Chapter 5

Bitter Relations

Ralph Hitchens wrung his hands in fret as he made his way to the stables. The sizable walk felt far too short, suddenly. He was responsible for this blunder. He should never have allowed Cecilia to get as close to the stables as she had, thusly spotting little Harry Gaunt tending to her animal the day before. The recent widow, pining to reacquaint herself with the divorcee Tom Riddle, was a downright filthy snitch. "Sprite," he said in a low voice, looking shifty-eyed as he approached the boy walking one of the horses around the paddock. Harry looked up at him with worry, knowing immediately that Mr Riddle had, in fact, spied him as he had thought.

Halting the young roan and giving it a firm rub under its chin, Harry waited for the man to reach him before bolting off into the woods for fear of hearing the worst. He loved this job, loved the horses… "Am I being dismissed, sir?" he asked him, seeing the truth in the man's sad blue eyes.

Hitchens sighed. "He wants t' talk to you, actually. You don't have to, Harry. I know the man's no good and he frightens you something awful." Tom Riddle was a man of little honour, a low-life dirty sonofabitch in his eyes. His unfortunate parents had raised a right monster, spoiling the boy rotten. "I wouldn't blame yea if you legged it, sprite. I can tell him you weren't up for it."

"I'm not afraid of him." Handing the old man the lead, Harry walked over to a water barrel and splashed a handful of cool water onto his face. He wiped it off with a handkerchief to clean himself up. With his posture straight and his hair slicked back with his fingers, he took a deep breath. "Point me the right way, please?"

Ralph took the boy by the shoulder and steered him toward the back gardens. "Keep your chin up, little one. He's just over there sunbathing."

"Sunbathing? Who has time for that?" Harry nearly laughed despite the tight knot his stomach had found itself bundled in. He tried to swallow down the hard lump in his throat, and made his way to the back of the manor.

-

"Here he comes. My God, look at those clothes…"

"Quiet, Cecelia. Ah, there you are, Harry. Come over here for a moment, need to speak with yea," Riddle said, propping himself on his lounge and lifting the sun visor from his eyes to gaze the scrubby boy over. He was wearing nothing but a pair of swim trunks that showed off a great deal of leg. He looked to be as tall as Tom, just as handsome, and utterly enthralled with taking in every single inch of Harry's unclean form as he approached.

Cecelia pulled back her curled auburn hair from her shoulders and giggled untimely as Harry puffed out his chest to prepare himself for the confrontation. She stretched out along her lounge chair, showing off her beautiful swimsuit-clad body. Harry had never seen a woman dressed in so little before. He blanched and looked away. "Tom, he needs a thorough hosing down before he gets any closer."

"Right—a good hosing down," Harry repeated through a sneer. He centred his attention on that man resembling Tom. "You wanted to see me, sir?"

Tom Riddle smiled with the air of fortune and grace that Harry had seen only once before on another human being. Now he understood where his brother had gotten these wonderful attributes that seemed to have skipped him. The man radiated with charm. "How is your mother, Harry? And your brother, how's he getting on? What's his name again? You know, the tall boy. Does your mother feed either of you, you're both about as scrawny as a rail post."

Harry just stood there staring at him. He had no desire to indulge the man with idle chit-chat.

Cecelia had snorted under her hand at the gall, as if Harry was so far beneath them that ignoring Riddle's questions was an act of treason. "You should answer your father when he asks you a question," she snapped. The side of her lip was curled upward with distaste but her eyes softened as she took in the young boy's delicate features.

"He's not my father," Harry returned without looking at her. He could not take his eyes off of this man who looked so much like Tom. Erasing a few lines around his eyes and a bit of greying at the temples, they could have been twins.

Riddle chuckled darkly. "Of course I'm your father, boy. That old witch has told me on numerous occasions. 'Oh, look at our beautiful son, my love! Come home, come home to us!' She should be jailed for what she's done… stoned, burned at the stake."

Harry raised an eyebrow in wonder. Could it be true? Tom seemed to believe that this man was his father, but Harry had never been truly convinced. It felt strange and wrong to consider it. Riddle had abandoned them regardless, and was not worth even this conversation. Harry's tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, making it impossible to articulate any decent comeback. "I er… I don't think you have any right to speak about her that way. She's told me herself that you're not my—"

Riddle stopped the blabbering with a raised hand while he looked back at the woman beside him. "Celia darling, why don't you take Harry inside and get that change of clothing we purchased for him? Get him all cleaned up and dressed properly for our outing."

Blinking rapidly, Harry took a step back. "Outing? I'm not going on any—" Cecelia was on her feet and grasping his arm before he fully understood what was happening. Her grip tightened as he tried to remove it. "Get your bloody hand off of me," he grunted, feeling her long fingernails dig into the flesh.

"Oh, he's got a foul little mouth on him," Cecelia hissed. "I've got a mind to take him upstairs and wash it out with soap."

The elder Tom stood from chair, looking fiercely down on Harry. "You are going, Harry, you're my son. I have every right to take you on an outing if I wish to do so. And never speak to a lady with those vile words again. Do I make myself clear?"

"This is kidnapping," Harry stated bluntly. The woman coiled around him, preventing any sudden flight to safety. Riddle was now standing directly in front of him. His smile was wicked, evil. "I'm not going anywhere with you disgusting Muggles! My mother will turn you both into—"

Cecelia gave Harry a little shake to shut him up, but Riddle quickly pulled the boy out of her grasp. He held Harry by the shoulders as he kneeled down to his level. "Now, now, Harry, this isn't meant to be anything unpleasant. I merely wish to take you with us on our picnic. We want to get to know you a bit better, is that so wrong? You may leave when we are finished."

He was being forced to go, but could leave once it was over? Yeah, he could handle that. That didn't sound all that difficult. "Fine," Harry said breathlessly, sloughing the man's hands away from his shoulders. "Do I get to keep my job if go with?"

Riddle smiled again, baring his perfect white teeth. He glanced up at the woman behind the boy, giving her a wink. "Of course you do. I wouldn't have it any other way."

As the sun began to set and another long day of study came to an end, Tom walked the nettled path from the road toward the copse of land where his home stood. A spiral of steam billowed out of the tiny kitchen window, catching his eye. He instantly caught the most seductive bouquet of water lilies and old, worn parchment from books in the Restricted Section at school. He inhaled deeply, basking in the arousal. For a brief moment, he lost himself in the feeling of floating on air, the spectacular allowance of drifting away into bliss.

Shaking it from his head, he pushed the front door to his home open and rounded the table. Taking the locket dangling around his mother's neck in hand, he pulled the batty old witch away from the bubbling cauldron on the stove. "What have I tell you about brewing Amortentia inside, mummy? Do you know how dangerous this stuff is? It's splattering all over the walls. What if Harry were to accidentally swallow some? For Mordred's sake - what if Morfin did?"

"What if I did what, you useless dirty-blood?" Morfin was looking over his shoulder from the armchair.

Merope squeaked and pulled the chain out of Tom's grasp as he fixed a scowl on his uncle. She lifted the cauldron up and headed to the door, nearly tripping a half dozen times on her way out.

Tom's hand itched to grip his wand. He had not laid eyes on Morfin since his return and had little want to stay in the same room with him. There would be trouble if the wretched, matted-haired monster mentioned one more word about his blood status. "Mind your damned business," he replied matter-of-factly, studying the man's movement as he slumped back in his chair. Morfin appeared… defeated, fragile, aged… which only fuelled Tom's lust to cut him down. "You're pathetic."

"The little runt won't use magic to defend himself yet. I've got to teach him a lesson somehow. Should'a seen what I done to his head." Morfin held up a hand, showing Tom the black stone ring of their ancestors perched snugly on his middle finger. "He's got the Peverell coat of arms permanently dented in his skull. Broke it open like a melon, I did…"

With every last bit of self control fleeting and a fire of hatred that burned so deep for his uncle consuming his being, Tom had his wand drawn and pointed at Morfin in a manner of a second. His dark eyes narrowed in loathe. "—Crucio!—" The word slipped from his lips - and it was so unbelievably luscious to say. Tom watched in delight as his uncle seized up on the chair, twitching and screaming, and he laughed as he had never laughed before.

Merope ran back inside and grappled Tom's arms, breaking the curse. "Never, Tom, no!" she cried in panic. "Never—no—never!"

Shoving her off, placing his wand in his pocket, Tom brushed the hair out of his eyes to observe Morfin's recovery. The effects of the spell seemed to do the trick. The man could hardly catch his breath. "It must have been excruciatingly painful, no doubt," he murmured through a smirk. "I trust we won't be bothering Harry again, will we?"

Morfin gave Tom a nervous shake of his head.

"And you…" Tom turned on his mother, glowering. "No more Love Potions brewed anywhere around the house."

With a whinge, Merope nodded.

"Right, well," Tom said in a lighter tone while he shrugged his robes off and folded them over the back of a kitchen chair, "I think I'll tuck in early. It's been a long day."

Sitting in the back of the finest looking motor car Harry could imagine ever existed; he bolted out of his seat and tapped the driver's shoulder to catch his attention. "Please, right here, Mr Hitchens. I don't want anyone to see me." He had already changed out of the extravagant clothing Mr Riddle insisted on whenever he made Harry tag along with him and Cecelia, replacing them on the leather seat of the Bentley in a folded stack. It wasn't embarrassment of being seen in the wealthy man's car or in his clothes; on the contrary, it was fear. He was afraid of betraying his mother, his brother, finding himself nearly enjoying his and his lady friend's company.

Whether it was attempted brainwashing or an honest endeavour at making amends for abandoning them, Tom Riddle was not as vicious as everyone had made him out to be. His persistent gift-giving and coaxing of Harry to stay on a night in his manor whittled away at a large portion of his hatred for the man. And Riddle's parents were kind, doting individuals who tried desperately to fatten the waif-thin boy up a bit. Even Cecelia turned out to be quite the equestrian, taking it upon herself to teach Harry the basics of riding. Harry did not trust them fully, but he did not fight back anymore.

"Are you sure, sprite? I can take yea right to the path," Hitchens informed him, but Harry made for the door, shaking his head. The elderly man pulled off to the side of the road. "You be back here bright and early now. I'll be waiting on yea on this spot. Mr Riddle insists you join him and Riddle Sr. for breakfast and a walk through the gardens."

Harry laughed. "I'm never going to get to see the horses again at this rate, am I? At least, not like I used to." He climbed out of the car and shut the door, and leaned into the open window to thank the old man. Muggles. There were so many Muggles thrust into his life now – and not near as bad as he thought they would be. "I miss them. This is all so new and strange for me."

"Now that Bryce is back from the war, the groom is taking good care of the beasts for yea; you haven't got to lift a finger. Don't you worry on having a bit of what's coming to yea, sprite," Hitchens replied. "I wish Mr Riddle'd consider looking in on your brother, but I suppose that's beyond repair now, eh?"

"Oh, yeah," Harry said with a cringe. "If Tom knew… gods, I need to stop going before he finds out. I don't want to think of the tar and feathering he'd do to me. Riddle is poison to him."

The relentless summer heat and threats of air bombings had kept Tom at home more often than he liked. All of London was preparing for the threat of another Blitz. It did, however, put him to the test of all boundaries of his will. Fortunately, he had discovered a way to work up a resistance to these disastrous wants and desires for Harry by simply taking care of the issue whenever it popped into his mind.

With a Silencing Charm in place over the bedroom and the door closed tight, Tom leaned back into his pillow and sighed with content. His hand moved slowly down the path of his bare chest, the tips of his fingers trailing lightly across the taut skin. He slid them under the elastic of his pants. They grazed along the length of his arousal before claiming it fully. His heart beat rapidly under his ribcage as the soft pads moved, stroking the silky hardness to its rhythm. Fuck, it felt so good to let go and give Morfin a taste of his own medicine. And then Harry… God, he was so gorgeous, so fucking right for him. If only things could be different.

"I am Lord Voldemort," he whispered through the silence, simpering at the iniquity of his earlier actions. He loved the way it sounded coming from his own lips. It was only a shame he had to keep the façade of the perfect student at Hogwarts. Taking the surname of his father and combining it with his first and middle, he had come up with what he thought was a brilliant new title.

Riddle. That bastard Muggle would pay for his crimes later for flaunting himself around in front of his poor, maddened mother day by day with his wealth and disgust for her. He was not worthy of breath. He and Harry would see to that when the boy came of age.

The thoughts that plagued him now enhanced the euphoria of his actions. Images of the pretty little boy flickered in his mind. His breath was shallow, his eyes closed. The vision; messy hair, golden skin glistening with sweat, the brightest of green eyes under the thick brush of onyx lashes… His dainty hands and shapely toes, the dip of his navel, and contour of his blushing-pink nipples… The upturn of his nose, his pillowy lips, the soft line of his jaw… So beautiful, so right for him…

The door to the bedroom had opened, missing his notice.

"Harry…"

"Yes?"

Tom sucked in a great breath and pulled his knees up while tucking his hands behind his back. "Christ, Harry, what are you doing home so early? You should knock before entering closed doors!"

"What's wrong, did I scare you?" Closing the door behind him, Harry plucked away at the buttons of his shirt. With each peel of his tattered clothes his skin became more exposed to Tom's vision, feeding his appetite for completion. "I need to lie down; I fell off a horse this afternoon. Mordred but it hurts like nothing other." He dropped onto the mattress to nuzzle with his older brother. "Why are you in bed so early… or home for that matter? I thought you weren't going to be home much anymore."

All of the blood drained from Tom's face and pooled back into his groin. Harry was far too close to him. "Er… shops closed up early. There was a curfew put in place, there was an air raid warning or something."

Rubbing the ghastly bruise on his thigh, Harry draped his long leg across Tom's bent knee for leverage. He was rubbing it, touching it, poking at it with a finger, massaging the muscle in such a way… "How bad does it look? The muscle will seize up tonight, you wait. I'll wake up screaming."

"Okay, enough—geroff," Tom groaned, unable to take his eyes off of the shapely limb dangling over his knee. The skin was so golden, stretched taut over the firm muscle basked in moonlight. He shoved the leg off, exhaling heavily. "Where've you been all day?"

With a huff, Harry rolled over onto Tom and pinned him to the bed. "At work, idiot, where do you think I fell off a horse from?"

"I told you to geroff," Tom said in a panicked warning, fearing Harry could feel his still rock-hard member trapped between them.

Harry slapped his hands away and gripped his wrists, pinning them over his head. "No, make me," he taunted, grinning from ear to ear. He dug his knees into the bedding, locking them at Tom's sides. "Ooh…It's too late to hide what you were doing now, I felt it. Who are you thinking of?"

Oh, please no… Tom attempted to will his arousal away. But feeling Harry this close and watching his little pink tongue play along his lip only made it worse. "I'm not thinking of anyone. You know damn well it happens to all men. There have been plenty of times when I've caught you with—"

"Oh, so you're a man now. Ha! Is it Walburga? Gods, please tell me it's not her. She only fancies you because you're a Prefect. Maybe it's that girl with the glasses…I'll bet you like them smart and near-sighted… Or—Minerva! Ah, yeah, I'll bet it's her." Harry was closing the distance between their faces as he leaned in and pressed his forehead against Tom's. He was rocking over him, looking fractious; addling the friction and focus that Tom had fought so hard against. He was teasing him on purpose. It was clear now that Harry was jealous. Jealous. "Whoever they are, don't let them take you away from me like those blokes at school do. I don't think I could stand—"

Tom turned the tables, forcing Harry onto his back. Kneeling between his thighs, Tom overpowered him quickly. He took his slender wrists in one hand, shoving them over his head. "No one will ever come between us, Harry—you're mine."

Harry gasped at the shift in power, finding himself in the exact position he had his brother seconds before. He was quite out of breath and staring into Tom's eyes with wonder. Before he could think of what to do or say, Tom's nose was touching his. His eyelids fluttered closed and his lips parted in a sigh. Yes, he wanted Tom to kiss him.

There was no turning back, no stopping himself now. Tom pressed his lips against Harry's. Their soft tongues touched; timidly, at first, then scraped along the other with stringent need. Harry's chin tipped up, offering his lips and his tongue to the older boy's demands. He felt the hard press of arousal against his thigh as Tom cupped him at the nape of his neck to bring him closer. A light moan passed between them as little jolts of pleasure struck at his nerves. It felt so good to gain so much attention after nearly dying for it for so long. Whatever he wanted, it was his.

Tom was lost in the moment, rocking against Harry for more friction. This was the most wonderful feeling in the world! It felt so good, and he fit perfectly in his arms. Nothing could stop this fire burning from within his insistent loins. Harry's arms had slipped around his neck while his sweet tongue and pliant lips arrested every screaming thought of how wrong this act really was. Tom was going to come right then and there in his breeches, rutting against Harry's thigh like a dog in heat - but he didn't care. He needed this; he wanted this more than anything else in the fucking world because it felt so bloody right to hold Harry and taste him and rub his body against his with everything that he had.

And Harry was moving against him, garnering his own destiny for divinity underneath him. He made the most lusting of sounds under each primal rut; breathy and light with cloudy, uneasy delicacy. His tongue slipped back into his mouth to inhale a deeper breath. Tom felt the warmth spread between their breeches. He had just made Harry come for him, in his arms, against him, without words. It was so precious and wrong, so deliciously wrong to taste upon the flesh of this innocent and take what was rightfully his to have. Tom wanted him more than anything, more than immortality, more than power. This was power, this was his. Reclaiming Harry's perfect mouth, he thrust his tongue back inside and found heavenly bliss rupture between them.

Tom froze inside, his own mind swirling with obscurity. It was over – as soon as it had begun; it was over. The beautiful boy, still limp in his arms, nibbled at his lower lip with confusion. He had just gotten off with his brother, something he told himself would never happen. What had he done?

A flush of guilt and horror flooded out from deep within. "No… I didn't. Fuck," he breathed, dropping Harry onto the mattress to look upon the hands that had held the boy so closely moments before. He sucked in a great breath; unsure of what had just happened to make him lose his strong focus, knowing he had caused this, knowing he had lost control. He slammed his fist against the wall. He wanted to tear his own eyes out. "Fuck! I'm so… I'm so sorry, Harry. I didn't mean for that…"

Harry was glowing red with embarrassment. He covered his eyes with the balls of his hands to block out the vision of his angry brother. "Its okay, Tom, really," he whispered back urgently. Why was Tom so irate? What they had done was so exhilarating…"It was just an accident. Please don't be angry anymore."

"No, it's not okay, baby. I didn't mean it." Having grabbed his wand off of the night table, Tom waved it over him and Harry to clean them off. He sat it on the windowsill and fell onto his side with his back to his brother. "If anyone found out… no one can ever know," he murmured under his breath. "It's not acceptable. We can't tell anyone."

Harry curled around him, draping that ever-so-long leg over his hip and an arm about his chest. He tucked his chin in the crook of Tom's neck and sighed. "I won't tell anyone, I promise." He brushed his lips against his earlobe, something he had always done to soften the other boy up, but Tom stiffened against him.

"Just go to sleep, Harry. Forget it happened."

With a nod, Harry closed his eyes, letting the tears that burned beneath his eyelids spill forth.

It had been a week since he had last seen Harry, but he still could not face him – not yet.

Tom dipped his quill into the inkwell at his side and wrote down his thoughts on the latest incantation him and his "friends" had in the works. "This shield spell I've created is powerful enough, so it seems. The elements it calls are bonded like steel, nothing is getting past. We've tested it over thirty times without anything slipping through. I'd say it's better than a counter-curse if you're prepared enough."

Dolohov and Nott were standing several steps apart, wands at the ready, conjuring large silver shields on their forearms with unspoken spells each time the other was fired upon. Avery rolled his eyes in frustration. He did not want to believe that something as simple as a wordless spell could act as an effective safety against the worst Unforgivable there was. "Yeah, but who's willing to test it on a Wizard, Voldemort? Setting a shield against a wall is fine; having someone conjure one out of thin air while the killing curse is being cast upon them is quite another thing."

Tom raised a hand to look at his fingernails, unscathed by the lack of faith a few of his followers had in him. "We could test it on a Muggle… or on you." He lowered his hand and fixed his eyes on the older student. "Yeah, we'll test it on you."

The sound of something very loud, like a rock hitting a metal pot, resounded through the room as a Stinging Spell hit one of the shields. Avery nearly leapt from his skin. "Er… testing the blockage on a Muggle would probably be better," he conceded, shaking in his seat. He had no wish to die any time soon. "And then we can test the ability to conjure it after we're sure the spell can be successfully hindered."

A gasp caught Tom's attention. "Lord Voldemort, there's someone just outside the wards!" exclaimed Lestrange, watching a cloaked figure peering back at him through the supposed invisible barrier to the boys' secret corner in the rear of Junk Shop. "He shouldn't be able to see us!"

Tom stood up and waved to the boys to stand back. "What do you want?" he said to the man who stood facing him with only a thin layer of pulsating magic between them.

"Look at you, already a leader of such fine Wizarding stock." The man lowered his hood and shook out his silver-white hair. "You remember me, don't you, Tom? I need a word." He held no wand; he stood defenceless before him. Tom was amazed at how clearly an image of this man was burned into his mind. This was someone important, although he could not put his finger on the reason.

The magical barrier between them dissipated. Lestrange and the rest of the cronies moved toward the back wall. Draco Malfoy snickered at their cowardice, and added, "Alone, please."

Dropping into Tom's chair while the sixteen year old ushered the others out of the shop and propping his feet up on the edge of the desk, Draco grabbed up a quill and began doodling on the extensive research they had been working on. "You've got a problem needing fixed," he said absently. "A big one."

"And who are you to tell me this?" Tom hissed as he locked the door to the shop and returned to his desk. "Who the hell are you?"

Draco grinned charmingly. "I'm your mummy's guardian angel, of course."

"Course," Tom repeated, looking irked. He rested on the chair opposite of him, aghast at the scribbles covering part of his work. "What is this problem you mentioned?"

"Do you know where your brother's been going every day over the last four summers, Tom?" Draco had yet to make eye-contact with him; instead, he remained focused on the sketch he was working on. "Has it occurred to you that he's been avoiding your home as much as you have, and for bigger reasons than you have? I do understand how important the journey into finding immortality is to you, but the cost will be steep if you don't look beyond the tip of your nose."

Tom's eyes narrowed. This man knew far more than he was letting on. How did he know any of his work, and why had he mentioned Harry? "What are you on about?"

Draco shrugged lazily. "Perhaps you need to go home and visit with your mother. She hasn't seen either of her children for days…"

"Harry hasn't come home? How do you know this?" Tom demanded. He stood up and gripped his wand. "Look at me. Have you done something to—"

Draco shook his head, yet still refused to look the boy in the eye. "I'm merely a messenger, Tom. Your brother is quite safe… in fact, he's probably a lot better off where he is now than where he was when you abandoned him." He turned, facing Tom eye to eye at last. "That doesn't mean he should be there, though. The key to immortality lies within Harry. If you lose him, you will never find your answers."

As if he had been doused in ice water, Tom shivered at the truth in the man's words. "I should go see her, then?" he asked Draco, watching the man stand up and move toward the door. "She'll know where Harry is?"

"I'll see you again shortly to tie up any loose ends needing tying. Your greatest failure is your lack of considering the obvious. We're not going to allow that to happen again." Before Tom could ask anything else, Draco walked through the door, and was gone.