Harry gets a nap, Orion and Tom bond, and an old friend comes to visit.

LAST TIME ON GLEE: Tom was not happy with Harry having told Dumbledore about Tom's status as Heir of Slytherin, all those months ago. He decided that the silent treatment was the answer, which made a DADA lesson very uncomfortable. A lesson on non-verbal spells saw Tom set Harry's robes on fire in a really mature display. Tom met with Abraxas Malfoy, who told Tom that Harry was never at the Bideford attack, and that there may be an opening for a more family-friendly Dark Lord soon. On the way home, Tom ran into the pedlar in the back streets, who attempted to seduce Tom by wearing Harry's face. Kinky. Tom threw a temper tantrum and scared her off. Abraxas told Tom that apparition lessons were started, and Orion confronted Tom about his treatment of Harry, to no avail. Tom took a break in the library, where the librarian brought him the books he'd ordered on The Deathly Hallows. Tom worked out that Grindelwald was probably the bearer of the Elder Wand, and a bit of detective work worthy of Sherlock Holmes himself. He also overheard Orion telling Harrison to go to the hospital wing, as his attacks were getting worse. The apparation lesson saw Tom successfully apparate, and then sabotage the equally successful Harrison. Harry was splinched and lost a leg, although it was swiftly reattached. Harry confronted Tom about his actions, and Tom accused Harry of hypocrisy and told him of his suspicions about Harry's story. Suddenly, Harry collapsed and had a fit of some kind. Then he stopped breathing, leaving Tom to scream for help.

Ron, Harry and Hermione sit in the Common Room, the fire smouldering beside them. The heat licks at Harry's shoulder, but it is a pleasant warmth that sinks through his robes and presses soft kisses to his skin. It's at great contrast with the deep, overwhelming coldness inside of him.

"What's he doing?" Harry mutters desperately, glancing down at his hands. Unnoticed to him, he has started anxiously picking at his cuticles, and his pinkie has begun to bleed.

Hermione and Ron glance at one another, and Hermione clears her throat.

"Well, he's staying low, isn't he? Letting you and Professor Dumbledore destroy yourselves. Which I must admit you're doing quite a good job of-"

A roar of fury surges within him, hotter than the fire. "Well, what am I supposed to do, Hermione?"

"Well, you could try not attacking Seamus, mate."

Ron turns red as Harry glares at him.

"Just a suggestion," he mumbles.

Hermione takes a deep breath. "Look, I know what you think you saw, but are you sure?"

"He was there in the Great Hall, I swear to Merlin-"

"But, Harry," Hermione says, a look of great surprise on her face. "I thought it was the graveyard?"

The fire shoots to immense heights, filling the entire room with a flash of blinding white, singeing his skin and setting his blood alight-

He was so small, staring up at the hat like it would change everything about him. This hat was every cruel word the Dursleys had ever said but ten times more important, ten times more damning.

His nerves crawled along the slick surface of his arms.

Step, step, step and a brim placed atop his ears.

"Very ambitious, eh, boy?" the voice was smug. "Befriend Tom Riddle? Quite the move. Takes balls too."

A lion stroked its raw tongue across his cheek, and the snake tightened its grip on his ribs.

"They're going to eat me," Harry muttered.

"Well, that's not my fault, lad. You set that snake on your cousin, after all."

The hat was lifted from his head, but as Harry blinked at the sudden onslaught of light, the lion let out a fierce growl and fastened its teeth into the delicate expanse of his neck. Even as Harry screamed he felt deadly jaws fasten into the expanse over his heart, tearing apart his ribcage and exposing the soft flesh within him-

"Your kind die young," Aunt Petunia had once said with an odd look in her eyes. Harry had asked her why he only had a cupboard and Dudley got two bedrooms.

"Best not to waste the space."

And then she'd struck him, her hand like a poker across his cheekbone-

Everyone's eyes are fastened on him as he shivers on the side of the lake. He's never felt so goddamn exposed, a twelve year old lying next to him and her unconscious weight like a phantom in his arms. He panics as someone picks the girl up and lifts her away- Harry grabs onto an ankle and tries to say something- anything.

"Harry," a voice in his ear. "Harry, that's Fleur. Harry, that's her sister."

"J'étais terrifié- Gabi, Gabi, je suis désolé. S'il te plaît, parle moi. Dis quelque chose!"

"No, give her back- give her back-"

"Harry, stop!"

"Pourquoi ne respire-t-elle pas?"

A high scream like a forest fire-

"I'm sorry you were left with those monsters."

"They weren't that bad."

"I saw you that summer, working outside. You had to drink from the garden tap."

Harry flinched at the memory of sweat dripping through cotton, fabric sticking so close that peeling off a t-shirt felt like being skinned alive. He snapped. "So maybe you should have done something other than watch."

Sirius barely breathed.

"I'm sorry," Harry slumped. "That wasn't fair."

"It was fair enough."

"You were on the run from Dementors."

"You're my godson."

But Sirius is dead now, dead and gone and his memory blackened with ash-

There's a letter in his head and the future seems hopeful.

His world burned on.

"What's wrong with him?" Tom asked, but no one listened.

The Hospital Wing was abuzz with panic. Hallpepper performed diagnostic charm after diagnostic charm with barely room to breathe between. She would scan the results, shake her head sharply and cast another.

She'd cast a spell that made Harrison's heartbeat audible. It was slow.

It had been Dumbledore who'd managed to start Harrison's heart again in that corridor, and Tom might never be able to hate the man again. There had been that horrifying moment where Dippet, Merrythought, Dumbledore and Hallpepper had all looked at one another when Tom told them for how long Harrison had been breathless, and Tom had been sure it was all over.

But Dumbledore had done something- Tom didn't know what, but he would make it his mission to find out- and Harrison's lung had stuttered back into shallow, shaky breaths. He still wouldn't wake up though, and every half hour his heart would skip a vital beat and the world would stop spinning for just a second.

"What's wrong with him?!" Tom repeated with a touch more hysteria and wished desperately that he had taken a healing course.

"Mr Riddle, I need full concentration, please-"

"Just tell me what's wrong-"

"Mr Riddle!"

Tom flinched and fell silent, but his fists were clenched. How dare she speak to him that way, he would burn the flesh from her bones but - oh.

Harrison looked so small. He'd never looked defenceless before, in all the time that Tom knew him, but now he did. Still and weak and cold. Tom didn't like it.

"What happened, Tom?" Dumbledore asked. "What happened to Harrison?"

"I don't know- I-"

"We need to know if you did something-"

"I didn't do anything! We were arguing- I might have grabbed him, I was angry- but I didn't do anything! This has happened before. He said."

"Very well," Dumbledore said softly. "I just had to ask."

Tom bared his teeth and nearly snarled.

Behind him, Harrison whined. Tom's attention was caught.

"What's she doing to him-?"

"Let Madam Hallpepper work, Tom." Dumbledore's hand landed on Tom's shoulder, and he took back what he said about never hating the man again. "Perhaps it would be best if we left her-"

"No."

"I merely meant to suggest-"

"I'm not leaving."

"Tom-"

"I'll curse you if you make me." To Tom's own ears he sounded horribly childish, but the hand disappeared from his shoulder and Dumbledore took a step back.

"I wouldn't dream of separating you two," Dumbledore said softly.

"Good," Tom replied, clearly unconvinced. Just to hammer in the point, Tom conjured a chair (silently, mind you) and took a seat.

Hallpepper lowered her wand and turned away, hissing with frustration. "I have no idea what's wrong with the boy."

Dumbledore remained calm. "There has to be something we can do."

"I can call St Mungo's, but there's no guarantee they'll be able to diagnose him in time and I don't want to speed up his deterioration by moving him." Hallpepper gestured at the unmoving body. "He has at least another few hours left at this pace. A Floo might turn that into ten minutes."

"You can't just let him die," Tom said, his voice small and his body shrinking to match.

In the centre of the room, Harrison let out a shuddering rattle and grew still. Dumbledore moved forwards to work his magic, and this time it took precious seconds more for Harrison's heartbeat to restart, unsteady and tentative.

"For Morgana's sake," Tom snarled. "Do something."

"His skin is still burning," Hallpepper shook her head. "I can barely touch him."

"I can see why that would be a problem. After all, it's not like you're a witch."

Hallpepper's face darkened, and she opened her mouth to reply.

"This looks mighty familiar, doesn't it, Albus?"

The voice was unfamiliar, and everyone turned to glance at a portrait on the back wall. A stern-looking woman glowered down at the room, but her gaze softened when it landed on the bed.

"Mother, this isn't the time."

The woman who bore Albus Dumbledore. Tom had always imagined her with more… horns. And perhaps a tail.

"Don't you 'this isn't the time' me, young man," the portrait snapped. "Dizziness, fits, unsteady heart palpitations. Fever. Hallucinations. The symptoms are familiar."

Dumbledore slid the glasses from his nose and used the corner of his robes to polish them. "Not completely. Mr Peters has exhibited no signs of uncontrollable magical outbursts-"

"Because he's full grown and trained. But look at him and remember."

Dumbledore shrunk into himself, and Tom longed desperately to know what could affect the Deputy Headmaster so (to use it against him, obviously.)

At last, Dumbledore visibly steeled himself and turned to Hallpepper. "Check his channels."

"…His channels?"

"Yes."

"But we don't ever check a child's magical channels past… well, past infancy."

"And more fool you," the portrait said.

"Do it, Millicent," Dumbledore said, and Tom's spine prickled at his unusually hard tone.

"Alright," Hallpepper allowed, rolling up her sleeves. "But this is going to hurt. A lot."

She waved her wand over Harrison's body, furrowing her brow in obvious concentration and then lifted.

Harrison might not have been able to breathe, but he could scream.

He writhed in obvious agony as light rose from his skin and coalesced above him, forming a hovering network of veins that perfectly mapped the form of the body below. Harrison's magic, Tom realised. As the light settled, Harrison's screams quietened, turning into soft, pained whimpers.

"The channels," Hallpepper said thoughtfully. "Look at the colour."

Tom focused on blinking past the brightness of the lights and seeing the colour beyond, and noticed what he guessed Hallpepper was talking about: streaks of gold leaking from the veins and spreading like ink blots on a page. The veins they touched were faint, and Tom thought he saw them vanish and reappear.

"It's like an infection."

"Look at the movement," Dumbledore murmured. "It's gathering. Agitated."

He wasn't wrong. The gold was moving slowly towards the centre of the network- Harrison's heart, Tom realised with an icy shiver- and it seemed to be fizzing more and more, leaking and twisting like tree roots.

"It's speeding up," Hallpepper said grimly. "But why?"

As they examined the infection, Harrison's whimpers rose and he started to twist and thrash. Dumbledore flicked his wand absently, and Harrison's wrists were secured to his sides.

The gold flashed again and buzzed like an angered swarm.

"What-?"

"It's the magic," Hallpepper said suddenly. "Bloody hell, it's the magic."

She broke her spell immediately and the veins faded away to nothing, and as Dumbledore lowered his wand, Harrison thrashed again for a moment and then stilled. There was no heartbeat sound now, and Tom panicked.

"Where did the heartbeat go- has he stopped breathing-?"

"Calm down, Riddle," Hallpepper said sharply. "I broke the spell. Son of a bitch, it's the magic."

"What does that mean?"

"Just let me think." Hallpepper rubbed a hand over her face. "Yes, that might work. Fetch me some gabbro- physically, please."

She addressed this to Dumbledore, who nodded and hurried to a cabinet in the corner Hospital Wing, throwing open a drawer and taking out a handful of stones. Hallpepper took the stones and passed her wand over the surface of each, gritting her teeth as Harrison whined in response. She cupped her hands and blew into the hollow, and when she opened her palms, the stones flew through the air and positioned themselves around Harrison's bed.

"Magic-nullifying ward," Hallpepper said, and Tom realised with a start that it was for his benefit. "The same as in Azkaban." She watched the bed with intense focus, and took a deep breath. "He seems stable."

"Wonderful," Tom said sarcastically. "Now will someone explain to me what's going on?"

Hallpepper raised an eyebrow. "Whilst I don't appreciate your tone, I understand your worry for your friend. Sit down, Mr Riddle."

"I'd really rather-"

"Sit down."

Tom sat.

Hallpepper took a seat next to him. "Now, from what I can understand, Mr Peters has an infection of sorts in his magical channels, that reacts- unfortunately enough- to magic. Whilst one might hope an infection to clear up on its own, Mr Peters has presumably been constantly exposed to magic since the infection began, and his body has had very little time to recover."

"He's rather like a cracked mirror," Dumbledore added. "And without repair, the fractures lines have spread."

Hallpepper nodded. "I don't know what triggered this attack-"

Unseen, Tom's fists clenched.

"-But I hope that the magic-nullifying ward will slow or even halt it. However, we can't remove Mr Peters from the wards until we're sure that the source of the infection has been tackled. And I have frankly no idea what that may be."

The three of them sat in silence, and Tom let his eyes rest distantly on the white expanse of the wall as he remembered the unique shade of that infection. It was strange that something so beautiful could be so deadly.

And so gold.

Gold.

"His scars," Tom said suddenly. "He's never said how he got them, but they're the same colour."

Hallpepper and Dumbledore exchanged a look.

"It could be," Dumbledore mused.

"It seems obvious now," Hallpepper admitted.

They glanced towards Harrison, and the golden lines running over his skin seemed to pulsate mockingly.

"We have to know what it is," Hallpepper said. "But I can't use magic inside the ward, so I won't be able to heal him."

The scalpel that she summoned to her hand was less than comforting.

"You're not going to cut him open," Tom said firmly, and Hallpepper snorted.

"Don't be ridiculous, Mr Riddle. I'm just going to see if there's anything beneath the scars."

That sounded like the same thing to Tom.

Hallpepper sighed. "And I suppose we'll just have to do things the muggle way."

A roll of bandages soared through the air towards her, and she caught it deftly. Tom followed doubtfully as she moved to Harrison's bed and passed through the ward, her hair falling out of its tight bun.

"What?" she said defensively. "I don't have time to do my hair in the morning." She pressed a hand to Harrison's neck and her shoulders relaxed somewhat. "It's steady."

Efficiently and detachedly, Hallpepper stripped the shirt from Harrison. Tom realised that he'd never seen Harrison so obviously unclothed- he tended to get changed behind the curtains of his bed- and he couldn't help taking advantage of the moment to carefully examine the other boy.

Tom had known that Harrison would have scars. He'd survived an attack by Grindelwald, he'd clearly been duelling for a while- Tom had known that. But it was quite a different thing to actually see them.

There were the relatively normal spell scars, like fireworks across his skin, and the expected missing finger. There was a vicious claw mark across his forearm that might have come from a bird, a disc burnt onto his chest, an odd lightning bolt scar under his fringe, but oddest of all was the back of his hand.

I must not tell lies.

There: scrawled in Harrison's own handwriting: once bloody and inflamed, now a stark white reminder. Tom wanted desperately to know about it.

Tom winced as Hallpepper pressed her scalpel to Harrison's arm and lightly dragged it across one of the golden lines. The scar parted like butter beneath the blade, and Tom squeezed his own arm in sympathy. Harrison was unresponsive.

"There's something under here," Hallpepper murmured. She set the scalpel on the side and leaned in, using her two forefingers to squeeze the wound. "Oh!" she gasped, and Tom took another step closer. "It's sand."

"That can't be right." Dumbledore stepped forward to join them.

But she was. Before their very eyes, tiny grains of golden sand poured from the open wound on Harrison's arm. Hallpepper reached out her hand to catch them.

" Sand ," she repeated, rolling a grain between her forefinger and thumb. "Actual sand."

"How did it get there?" Tom asked, looking down at his… his friend. His friend.

"If I knew that, Mr Peters would probably be awake and here with us now. I suspect that the sand is more than it seems, though. For something to infect someone's very channels… I've never seen anything like it. It was tearing him apart." Hallpepper frowned. "I think we can assume that the… 'sand' is the cause, at least. And now I know how to proceed."

"How?"

"I plan to drain the scars."

"But we don't even know what's wrong with him. That sand could be the only thing keeping him alive-"

"Or it could be the thing killing him," she said sharply. "We just have to take a chance. Hopefully as long as Mr Peters is isolated from magic, his body- and his channels- will be allowed to heal."

"Will he be able to tolerate magic again?" Tom asked, his heart in his throat. If Harrison couldn't use magic again- if he was cast from their world… Tom would never see him again.

"I should hope so," Hallpepper said. "With good luck, he might even be able to take his NEWTs on time. There's no guarantee though- this is foreign territory. Anything could happen. If we hadn't spotted how he was reacting to magic…" She clapped her hands together. "Well, there's no point reflecting on what's passed."

But they all knew perfectly well what she'd been unwilling to say. Harrison Peters would have been dead.

Aunt Petunia sneers down at him, her hands clenched tight in front of her.

"We're going to give you some chores, boy. To keep you busy."

Harry shrinks, trying for a hopeful smile. "Is it like playing?"

"Almost, I suppose."

"Will Dudley play too?"

"Dudley will most certainly not," she snaps, and flaps a towel in his direction. Harry wonders what she's trying to do. As he frowns up at her quizzically, her skin drains of all colour. "And stop looking at me like that."

"Okay, Auntie."

She turns to leave but as she does, she spits out: "It's Aunt to you."

The redress feels like a blow across the chest, and Harry gasps at the hot pain-

"Why didn't you tell me, mate?"

Ron's voice was quiet in the dormitory, almost drowned out by Neville's snores.

"About what?" Harry muttered, half-asleep.

"About you being a parseltongue."

"Oh. Yeah."

"You know I'd only care for a bit, right? And then common sense and my own embarrassment would have me traipsing back."

The snake around Harry's snake hissed in his ear, the little tongue tickling his earlobe. He stifled a giggle.

"Is that a snake? Mate, I don't think that's a good idea. What if it makes you loyal to You Know Who, huh?"

"That's not really how it works, Ron."

Seamus's voice was distinctly grumpy. "Right now I couldn't care less if Potter's evil or Voldemort's back. I'm trying to get some sleep."

Harry and Ron murmured an apology. Harry sank back under his duvet but it was hot and suffocating, and the wide jaws of the conjured snake haunted him. The fangs of the basilisk were wide and sharp and they pierced his arm like butter and sent burning poison racing up his arm, prickling at his tongue and tugging at his eyes 'til they dropped shut-

Tom should have known that it would take less than an hour for Orion to turn up. Hallpepper had barely finished bandaging Harrison's arms when Harrison's other limb barged into the Hospital Wing, tears glistening in his eyes.

"Where is he?"

"Merlin, Black, this isn't a romance novel," Tom said flatly, but Orion ignored him.

"Is he okay?" Orion rushed towards Harrison, but stopped dead as he crossed the ward, clearly feeling the unpleasant sensation of his magic suddenly becoming null and void. "What is that?"

"Magic-nullifying ward. Harrison had a bit of a reaction to, well, magic."

"But that's not-" Orion's eyes were wide and panicked. "Is he okay? Was it bad?"

"His heart stopped."

"His heart did what?" Orion looked horrified. Tom remembered perhaps a little too late that Orion had a terminally ill sibling. Orion's jaw snapped shut. "Did you do this, Riddle?" he hissed, angrier than Tom had ever seen him.

Why did everyone keep thinking that?

"You've had it out for him all week," Orion spat. "He lost a leg."

Tom gave him that. He took a deep breath. "I... regret how I behaved towards Harrison in that week. It was hasty of me."

Orion hesitated, clearly thrown off. "I swear to Morgana if you hurt him, I will kill you."

"It was an accident."

"Bullshit."

"I didn't know you knew how to swear, Orion."

"Harrison taught me." Orion's bottom lip trembled and he took a heavy seat beside Harrison's bed. Tom appeared to drop in his list of priorities as he took Harrison's hand. "He's so quiet."

"Being unconscious tends to do that."

Orion ignored him. "We were going to do homework together. He needed help with Charms."

Tom wanted to argue that helping Harrison with homework was his job, but- no. He supposed that hadn't been true for the past week.

"He's so quiet," Orion murmured again, his voice tight, and examined the hand in his own. He glanced up at Tom. "Why are there so many bandages on him?"

"Part of the treatment."

"I-I… What happened, Tom?" Orion looked pleading and, despite himself, Tom crumbled.

"He collapsed. Had one of his fits- fever, practically burning. He hasn't woken up since."

"But he said he'd get help if he had another one." Orion shook his head, stroking a finger over the back of Harrison's hand.

"Another one?"

"Last year. Harrison bought this pendant from a pedlar down one of the back alleys in Hogsmeade-" want, metamorphmagus, Harrison's body in his arms, yes, Tom remembered, "-and it turned out to be just a song pendant- barely worth a sickle, really- but Harrison reacted badly. Burning, unconsciousness, I thought he was going to die."

"…A song pendant?" Tom asked, hating his ignorance but hating Harrison's stillness more.

"It's a toy, really, for children. It plays you the sound of your own magic, but a spell can do it more easily."

"And how does it do that?"

"Well, I- I-" Orion blinked. "I suppose it plays you the sound of the magic moving through your magical channels. Taps into it, or something. I've never really thought about it before. The rhythm of magic can be very different from person to person, you know. My mother actually-"

"Orion."

"Yes. Okay." The pair sat in silence, nothing more to say. Suddenly, Orion exclaimed in surprise and picked up a nearby vial. "Who broke a time turner?" he asked, tilting the vial back and forwards, watching the sand pour.

Tom frowned. "What's a time turner?"

Orion turned very red. "I mean- I have no idea- what's a time turner, huh? Crazy name. Time… turner…"

Tom raised an eyebrow and waited.

It didn't take long for Orion to give in.

"My father works in the Department of Mysteries and he brought home this glass thing. They're experimenting with time travel. But I'm not supposed to know or read his notes or even go inside his study, so you can't say anything," Orion explained, all very quickly. "You have to promise-"

"And this glass had sand in it?"

"Mm. I hadn't thought they got it to work yet," Orion mused, his face falling as a moment of silence draped upon the two and reminded them both of who's bedside they sat at.

Harrison just became more and more of a mystery. Together, Orion and Tom stared down at the unmoving body.

"He has so many secrets," Tom said thoughtfully, desperately, almost greedily.

"He's so quiet ," Orion choked out, his shoulders tense. Tom pretended not to see the tears glistening on his cheeks.

The dress robes Harry had put on for the trial sent sweat dripping down his back. Members of the Wizengamot seemed to be experiencing the same problem, glistening beads gathering on their foreheads, and Harry could see quite a few handkerchiefs around the stands.

He leaned forwards as Fudge said something about arrogance, wincing as the fabric peeled away from his slick back. The flesh on his legs crawled, and he wondered if a different position might be more forgiving.

"Are we bothering you, Mr Potter?"

He glanced up. A sickly sweet woman with a sickly sweet voice simpered down at him. He didn't know her yet but he hated her, hated her with every fibre of his being and all the searing pain of his right hand.

"Yes," he said, and the jury gasped, all those sweaty, red faces rendered gormless by shock, and the room was even hotter, hotter with anger, hotter with shame, hotter with guilt-

Harry has never fought a man with two-faces before, but he thinks he's getting better at it minute by minute. He has a technique, see, of alternating a kick and a push, and it's getting him up the stairs towards the fiery gateway quite well.

He is wrong.

A hand fastens around his ankle and he's tugged back and somewhere along the way his hand lands on a handsome, angular face and it is burning beneath his touch. He pulls away in horror but it continues to scorch, the flesh bubbling even as he screams apologies, begs it to stop. Dark eyes roll back in pain-

Flying on the back of a hippogriff was the freest he had ever felt. There were no expectations, no watching eyes. He sat and let the world rush by him. He wasn't even steering.

Just the pleasant burn of wind against his face-

Harry is dying. He is lying on a wet floor and he is dying.

"Harry Potter," Tom Riddle smiles down at him, transparent and handsome. "My greatest enemy. So weak."

But no. That isn't right. There are so many things wrong with that image that Harry is suddenly flushed with icy cold dread. He struggles to feet, stumbling across the room to grasp Tom, to look close at his face and see the recognition dawn across his features, a flash of a smirk and a touch on the waist. This is not his Tom.

With each day that passed and with each day that Harrison remained unconscious, Tom became more and more on edge. He'd expected Harrison to wake up at the end of the first day, a little confused and angry, but alive. But no. Harrison slumbered on like sleeping bloody beauty.

It took little time at all for news of the incident to spread around the school. And so Orion and Tom entertained a steady stream of visitors: from a sniffling Rubeus Hagrid who kept moaning about how 'he knew, poor, poor 'Arrison' (Tom eventually worked out that Hagrid and Harrison had only ever spoken once); to Atticus, who sat in silence for a few minutes until Tom told him he could leave. Rupert brought inappropriate haikus which got him thrown out by Hallpepper, but Cassius stayed the longest. He'd hovered just outside the ward for over an hour, silent and thoughtful. When the clock struck 6, he'd stood and cleared his throat, telling Tom with gravitas that 'he was glad things were finally moving along'. Tom had cursed him.

The third day saw an unexpected guest.

"…Is Harrison Peters here?"

"The legend himself," Tom said, keeping his eyes on his Transfigurations textbook.

"I just wanted to see him."

Tom glanced towards the doorway, raising his eyebrows as he saw Myrtle Warren's timid face. The last time he'd paid any attention to the girl had been when he'd wiped weeks of memory from her mind. So that was fun.

"Miss Warren," Orion said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. His nap had done nothing to help the bags under his eyes. "What a pleasure."

"I don't really know why I'm here," Warren said uncertainly. (Tom resisted the temptation to say: 'then leave'.) "I know Harrison only saved me that time, but… for some reason I've always felt we were closer than that. Some kind of imprinting effect, I imagine."

Perhaps Tom hadn't been as successful as he'd thought. He sat up in interest.

"Oh, wow," Warren said, moving closer. "What are all the bandages for?"

"Healing," Tom replied, and rolled his eyes as Orion elaborated kindly.

"Harrison's undergoing quite an experimental treatment, see." His voice grew thick and stilted. "We're all very hopeful."

"Oh. Right. Well, I brought flowers." She held out a bouquet to prove that she had, indeed, brought flowers. At least she wasn't irksome and a liar. Warren bit her lip. "They're not very manly, are they? Flowers. Maybe I should have brought chocolate instead."

"He isn't around to see either," Tom said flatly. "I don't think he cares."

"Yes. Of course. I'll just…" She shuffled forwards. Tom considered warning her, but ultimately couldn't be bothered. She let out a shrill shriek as she crossed the ward.

"An odd sensation, isn't it?" Tom smiled.

She nodded wordlessly, an expression on her face like she'd just eaten a lemon. Tom only wished he could enjoy it more. She set down the flowers on Harrison's bedside and hovered, gaze flicking uncertainly between Harrison and his two companions.

"You can sit down," Orion offered gently. Tom was pointedly silent, but she took a seat anyway, and started wringing her hands in a way that made Tom want to break them.

"He's very brave, isn't he?" she said suddenly, her eyes wide. "Very heroic, for a Slytherin." She took a moment to realise her audience, and coughed. "I mean, he's like a hero from the stories. He could almost have a sword."

"Please don't give Harrison a sword," Tom said dryly. "He'd only cut himself."

Warren let out a hysterical giggle that died away almost instantly. "A sword and a phoenix like the heroes of old."

Nauseatingly, Tom could imagine Harrison with both. He wondered how he managed to become friends with such a sickeningly wholesome person.

"I hope he gets better," she said, very small.

Orion sniffed, gifting her a soft smile. "Me too."

She left soon after that, saying something about needing to get to Ancient Runes. Tom wasn't distraught by the news.

Orion wore a funny expression after she left, a half smile, half grimace; and it was so unbearable that Tom finally asked him what on earth the look was for.

"Harrison helped so many people," Orion said. "So he has to get better. He has to."

Oh, Tom thought dully. More crying.

"He is getting better," Tom said, in an awkward attempt at encouragement. "Madam Hallpepper said so. She thinks it's working."

"I-I hope so," Orion sniffed. Orion hadn't been sleeping, and his appearance said as much.

"He looks less pale already. And the scars have started healing."

Orion snorted. "Can 'scars' heal? That's sort of the point of them, isn't it?"

"They can when they've been cut open."

Orion ducked his head and nodded. His hair hung stringy around his cheeky.

"Hallpepper says she thinks she's removed all the sand," Tom said. "She thinks the scars will still be gold, apparently. When they heal. She thinks it's stained the skin. In my opinion, she uses the phrase 'I think' a worrying amount for a trained medical professional."

"I like uncertainty," Orion murmured. "It means people don't get careless."

Tom inclined his head in acknowledgement.

Orion directed his anxious eyes to the wall. "Are you going to tell her about the sand? What I said?"

"I don't think so. As you mentioned, it's an experimental product. It wouldn't help her with the diagnosis or the treatment. Besides, she'd just call in the DOM, and things would get… messy. I want to ask Harrison about it myself when he wakes up."

Orion followed Tom's gaze down to the bed again.

"Yes," he said softly. "Me too."

Harry fought.

Harry fights.

It was on the sixth day that Dumbledore told Tom very firmly to return to lessons. Tom attempted to argue- Atticus was bringing him the work, and Tom had never really need to attend lessons anyway- but the Deputy Headmaster insisted. It would do him good, Dumbledore insisted, to return to normality.

There was no normality whilst Harrison was in the Hospital wing, but the old hippogriff didn't see that.

Orion didn't have to return to lessons, he tried to argue, but Dumbledore told him that Orion was clearly in no fit state to be amongst the other students. Tom, on the other hand, had a stronger constitution. And so Tom was reluctantly forced back into the real world. He suffered nearly half an hour of a stuffy Divinations classroom before he excused himself and left, not quite sure where he was going, but just knowing that he had to get out.

He wandered down to the dungeons, perhaps subconsciously heading towards the Common room. He would never know, because his attention was caught on the way by an open door. Open doors in the dungeons were uncommon- most people tried to keep the inhabitants in. Or rather: not let them out.

Tom took a curious step, and then another, and then before he knew it he was walking through the door.

"Hello?" he called out. "Is someone in here? We try to keep these doors closed, you- are you alright?"

Someone was lying on the floor very still; their outline just visible in the dim half-light. Perhaps a lost first year, or a fifth year who'd received terrible news from home. They got more and more of them these days. Tom moved closer.

"Can I help you?"

But there was no reply. Tom moved closer still, but he was reluctant to offer his comfort without knowing the situation. If the last few days had taught him anything, it was that he didn't handle people crying well.

"It would really help if you talked to me."

Tom sighed. This was ridiculous. With a huff of exasperation, he fished out his wand and aimed at the ceiling, casting a globe that lit up the room with a cold white light. Tom looked back down.

His heart stopped.

"…Harrison?"

Somehow, Harrison had found his way down to the dungeons. His body was sprawled across the floor like he'd been reaching up for something but had never quite made it, and his eyes were open: staring wide at the ceiling. And- Morgana- that was red trickling from the corner of his mouth.

Tom rushed forwards, the whole thing feeling like horrible déjà vu.

Harrison's skin was cold when Tom grabbed him, and his hands came away sticky. Blood, he realised, and he saw it: blood leaking from the scars on Harrison's arms, blood leaking through the fabric of Harrison's shirt- when had he gotten dressed?- and it was, Merlin, it was everywhere.

His skin was cold.

"Harrison, wake up."

Tom pressed a shaking hand to Harrison's neck and gritted his teeth. There was nothing beneath his fingers, no heartbeat, no nothing.

Harrison was dead.

"Harrison, for god's sake, please," Tom said, and barely recognised his own voice. It was all raw and hoarse. "I'll kill you. I'll bloody kill you-"

He squeezed Harrison against his chest, breathing in the scent that was already turning cold and damp, and then gathered the body up in his arms- maybe if he got to the Hospital Wing, Hallpepper could do something. At last, he saw the open wardrobe in the corner.

The body fell from his arms. Of course.

"Oh," Tom breathed. " Riddikulus ."

The body dissolved into silver mist, hovering in the air for a moment before being pulled back into the cupboard, which shut with a bang.

Tom sat back on his heels, his hands shaking beyond his control. The image of Harrison's corpse wouldn't leave his mind: so quiet and empty and completely unlike the irritatingly righteous boy that Tom knew. The boggart had done a rather terrible job at imitating him, really. There was only one Harrison Peters.

Tom knew exactly where he needed to be.

The journey from the dungeons to the Hospital Wing seemed to pass in the blink of an eye, but his legs were burning when he finally crashed through the doors.

"Mr Riddle!" Hallpepper cried in outrage, but it didn't matter because Harrison was awake . Sitting up in bed and looking distinctly grumpy about the whole affair, peering down at a 'get well soon' card with suspicion.

He was almost perfect.

Harrison's head shot around at the bang of the doors, and his eyes widened. "Tom? They said you were in lessons." And then with disbelief: "Have you been crying-?"

Tom ignored him easily, striding across the room with sure, steady strides. He had no idea what he was going to do, but, when he finally reached the bed and Harrison blinked up at him in confusion, there seemed only one logical choice.

Tom kissed him.

Harrison gasped against his mouth and for a moment Tom thought he might be rejected; then Harrison relaxed against his body, bringing a hand up to grasp the back of Tom's neck.

Harrison's lips were dry and rough and tasted vaguely of six-day-old morning breath, but Tom barely cared. The kiss wasn't magical or world-changing, but Harrison was awake and as insolently oblivious as always. It was everything Tom had hoped for.

Harrison pulled away. Their panting was the only sound in the room.

"Well, I never," Hallpepper said, and continued sorting the potions.

Tom couldn't bring himself to look away from Harrison. The other boy looked like he was still trying to work out where he was, and Tom had seen that expression numerous times, usually before he was shouted at. At last, Harrison met Tom's eyes.

He grinned.

"Hello, Tom Riddle."

Tom smiled back.

"Hello."

and y'all who think the two have forgiven each other too hastily, be patient. wait another chapter.

Finally a kiss. :)