Disclaimer: HP is JK Rowling's. Tom's mine, though. Hah! As if. He's also Rowling's orz

Warning: M for slash (HP/TMRLV), Post-GoF, slightly insane and definitely dark Harry

"Normal dialogue"

*Parseltongue*

'Thoughts'

The Death Eaters easily noticed the complete 180 of Lord Voldemort's mood. One day he was acting like his usual irritable self - getting angry at the littlest things and cursing left and right like there was no tomorrow - then next he suddenly became as nice as Dark Lords can get. Not exactly nice nice, but calm, collected and less insane. Some of the older members thought that Lord Voldermort was acting like his past self, when his body and mind weren't affected by the numerous rituals he performed on himself yet. In fact, they haven't seen him cruciate anyone for a whole week now. The change was too sudden and caught the Death Eaters off-guard. They weren't familiar with this "nice" side of the Dark Lord; they didn't know his temper and where the landmines were. Everyone was acting a lot more cautious and terrified than normal.

Except one.

The mysterious new addition to their cause. Of average height and petite frame, this silent, hooded figure introduced as Stoirm attended every meeting they had since the Dark Lord's "mood swing." Having a new member at this point in time is very unusual since the Dark Lord just recently came back. Nobody knew that he really was back besides the Death Eaters. There was Harry Potter, of course, but the Ministry didn't reallybelieve him, did they? No, the boy was currently a joke in the Wizarding world, labeled as a troubled kid craving for attention. The-Boy-Who-Lied, they were calling him these days.

But still, the public was on edge. A Hogwarts student died under the protective gaze of Albus Dumbledore, the only wizard said to be feared by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named (Hah! What a joke. Their Lord is not afraid of that barmy old coot!). Joined by the circulating rumor of Dementors on the loose and Potter's insistent cries of Lord Voldemort's return, the Death Eaters just couldn't reveal themselves and do some proper recruiting in the current paranoid state of Wizarding Britain.

That's why seeing a new member was really strange. Who could have brought him here? And if nobody did, how could he have known where to find them? It was all very suspicious. Nobody seemed to be able to identify this person. He never drew his hood back, his cloak was too big for anyone to make sure if he was male or female, and he never made a single sound during the meetings. The Death Eaters were clueless.

Well... not all of them.

Bartemius "Barty" Crouch Jr. had his suspicions. He couldn't help but be inclined to think that Stoirm was that boy. Barty had specially observed him for almost a year during his stay at Hogwarts as a disguised professor and he could see the similarities. The build, the height, the demeanor - if his theory was true and Stoirm was the boy, then it would seem that the boy was purposely not acting differently to test Barty.

That maddened him.

Shamefully enough, though, he wouldn't even suspect that anything was off if the boy hadn't been so out of character the last time they met. Sure, the boy acted a bit fishy during their interactions at Hogwarts; he acted like he knew something, maybe about Barty using Polyjuice, or maybe about his real identity and the fact that he was a Death Eater. But Barty dismissed it all as paranoia since... how could anyone guess the far-fetched truth?

However, their last meeting had stayed with Barty. When he had locked them in a room after the Third Task, the boy told him, "Go back to your master, little doggy." That was his last clear memory before things got hazy. Barty faintly remembered running and apparating, and the next thing he knew, he was in a muggle hotel room, bathed and rested. He couldn't believe he actually ran away but the only other answer he could think of was that a little kid put him under the Imperius, and that was even harder to believe.

Barty opened the doors to the dark dining room where the Death Eaters were supposed to meet for their biweekly meetings and his musings stopped to a halt. It was still a little early and most Death Eaters had a love for dramatic entrances so he didn't expect anyone to already be there. A stupid thought, because not-so-surprisingly enough, the hooded figure was already there. Along with the Dark Lord.

Barty looked confused and hurried towards Lord Voldemort. He stopped a good distance away and knelt down on one knee in greeting.

"My Lord, I was quite positive that the meeting would commence at nine?" he hesitantly said, sentence ending in a questioning tone.

"Do not fret, Bartemius. I have merely decided to come early to start the meeting right away," Lord Voldemort said, waving a thin, pale hand at Barty's chair as a signal that Barty can rise and take his seat.

Barty stood up and sat down his chair. He had his head bowed down and mouth shut, not having anything important to say. He felt like he disturbed something by coming in. The silence was stifling and he wanted to get up and make an excuse about forgetting something and just come back at the exact meeting time. To his great relief, he only had to endure a few minutes of the tension in the room. Death Eaters trickled in and by the time the clock struck nine, all the expected attendees were there. As Barty finally raised his head, he had himself staring at a pair of large, glowing, green eyes. It was just a flash, a calculated movement that only he was able to see because of the angle. Barty was so startled he gave a small gasp and Stoirm finally showed some emotion. His face remained shadowed but the only visible part of his face, his mouth, stretched into a small smile. Barty felt the blood leaving his face as he paled and he licked his dry lips.

If Stoirm really was who he thought he was...

No. He was now perfectly sure. His hunch was confirmed. The mysterious stranger wasn't a stranger - it was Harry Potter.

"Why are you here, Stoirm?"

"I'm bored," Harry drawled in answer to the question that the Dark Lord had been asking him every time he followed the man to his supposedly private study. At this point, the dialogue seemed more like a greeting than an actual question.

He had been coming here everyday since he was initiated. Number 4 Privet Drive wasn't exactly what you'd call "exciting" and he had nothing else to do.

The Dark Lord had reverted back to his more human form once all the Death Eaters (minus Harry) left. He was wearing a black and gray argyle sweater and beige pants. Apparently, that was the Dark Lord's idea of a cozy weekend outfit. Harry, meanwhile, was still wearing his Death Eater robes. He walked towards the large couch in the corner where the man was lounging on, still reading that book Harry can't read. He plopped down at the bit of space near Tom's feet and settled comfortably. When Tom didn't ask him to go sit somewhere else, he brought out his book and started reading.

This was how most of their time together would go, the silence only broken with casual questions that would start innocently enough but sometimes turn out with one of them getting pissed off and ending with a duel.

After what felt like half an hour, Harry conjured muggle canned drinks. He lightly tapped Tom's knee with the cold drink to know if he wanted one. The man just lifted his eyes for a moment, said "No thanks," and returned to his book. Harry shrugged his shoulders, closed his book and put it on his lap. A familiar hissing sound escaped as he opened the can and Harry took a sip. He laid his head on the couch's backrest and looked at the ceiling and saw little cobwebs forming at the corner.

'Tom would want that cleaned,' he randomly thought as he took another swig.

He saw Tom's book drop an inch lower in his peripheral. He rolled his head a bit to the side and met Tom's observing eyes. Harry teasingly touched the can to his lips and tilted it to swallow a particularly large amount. He watched Tom's gaze travel down to his neck and back up to his mouth when he licked the soda off his lips.

Tom just stared dully at him. Harry's constant presence was helping him get better at appearing unaffected around the boy. Unfortunately, looking unaffected doesn't equal to being unaffected. Tom coughed.

"Aren't you going to finish that drink any time soon? You could make a mess," he said before tugging his knees closer to his chest and supporting the book he was reading there.

Harry, who had drunk the whole content of the can the moment Tom mentioned finishing the drink, caught a glimpse of the man's feet as he shifted. Harry immediately inhaled his drink and sputtered the rest of it in a spectacular spray. He could feel his lungs burning and his eyes tearing up. He hacked and coughed and laughed uncontrollably. He peeked a glance at the Dark Lord and lost himself upon seeing the man's eyes wide open in surprise. Tom was holding his book as far away from his drenched self as he can in hopes of keeping it dry. He was so still and drops of soda were dropping from his hair. He looked so adorable but Harry put that thought aside and tried hard to keep his laughter down as he scrambled up the couch and clambered towards the man on all fours.

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry, Tom," he was still laughing and the words were getting drowned in his giddiness. He used the sleeves of his robe to dry the man. "It was just, your socks! I didn't see them before since I was practically sitting on your feet and then you pulled them up and I was so surprised because who could have guessed..." he stopped as he realized their position. His left hand was on Tom's right knee and his right wrist was scrubbing his sleeve on Tom's left inner thigh, trying to dry the man's soda-soaked pants.

"...that the Dark Lord wears blue and orange-striped socks," he finished in a low murmur, the smile vanishing off his face.

Neither registered the noise of Tom dropping his book.

Harry noticed a few drops clinging on Tom's lashes and some on the corner of his mouth. His hands traveled to Tom's face and his body hovered over Tom's.

Tom was still in shock at the weird sequence of events and barely processed Harry's advancing face. The boy's lips connected with the corner of his mouth and the feeling of Harry's tongue jerked him back to the present.

He oh-so-wanted to kiss, to ravage, this boy's mouth raw until he can't mutter a single word of insolence Tom refused to lose this toxic game of seduction.

He held Harry's wrists in his hands. His crimson eyes stared fiercely at emerald ones and he murmured, "Have you forgotten that you're a wizard? You don't need to do things the muggle way."

Tom roughly let go of Harry's wrist and stood up. He pulled his wand from his sleeve and cast a cleaning charm on himself, all in one swift motion.

"I think it's time for you to go home, little boy."

It had the desired effect and Harry glared at him,eyes dangerously flashing. Tom knew he hated being called a "little boy" and it filled him with twisted glee that he could make Harry this angry this fast.

"Oh? Is the little boy dismissed because he found out that the scary Dark Lord wears cute, striped socks?" Harry mockingly asked in a sweet voice.

Regrettably, the boy also knew which buttons to push.

*Go home!* Tom hissed in Parseltongue.

He closed his eyes and took steadying breaths in an attempt to calm down. He was in no mood for another duel of reckless wrecking in his study.

Once his heart rate was back to normal, he opened his eyes. The boy was nowhere in sight.

Tom sighed and massaged his temples with his index fingers.

'There we go again,' he thought before transfiguring his socks into a different design.