so you could be 'interested'." Harry snarled.
"Someone died because Tom got possessive," Cassius dismissed. "I had very little to do with it. I just watched it all unfold."
Harry made a noise in the back of his throat disgustedly. "You watched? Why didn't you do something? Why didn't you stop him?" Harry didn't even know if he was referring to Lestrange or Tom anymore.
"Why didn't you? Tom wouldn't have killed Lestrange if you said something," Cassius countered, with absolute certainty.
"I was slightly distracted," Harry spat back.
"Or maybe you just didn't want to stop Tom. Lestrange was an objectively terrible person, no matter how wonderfully unpredictable. Killing him saved lives."
Harry turned away, feeling sickened to the pit of his stomach. "Riddle betrayed me," he mumbled finally, furiously.
"He did," Cassius agreed. "And he'd probably do it again. He didn't mean for you to get hurt though — it's incredible, he'd never have felt guilty before. You've changed everything." The glee in Cassius' voice was palpable.
"Glad I bring out Riddle's soft side," Harry said acidly, doubting Tom even had a soft side.
"Not yet — but you will. I'm rooting for you two."
Harry got to his feet, feeling even more conflicted than before. "Well, I'd love to stay and swap cryptic remarks with you, but I have a godawful party to get back to."
"I'm not cryptic; I'm being perfectly candid."
"Right," Harry agreed blankly, and turned away.
"It takes two to tango!" Cassius called after him.
"That makes no sense!"
"Hey!" Orion called as Harry re-entered the hall, and his voice was slurred. "Y' came back!"
"'Course, I did," Harry said, supporting Orion as he tipped forwards a bit. "Are you drunk?"
"Jus' a bit." Orion giggled. "Druella kept handing me glasses."
"She did, did she? Let's go and find her."
Harry silently cursed as he dragged his inebriated friend across the hall. What was Druella thinking, letting Orion get drunk at — Harry checked a nearby clock — nearly 9:30? It was that late already? Harry must've spent longer in the garden than he thought. Harry threw Orion a guilty look that he was too drunk to comprehend. "Sorry, mate."
"It's all okay," Orion assured him seriously. "I forgive you, even if you're weird and say weird things. 'Cause you're my friend."
"Brilliant," Harry replied absently, catching a glimpse of extravagant red that was sure to signal Walburga, which meant Druella had to close by. "Come on."
Harry dragged Orion past solemn-looking witches and wizards who paid them no notice, acting as if the presence of a drunk teenager was a common occurrence at these sorts of things. It probably was. Harry must have muttered "excuse me" a dozen times before he reached the girls.
"What have you done?" he asked, letting Orion sink into a nearby chair, giggling. "He's off his head!"
"Oh, don't be dramatic," Walburga chided, barely looking at her drunk cousin. "He just had a few glasses of wine."
"Besides," Druella added, "He needed to loosen up. He got all worried when he couldn't find you."
Harry sent another guilty look towards Orion, who gave him a thumbs up.
Druella rolled her eyes. "It's all fine. Orion's not a bad drunk. He just sort of… gets even happier and compliments Walburga."
"Walburga's the best," Orion agreed dreamily.
"Thank you, darling. Here, have another sip," Walburga cooed, and pushed her glass into Orion's hand.
"Is that a good idea?"
Druella raised an eyebrow in Harry's direction and gestured towards Orion, who was enthusiastically taking great gulps of alcohol. "Do you really want him to come down from his high now? We've got to keep him peppy."
Harry bit his lip uncertainly. "Just… just—make sure he doesn't do anything he'll regret."
Walburga let out an offended gasp. "I'd never let Orion embarrass himself — it would be most unkind. Not to mention the scandal that the Black family would face."
"He'll just compliment people until he feels sleepy," Druella said, prising the glass from Orion's hands. "I reckon he'll last 'til midnight."
"1 in the morning," Walburga challenged.
Druella smirked. "Whoever's right gets to use the shower first in the morning?"
"Deal."
"Oh, you're going down."
"We'll see."
"I just feel so happy." Orion sighed, and fell off his chair.
Tom spotted Harrison across the hall. At first, he wasn't sure if it really was Peters, but then he saw Walburga and Druella next to him; all three of them had gathered around a drunken Orion. Orion always seemed to get drunk at events like this, but it didn't usually happen so soon.
Tom crossed the floor quickly, weaving around dancing couples. He didn't want Harrison to get the chance to notice him, lest he jumped onto a chandelier, or did something else ridiculous, to avoid Tom. Luckily, Tom reached the group without catching anyone's notice. He tapped Harrison on the shoulder, his classmate turning around in what seemed like slow motion, and somehow the first words out of Tom's mouth were:
"May I have this dance?"
Tom didn't know why he said it — perhaps he'd realised that, otherwise, he didn't actually have a reason to interact with Harrison — he was just bored with Harrison ignoring him. However, the more Tom thought about it, the more he liked the idea of a dance. It would be private, difficult to refuse — and quite possibly hilarious, from the panicked look on Harrison's face.
"Of course, you can," Druella answered easily, placing a hand between Harrison's shoulder blades and pushing him forwards.
"But Orion—" Harrison protested weakly, digging his heels in.
"He's drunk, not dying. Dance with Riddle before he cries."
Tom was certain that he had never cried in his life, but Druella also looked a little tipsy, so there was little point in arguing. Anyway, her attempt at persuasive was successful: Harrison reluctantly took Tom's outstretched hand and let Tom lead him away.
But before they could take another step, Harrison stopped and said stiffly: "Tom?"
"Yes?"
"I can't dance."
"Surely you must have some experience," Tom said doubtfully.
"I mean, we all did some lessons for this ball thing about a year ago, but—"
"Don't worry," Tom assured him with a self-satisfied smile. "I'll lead."
"Like hell you will—!"
But before Harrison could protest further, Tom pulled him into the midst of the dancing couple, and they fell into hold. The music was slow and floaty, and the pair found themselves settling into a loose kind of waltz. Harrison was nearly as terrible at dancing as he had pretended. He wasn't good, but he knew enough not to bruise Tom's feet, which was more than could be said for many of his past dance partners. There was still a fight between them, though: Tom would lead in one direction, and then Harrison would abruptly change it, leaving Tom to stumble slightly as he adjusted.
They were not the only men dancing with each other, but their pairing was unusual enough to provoke curious glances from the other dancers, and both Harrison and Tom took great delight in sweeping close to the nosy pairs, leaving them to yelp and lurch backwards.
They danced mostly in silence for the first song, and Harrison would send Tom dirty looks when he thought the other boy wasn't looking. It was delightfully aggressive.
However, finally, Tom grew frustrated with the silence. For some reason, Harrison was one of the only people whom Tom minded silence from. The idea of the boy never talking to him again, of never engaging in another carefully worded argument, or another moment of halfblood camaraderie, or another moment of shared exasperation was… unpleasant.
So, Tom tried for an outside spin, stepping elegantly into the waltz move. Harrison tripped over his robes, but Tom supported him enough that Harrison finished the move, and they returned to their stilted progression across the dance floor.
"Could've warned me…" Harrison muttered.
"But then it wouldn't have been so much fun," Tom said pleasantly, extending his right leg and leaning back. Harrison followed naturally.
"Sadist."
"You've been ignoring me," Tom said abruptly, and the immediate tensed muscles and panicked expression on Harrison made him feel much more at home. Best of all, how could Harrison escape whilst they were on the dance floor? "I can't help but wonder why?"
"Ignoring you?" Harrison chuckled falsely, as they fell into another outside spin. This time, Harrison didn't trip. "I wouldn't do that—"
"I have seen neither hide nor hair of you, other than earlier in the dorm. Not since our… little moment."
There was a lengthy silence, and Tom got the unpleasant feeling that he'd done something wrong. Harrison's step quickened.
"What did you say?" Harrison asked lowly, narrowing his eyes.
Ah, well. In for a sickle, in for a galleon. "Since our little moment, you've been—"
"Our little moment!?" Harrison exploded, pulling Tom into a new direction sharply. "You killed someone!"
"He would have killed you," Tom said calmly, glancing around to see if anyone had noticed. Luckily, the music had risen to a sudden crescendo and Harrison's outburst appeared to have been masked.
"You took a life!" Harrison hissed, panting heavily. This had clearly been building within him for the last few days. "I let you take a life."
"You were unconscious. Hardly in a position to—"
"It doesn't matter."
"Doesn't matter about what?"
"It doesn't matter if I was unconscious or not. You killed someone, and I didn't stop you. And then I didn't do anything, and there's no way I will now, but I can't stop thinking about everything—" Harrison was getting steadily more panicked by the moment, and as curious as Tom was to see how long he would continue for, he stopped Harrison mid-ramble.
"I'm uncertain as to why you're so upset."
"Why I'm upset?!" Harrison repeated, with more incredulity than Tom thought his remark deserved. "Merlin, Tom, I'm feeling guilty!"
They narrowly avoided colliding with an elderly couple, and the lady cursed at them in French as she was twirled away.
"Guilty…?" Tom said slowly. "To my understanding, guilt is triggered by one's actions. You did nothing. You were, in fact, the victim in this particular situation—"
"Don't remind me."
Tom scanned Harrison's face; the scarred, elegant facial features twisted into some sort of angered façade, and his rigid, fixed grip on Tom's hand and back. Tom pursed his lips. "You're angry at me, too."
"Yes," Harrison bit out, his body language closing off.
"I was under the impression that you'd forgiven me."
"Forgiven you?" Harrison seemed to be doing little in this conversation other than repeat parts of Tom's phrases. "Of course, I haven't forgiven you. I just decided that you deserved a proper introduction and to be called by your first name. I never really gave you a chance, did I? I sort of hated you from the start."
Tom was confused. That had sounded like an admittance. "So, you haven't forgiven me."
"No."
"I killed Lestrange to protect you," Tom offered. Tom was fairly certain he would have killed Lestrange either way — he had been an unpredictable danger to the school, but perhaps highlighting the danger to his personal being would make Harrison feel better…
"Maybe, I could believe that." Harrison snorted, oddly bitter. "If you weren't you."
Evidently not.
Time to try again. "I will admit," Tom said slowly, trying to calculate how honest he should be, "that I encounter difficulties when empathising with your guilt."
Harrison's lips upturned. "You don't say."
"And I am… uncertain of what I should be doing to gain your forgiveness. I saved your life."
"After you endangered it."
The music was faster and sharper now, and Harrison and Tom's movements reflected it.
"That was incidental."
Harrison rolled his eyes. "Okay, fine. You didn't mean for it to go so far, and you apologised. We can put the betrayal thing behind us, maybe." He set his jaw. "But you killed someone, Tom. Lestrange may have been an awful person, but he was still a person. Do you even regret killing him, at all?"
"I regret my hastiness. It was sloppy."
"Well, that's something at least."
Perhaps he should try the emotional angle. "I also regret causing you guilt. It wasn't my intention."
"I know." Harrison looked conflicted, as he and Tom stepped swiftly to a quick drum beat. Finally Harrison relaxed, his grip on Tom loosening. "Just give it time, Tom. I need time to… fix everything that's going on in my head."
That was better than a no. In fact, Harrison was implying that forgiveness would be near on the horizon. Tom hid his satisfied smile (suspecting it wouldn't go down well), and refocused on the music and their surroundings. Harrison was more relaxed too, and perhaps even wore a slight smile.
Tom searched for conversation material.
"That," Tom pointed out a nearby couple subtly, as Harrison and Tom danced closer, "Is Minister Spencer-Moon. Rumour is that he's rather close with the Muggle Prime Minister." Tom raised his eyebrows suggestively.
"No." Harrison scoffed in disbelief, craning his head to get a better look as they spun past them. "Who's he dancing with?"
"His wife."
Harrison hid a laugh.
"He worked his way up the Ministry stepladder from a mere tea-boy to Minister for Magic. He'd been quite the success story. A halfblood, too." Tom peered around the room for other sources of scandal. "And over there is Vice-Minister Payton. He's rumoured to be a dark lord supporter, and his outdated connections have led to a call for replacement." Tom spotted a familiar face. "And that is Dorian Mulciber: a year out of Hogwarts, who achieved one of the highest NEWTs results for Charms ever seen."
Mulciber was actually looking over at Tom and Harry, probably wondering why Tom was dancing with a stranger, or perhaps guessing how much money Harrison would inherit.
"Was he one of your sycophants?" Harrison asked drily. "He looks sickeningly adoring."
"We do exchange regular letters," Tom admitted. Mulciber had shares in Bubble's Potion's Emporium, every pawn shop in Knockturn Alley, and was steadily climbing in the Auror ranks. He was useful.
"Who's that woman dancing with him?" Harrison squinted at Mulciber's dance partner oddly.
"Sofia Dolohov. She's Rupert's mother."
"…I recognise her. She was his boggart."
"Mmm. Whenever they interact socially, he likes to drink and pretend they don't know each other. It's probably the root of his serial dating."
"That's so sad."
Tom kept Harrison entertained with gossip; and by the end of another dance, Harrison was laughing freely. As the music came to a swelling crescendo, Tom leaned forwards, pulling Harrison down with him.
But Harrison stepped out of his grip, and the music finished with a quiet violin pluck.
"You're not dipping me," Harrison said with a laugh. "We're not at that point."
"Not yet," Tom replied with a small smile.
Harrison snorted, and put his hands in the pocket of his dress robes. "Well, thanks for the dance, anyway. I'd better go and check on Orion."
And then Harrison walked away, and Tom stared after him for a moment. That had gone surprisingly well. He turned, and set off to find another partner.
Harry found Orion in a corner, nursing a goblet and watching Walburga and Druella sway together on the dance floor. It looked awfully intimate.
"They're so beautiful together." Orion sighed as Harry joined him, sliding the goblet out of Orion's grip and taking a swig.
"But aren't you upset? They seem pretty close," Harry asked, seeing the genuine contentment on Orion's face as Druella and Walburga danced.
"I just want Burga to be happy," Orion slurred. "And she's happy with Ella. Happy, happy, happy." He pouted. "She won't be happy when she's married. She thinks she will, but she won't." Orion brightened. "Maybe Ella should go to Romania too!"
"I don't think that'll happen."
"Maybe not."
Orion and Harry watched the girls for a moment.
"Don't they look happy?" Orion said quietly, and Harry had to agree. For once, Walburga had slumped from her perfect posture, and Druella had kicked off her heels so she was the same height as her partner. They both wore soft, kind smiles. Druella leaned forwards to whisper something in Walburga's ear, and Walburga shrieked with laughter — not the soft, demure giggle she often gave, but a full, loud, delighted cackle.
"Were you happy dancing with Tom?" Orion murmured. "I want all of my friends to be happy."
"Yeah," Harry said, considering. "Yeah, I think I was. Eventually." After the awkwardness, he'd actually enjoyed himself. Tom was a wealth of information about everything, and his stream of witty observations were endless.
"That's nice. That's very nice." Orion yawned, rolling his head back. Suddenly, Harry heard him go: "oooo" and raise a shaky hand to point at the ceiling.
Harry followed Orion's finger and glanced up. Orion was pointing at a sprig of mistletoe nestled in the high rafter, just above where Harry was sitting. Where Harry was sitting next to Orion.
Harry glanced back to Orion, falling back in shock when he saw that Orion was puckering his lips.
"No way," Harry said firmly. "I'm not snogging my drunk friend."
"But it's tradition," Orion whined, his bottom lip trembling. "We have to."
"We don't have to do anything, and certainly not anything involving lips and contact."
Orion looked disappointed, but didn't push it. Harry saw him glance towards Walburga and Druella with a thoughtful look. "We could try and get Walburga and Druella to stand underneath it, and then they could kiss and be happy—"
"That's just cruel."
Orion's alcohol-clouded brain didn't seem to be able to keep up. "Huh?"
"Walburga will be married in the summer, and then she'll be in Romania."
"So they could be happy before she goes," Orion insisted.
"You can't just… give her something like love and then take it away like that. I mean, I don't agree with this arranged marriage thing — but she's going to have to carry through with it, isn't she? She shouldn't have to live with the memory of being happy, knowing it won't happen again. And Druella shouldn't have to watch her fly away, knowing they'll never be together. She would never be able to live, knowing that was out there."
Perhaps, Harry thought, the brief sips of wine he'd been taking him throughout the evening were affecting him more than he thought. How else would he explain that unusually-profound empathy?
Orion seemed to have found it moving though, as he gazed up at Harry with the twinkle of tears in his eyes. "That was so beautiful," he whispered.
"And you're so drunk." Harry rolled his eyes.
They lasted until midnight, until Harry got tired of Orion slumping against his robes and drooling, and honestly had to fight to keep his own eyes open. Orion had mumbled, "Leh's guh back to Hugwurts," and Harry agreed. He hauled Orion out of the haul, nodding briefly to Tom who was talking passionately with the Minister. And then it was just a quick floo journey back to Dumbledore's office, a painful shuffle towards the Slytherin dorms, and Orion and Harry collapsed into their respective beds, fully closed, before drifting quickly into a deep and heavy sleep.
Christmas Eve was dull. Harry spent most of it hungover and bored, playing obscure wizarding card games with Orion. The most exciting part of the day was when Orion received his letter of confirmation from the Ministry, saying that his ward had been picked up for production. Orion had excitedly declared it the 'best Christmas Eve Ever', and said that he was glad he could spend it with Harry.
It was at that point that Harry remembered that Orion had said he would be at home for Christmas. It was also at that point that Harry learnt that Rigel's condition had worsened suddenly in the last few days, and Orion's little brother would be spending Christmas in hospital.
"And so it wouldn't be helpful for me to be at home right now," Orion said robotically, and proceeded to get extremely drunk at the Hufflepuff Christmas party.
This time, Harry watched Orion's drunken antics with a degree of sorrow, and hoped that Rigel would pull through. He had to, for Orion.
The sun rose on Christmas Day, and the grounds were blanketed with snow. Frost danced along the Great Lake, sending shards of light glinting and spinning over the blue-black ice. The grass was sharp and encrusted with frozen dew, and the sky shone with white-cold daylight glow, scattered with clouds.
Harry groaned as he opened his eyes. He shifted, and kicked something at the foot of his bed. Harry blinked and yawned, pushing himself up on one elbow and settled his bleary gaze upon a small pile of parcels at the end of his bed. Parcels… Presents… for him? His eyes widened, his heart leapt, and it was like first year all over again. Harry hadn't expected to receive any gifts — after all, he'd only been in this time-period for — what? — five, six months? The Dursleys had known him for fourteen years, and he'd never gotten more than 50p from them.
"Orion," Harry hissed, trying not to wake Atticus, Grahams or Tom.
Orion replied with a mumbled sigh that may have translated to something like 'how can I help?'
"Orion, I have presents!"
At the mention of presents, Orion sat straight up in bed, looking wide awake with a huge smile on his face. "Well, of course you do!"
Harry took a moment to drink in the sight of the colourful little packages, just for him. "…Can I open them?"
Orion threw off his duvet, leaping across the room to sit on Harry's bed. "What else would you do?! My present for you is under my bed, but you have to leave it for last."
Permission gained, Harry set to work on the presents. The first gift was from Walburga: an elegant quill with royal blue feathers and a golden nib. Harry knew as soon as he saw it that it would be broken within the week, and took a vow to make the most of it. From Druella, he received a book on 'The Origins of Feminism in Witchcraft', which promised to be a thrilling read on the historical oppression of women. Harry suspected that Druella had taken 'buy for others what you would want to receive' to heart.
From Dolohov, he received a packet of cherry-flavoured sweets, shaped like penises.
"He buys them for everyone, every year," Orion explained, chewing on one of the sweets from his own gift. "At least you didn't get a box of condoms. That means he likes you."
"Great."
Harry also received a cracked mirror from Cassius, along with a note that read 'stop' in his small, cursive handwriting. He didn't know whatever the hell that meant, and decided not to waste too much time on it.
"Oo, me now!" Orion said, clapping his hands and bouncing. He scurried back to his bed and knelt on the floor, dragging a package out from beneath the bedframe. It was long, and thin at one end, and looked very familiar.
Harry felt his heart both rise and fall at the same time.
"Oh, Orion," Harry breathed, barely above a whisper.
Orion dropped the gift onto the bed with a delighted grin, and a command. "Open it!"
Hands trembling, Harry peeled back the wrapping paper to reveal polished wood, a dark handle, and glossy, well-groomed bristles. It was a state-of-the-art, bloody expensive, bloody magnificent broomstick.
"It's gorgeous," Harry said, choked with emotion. "I love it."
"I remembered you mentioned that you loved flying," Orion said sheepishly. "But I've never seen you with a broomstick. I thought it might have been destroyed when your house… y'know. I know you don't have a lot."
Orion barely finished his sentence before Harry wrapped him in a tight, squeezing hug. "Thank you," Harry said shakily into Orion's shoulder, and tried not to cry. He hadn't realised how much he missed flying on his own broomstick, just him and the open air, and nothing else to think about. Orion had given that back to him.
"I haven't gotten you anything," Harry fretted, pulling back.
"That's okay." Orion shrugged. "You said you wouldn't, and seeing you happy is a bit like a present, isn't it?"
"No, I need to do something for you. You pick. Seriously, I'll do anything."
"Well…" Orion hesitated.
"Yeah?"
"Would you teach me the patronus?" Orion said quickly. "It's just, I've always wanted to see what mine was, but it's not on the curriculum, and you did one at the end of that duel and it was so cool—"
"Of course."
"What?"
"Of course, I'll teach you the patronus, mate. You got me a bloody broomstick!"
Orion cried out in delight, and enfolded Harry into another hug.
"Will you two shut the hell up?"
Harry and Orion looked over at Atticus' bed, where said boy looked murderous in his sleepiness; red-ringed eyes glaring at them.
"I. Am. Very. Hung. Over," Atticus punctuated hoarsely. "Stop squealing." And then he buried his head back into his pillow.
"I didn't get presents for anyone else." Harry frowned, looking down at his pile of goodies. "And I forgot to tell them not to get me anything…"
"No one will mind," Orion assured him cheerily. "Plenty of people don't give gifts! Tom hasn't ever given anyone a Christmas gift, I don't think."
Harry glanced over at Tom who was somehow still sleeping, his hair looking perfect even deep in slumber.
"If you're sure," Harry said doubtfully.
"Of course, I am. Christmas day isn't for getting jealous or worrying — just enjoy yourself."
From the bright light in Orion's eyes, he seemed determined to forget anything had ever been wrong. As unhealthy as that seemed, it also sounded really nice, and so Harry decided to join him.
Christmas day was a lot of fun. Harry and Orion ate until they could burst, sang loudly at a bemused Tom, and took Harry's new broomstick out for a test drive. Orion told Harry sincerely that he was the 'best Seeker I've ever seen', and that Harry had to join the team next year. Harry said he would think about it, but the idea awoke a little spark inside of him and he knew he'd be on the Quidditch pitch one way or another when seventh year came around.
Christmas dinner brought crackers and hats, and some truly dreadful puns about cauldrons and winter. By the end of the day, Harry had laughed more than he thought he ever could, and had eaten more turkey than he thought physically possible. When he crawled into bed at the end of the day, he couldn't help but feel a little bit grateful for where he'd ended up, despite the guilt pressed deep into his stomach.
I think the fact that I've both never been drunk or waltzed is abundantly clear.
And follow me on tumblr, under the same name ;)