Chapter 7

Higher Standards

Out of the corner of his eye, Tom noticed the oddly peculiar wizard; his Transfiguration teacher and nemesis of his idol; had been watching him with interest for some time. Albus Dumbledore was sitting quietly, hands folded in his lap and half-moon spectacles perched on his nose to make it appear that he was reading the open book resting on his desk. His eyes, however, in their wretched twinkling-blue, were stealthily centred to the exact spot where Tom was writing his essay.

He couldn't know, impossible. I left no clues behind!

There had been a mysterious force of entry into the man's bedchambers the evening before, during the Quidditch match between Ravenclaw and Slytherin. No one had seen or heard a thing, and nothing appeared to be missing. Tom, being the brightest and best in his sixth year class, felt outrage by this visual rape of sorts. How dare he stare at him so accusingly?

Resting his quill on the desk, Tom leaned forward. "Is there something you'd like to ask me, Professor?" Everyone in the classroom turned to look his way, and followed his stare.

"Not at this particular moment, no, Tom," the man replied without a hitch.

"Is there a good reason as to why you're staring at me?"

"Actually, yes," Albus replied.

Tom felt a cold shiver run down his spine. There's no way he could know. "Would you care to share this explanation with me?"

Shrugging, Albus adjusted his posture and looked at all of the other students watching them. "That will come in time, my boy."

As life grew more liberated and fulfilling for him and Harry, and even their deranged mother, Tom's plunge into darkness grew along side of it like a weed. There was nothing to stop him from fulfilling his quest for immortality and power. With each passing day, free of Morfin, of his childhood home, and having wiped out the last of his paternal bloodline, Tom came one step closer to finding the key to unlock these mysteries he dared to seek. Albus Dumbledore just so happened to be very acquainted with Gellert Grindelwald and, at one time, had believed as he did; that wizards were superior to Muggles. Tom could hardly pass up the chance to find out as much knowledge as he could about the intriguing man - and what he did find was nothing short of amazing.

The bell rang, and Tom packed up his belongings eagerly, quickly striding to the door to avoid any more contact between himself and the professor. His band of followers was behind him, parting the crowds gathered in the halls with fierce glares and threatening words. No one dared mess with them… bad things tended to happen to those who did.

A low growl began to form in Tom's throat as his eyes caught sight of Harry and his own crew of sideshow freaks cavorting next to the Gryffindor common room's portrait covered entrance. The boy was quite popular in his year, and did not discriminate when it came to making friends. This infuriated Tom like nothing other. It was a direct violation of his personal ideals. Alas, his warnings to Harry to stay the fuck away from the half-wits and Mudbloods and all the rest of the vile creatures in between floated between his ears. He had been counselled repeatedly about this to no avail. Harry did what Harry wanted to do…

Nudging his arm, Minerva McGonagall quietly alerted Harry to Tom's approach. Wide-eyed and completely caught off guard, Harry quickly sheltered himself behind his best mate; the half-giant, Rubeus Hagrid; in hopes that his brother had not yet seen him. "Fuck, I'm dead," he whimpered.

"Harry, language!" Minerva hissed. Olive Hornby mimicked him by hiding behind Hagrid, too. Minerva adjusted her glasses in a stealthy manner to confirm that Tom was, in fact, headed toward them. "Yes, yes, here he comes. Oh, he looks angry, and his brood of evildoers is in perfect formation behind him."

Druella looked wholly nervous, but Algie Longbottom puffed his chest out like a great robin and set his fists on his hips. "They don't scare me none."

Hagrid pulled his heavy coat closed to conceal the boy, but it was plainly too late. Watching Tom's glowering visage peek around the large girth, Harry cringed. "Sorry, Minnie—Oh, hey, Tom, were you looking for me?"

"Hmm, right. Go to my dormitory and wait there for me," was all he said in return. He refused to address the others.

Harry made an apologetic face. "Can't, sorry; gonna hit some practice in like… five minutes."

Minerva nodded in agreement and flicked the 'Quidditch Captain' badge resting in sparkling perfection on her tartan sash. "He's going to help us work on some moves we've invented together," she added, smirking at Tom. "He's a real lion at heart, wouldn't you say?"

His fellow Slytherins had gathered around Tom by this time, and all of them looked down their noses at the bunch, mostly ignoring the massive boy standing between Harry and Tom. One of them reached out to grab Harry's arm, enraged that he'd be so crass as to deny such a person, but Tom threw his hand out to stop him. "That's quite alright. After practice then," he said calmly, returning Minerva's disapproving sneer. "And you," he said lowly, "encouraging this vile pastime in such a way. Isn't this your last year here, I dearly hope?"

Minerva blinked a few times with stunned silence, and then looked down upon her chest and pointed to a gleaming silver badge, one resting beside the Quidditch Captain badge, with the obvious 'HG' stamped upon it. "It is common knowledge that they give these out only to persons in their seventh year. I thought you were a bit smarter than that, Tom."

With flared nostrils, Tom turned on his heel to stomp away. "Be back directly after practice," he ordered.

"Right," said Harry, hiding a titter behind a hand.

Shucking off his cleats and robes and letting them fall lazily to the floor, Harry plunged into Tom's bed to remove the remainder of his uniform. He plucked each sock off and tossed them over the side, then moved to the zip of his Quidditch breeches. Shimmying out of them as Tom entered the dormitory; Harry grinned brightly, balled up the breeches, and threw them in brother's face. "You're really acting funny anymore, idiot," he chimed, and slid his fingers down the length of his shirt, popping the buttons away. "You reported Olive for running in the halls when you let Marius do the same thing this afternoon. And what was that ridiculous fear tactic you tried on Minerva, hmm? Real classy, Tom… She said you were a right prat – and I've never heard her call anyone a name before. Whatever, I'm knackered. She's a tyrant on the pitch."

Tom, having folded Harry's breeches and his own robes as neatly as possible, rested them over the bedstead. He undressed smartly; taking his sweet old time with each article of clothing, balling his socks just right and making sure the pleats of his trousers matched the other. His shoes were placed under the bed by the foot in perfect alignment, and he pulled back the sheets to fold them over properly before climbing into bed. Any anger he had before had vanished. All he wanted to do was be next to the one person in the world that he cared about.

Harry had closed his eyes by this time, mocking loud snores while the weight of Tom shifted over beside him. The curtains fell closed, darkening the interior of the bed.

"I put a nifty little Silencing Charm on the curtains that'll activate whenever I climb in to sleep so I don't have to keep reapplying it. I invented it myself just this afternoon. Go ahead, give a scream, see if anyone comes," Tom boasted, giving Harry's ribs a nudge.

"'s not the smartest thing you've ever done," Harry replied shortly, still lying in simulated sleep. "What if you get hurt in here? Who'll hear you calling?"

Tom snorted. "Ah, yeah, I'm so clumsy in bed. I might get injured."

"You will if you don't shut up and let me kip out," Harry warned.

"It's also impossible to peek in," Tom continued, as he shifted onto his side and traced the line of Harry's jaw with a finger. "No one will have a clue as to what we're doing."

Harry groaned pathetically under Tom's vanquish, feeling the warmth of arousal wholly pervade his skin. It wasn't that he didn't want Tom touching him again – he did, badly – God, he loved it when Tom took control and gave him such unbroken attention – but that familiar jolt of insecurity moved through his arms and made him push back against Tom's shoulders as the older boy began climbing on top of him. Anymore, it seemed, Tom refused to keep himself in check when it came to Harry and Harry's sweet little body. Whenever they were alone, when no one was looking even for a second; the fondling, groping, tongue-sucking-into-his-mouth, and earlobe nibbling would get underway.

Feeling hot breath cascading along the line of his neck, Harry shivered without control. He shouldn't have come here, he knew this would happen. His voice wavered with timidity. "What are you doing?"

"Shh, I'm trying to kiss you," Tom replied in a confident, husky voice, and removed Harry's hands to place them at his sides. He smiled that beautiful, perfect smile of his as he leaned in again and pressed his lips over Harry's chin. "I missed seeing you today, and you slept in your dormitory last night. I'm inclined to believe you may be avoiding me."

He was. Harry turned his head to the side as Tom eased over his body, trapping the smaller boy beneath. "Course I'm not," Harry stammered, as he wriggled around to get comfortable. A silly smirk flirted with his lips. "I've been busy, you've been busy. I didn't want to bother you."

"What bother? Don't be stupid." Tom clipped him lightly on the cheek to right his head. "Now shut up and kiss me."

Their limbs became a tangled mess as the urge to copulate so kindly took over all rational thought. Harry's right thigh was sandwiched between Tom's legs, the other rested on top. They rocked against the other, rolling onto their sides to find a more pressuring way to gain the most gratification, and with their tongues twisting and sliding around between their lips, both boys began to fall to the passion.

Oh, and it was good. No, the primordial act of frottage alone was more than good, but the need to move forward and want it all pulled so strongly on Tom's libido. It seemed an endless struggle between them. Harry was more interested in Quidditch and misbehaviour than exploring the wonders of sexual stimulation. It hadn't deterred Tom - in fact, it was a conquest. The challenge was there to best the best, to see how far he could get. He had slept with over half of the Slytherin girls over the age of sixteen… and a few of the boys, but they were pittance; practice for perfection.

Tom wanted Harry in the worst way. The pretty boy stirred the dead, cold, stagnant emotion deep within his endlessly seeking mind. He supposed he could take what he wanted; tie Harry to the bed and ravage him in every way possible. It had crossed his mind more than once… but that would take the fun out of it and destroy the trust. And Tom needed Harry's trust. No, he would not part with that over a cheap grope. Still, he had to try and whittle him down. Sadly, it would take time.

"Guess what I found out this afternoon."

"What?" Harry whispered back; not fully trusting the Silencing Charm. He slapped Tom's hand away from his backside, giggling nervously in the process. "Well?"

Curling into him to lean on an elbow and loom just so over Harry, Tom hummed seductively in his throat. "Upon discovery of that journal, I learned that," – he kissed him once on the corner of his lip – "the all powerful Grindelwald, my personal hero, is a," – and again on the other – "right old fairy," – and pressed his lips upon Harry's before he could respond. Fingers slid along the other's sides, legs bent, and their groins pressed into the other.

Harry sighed, tipping his head back and digging his nails into Tom's lower back. "That's lovely, really."

Tom snickered wickedly. "Now guess who he was buggering."

"I don't care about Grindelwald or who he was buggering," Harry growled.

"Ah-ah, guess," Tom repeated, holding up a warning finger.

With a heated sigh, Harry rolled his eyes and shook his head. "I don't… no… no way. You're joking, Tom. Don't say it!" he exclaimed, finding it hard not to giggle once more at the thought of who Tom was bursting to shout. He pressed his hands over his ears just as the name was yelled.

"Dumbledore!"

Harry winced dramatically, clutching his chest as if he'd been shot. "No! I told you not to tell me!"

"It's true!"

"Gods, that's just… yech!"

"Imagine that," Tom continued, in a lesser enthusiastic and more sensual tone, "two of the most powerful living wizards—queer together. And they've kept it secret all this time."

The giggles died off as Harry began to understand what his brother was saying. If Dumbledore and Grindelwald could keep their relationship secret, could truly be themselves and still remain the most feared and adored wizards of their time, then so could they. "Tom," he whispered through an unsteady breath, reluctantly allowing the larger boy to wiggle his way between his thighs. Nothing else was said; Tom pulled him into his arms, lifting him off of the bed at the nape of his neck to press their trembling lips together once more. Harry pushed up on his elbows, so afraid his muscles were too shaky to hold him up.

The progression, slow and steady, heated them both through. Needing more, Tom took the boy's hand in mid thrust against his thigh to gently coax it between their torsos. Harry pulled it back in staunch resistance. "No, Tom…"

"Shh…" Tom's other hand was slipping down the length of his brother's side, fingertips easing under the elastic of Harry's pants and moving closer to cleft of his bum. Harry tried to dislodge it, but Tom grabbed him again and placed his palm dangerously close to their erections.

"Merlin, will you stop?" Harry snapped, pulling his hand away and pressing it flat against Tom's chest. His back stiffened and his legs clenched and pinned Tom's to halt their movement.

"C'mon, Harry," Tom wheedled, retaking his right wrist, "just touch it."

"No," Harry said flatly, looking shocked. His ears were burning hot with embarrassment. "I told you I don't want to yet. I'm not ready."

"Oh, fuck, Harry, please?"

Harry shook his head. "No!"

"But it feels so good, I swear. I won't ask you to do anything else. You can touch it for just a second, over my pants even. C'mon, please?"

"Tom," Harry whinged, wishing he had again gone straight to his own dormitory. "I don't want to do that yet."

Bull-headed prig!

Tom huffed and fell back against the mattress, and punched the bedstead for added drama. "Fuck it," he stung, and stared angrily up at the canopy, "If you're not going do anything else, I'll just work it off with someone who wants to."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry was glaring at him now, with his arms tightly crossed over his chest.

"Just what I said, don't worry on it," Tom retorted and rolled over onto his side.

As the weeks went by, not much had changed between the two brothers. Nothing seemed as frustrating to Tom, who had accepted the strange sensations within his own chest that, beating so close to his heart, constricted and burned upon all functioning rational whenever he got too close to Harry, whenever he thought of Harry, and whenever anything about anything came to mind that reminded him of Harry. For years this had driven him away and kept himself apart from the boy, but this calling was clear.

Now it was Harry's turn at denying this attraction and it hurt something awful. Why did love have to happen, and why was it so painful? This natural maturity might take years for Harry to accept. Tom only had one year left in school before it was time to move on and begin his destiny. He could not bear the thought of Harry remaining behind here without him, mulling around the scores of silly girls who thought the boy was a real catch.

The journal in Tom's hands quivered. He had found a terrible flaw between the lovers penned inside its pages. They were so young, two years apart and brilliant as they come with ideals that made for the ultimate combine, and yet… one did not truly love the other. Tom had no idea why this passage stuck in his mind and forced him to read it over and over. Why was this so utterly important? Innumerable people throughout history had worked together to achieve goals as great without the need for love. Or had they? A requited love did not necessarily mean the same thing to every match. Maybe love took on more than one form. Was this mystical emotion the key to unlocking something he had overlooked? Had caring about something, as Albus Dumbledore had with his family, made him as or even more powerful than Grindelwald?

Any and all thoughts on the subject trailed off as the sounds of persistent tapping broke Tom's reverie. Realising he was no longer alone in the Slytherin common room; he crammed the journal into his robes and stood up. For the first time in his life he looked at the older boy standing wearily before him, dying to tell him something important, and smiled at him. "Afternoon, Avery."

Avery gulped, having never been received by Tom with any sort of warmth. This meeting would be a lot more difficult than he'd imagined.

"What's the matter?" Tom asked him, spying the concern blanching the boy's features. "Has something happened?"

"Listen," Avery said quietly out of the corner of his mouth, "It's about Harry. Er… you're brother's been given a week's detention. Nott just told me. He's gone and done it again, and it doesn't portend well with your reputation, you know."

Tom shrugged, looking somewhat annoyed. Why weren't these delivered interruptions ever good news? "Who cares? Harry's gotten plenty of detentions… what?" he hissed, growing more irritated as the other boy fidgeted around him like a nervous rat. "What did he do to get it?"

"He chinned Dolohov for poking fun at that disgusting half-giant he socializes with in the courtyard! He's making himself trouble, if you ask me. Cuffing a fellow Slytherin, someone so loyal to you, Voldemort, should be dealt with. That's all I'm saying…"

"What would you like me to do, hmm? Shall I punish him? Tell me what would you like to see done with my brother?" With thick sarcasm in place, Tom glowered menacingly at the seventh year boy. So much for the warm approach...

Avery paled considerably. He shook his head softly, so weary of angering his fellow housemate. He glanced around the room to be sure no other student was yet around, and then lowered his voice to a mere whisper to be sure. "No one will take us seriously if this is allowed to carry on, Lord Voldemort. Harry and his friends laugh at us. The other students like him, follow him around like he's better than you! They're starting to laugh at us, too. I don't see how you could want this to carry on."

"Hmm," Tom hummed while scratching his chin in thought. Perhaps Avery had a valid point about the lack of respect his followers were receiving. It would not bode well to lose any amount of fear he had instilled upon the weaker of their peers. Harry was… defiant, a silly-heart, a freer spirit than he had been in the past. His life at Hogwarts exploded with promise. To think that a Slytherin could befriend such a motley crew of rejects and cherish their company was beyond Tom's grasp. It occurred to him that perhaps he had again allowed his brother's fate to move too far to one edge. Love was important, yes, powerful… but maybe it could be manipulated and forced. Tom looked back at Avery with no hint of emotion showing on his face. "You should teach him a lesson."

"Me? Harry?" Again, Avery felt the remainder of blood pool from his face. His hands went cold. "What do you mean?"

"Yes, you, Nott, Dolohov… Why don't you do something about this and take Harry down a peg? His behaviour has indeed gotten a bit messier than I'd hoped. Teach him a valuable lesson, remind him where he comes from and who he shows his loyalty to."

Afraid to ask, Avery shifted his feet nervously in place. Tom was so intimidating, so unforgiving, and had never asked him to take on a task as daunting before. Any minor mistake could lead to severe punishment, or worse; banishment from their house and from the Death Eaters. "Hhhow?" he stammered fretfully.

"Don't do it backhanded, he is my brother after all. I want you three to pool your brains together on this. I don't have the time to waste on it." Tom fell back against the emerald green couch he was so fond of, propping his arms over the top and letting his head loll against the soft cushion. He arched his chest in a stretch, letting the wondrous feeling run down to his toes. "A good scare, an amount of pain… nothing too drastic… Give him a damn good reason to come crawling back to where he belongs. I want Harry back the way he was."

"Yes, my Lord," Avery chanted to him, and bowed before fleeing from the common room.

It was true; Harry had gotten a little too big for his britches, which served no other purpose than to create more and more problems for Tom. He loved him – more than anything – more than life and limb and all of that rubbish in between… He wanted Harry to reciprocate, to be his one and only lover and drop these nuisances he called 'friends'. They were unneeded, a hindrance, and took away from this bond they had between them. But Harry would not come quietly, not as long as they were still around. Tom would have to do something about them, too.

In the darkness, fumbling with adolescent awkwardness and ignoring the sloppy wet returns between their tongues, Harry pushed himself closer to Druella to feel her body tightly pressed against his. The storage cupboard in the back of the potions classroom was hardly the most romantic place for a good and thorough snogging, but neither seemed to care about a few extra cobwebs or the Murlap essence they were slipping around in. Several bottles of the yellowy goo had fallen to the floor and shattered, making it all the more important for the two to remain as close to the wall of shelves, and each other, as possible.

Druella Rosier was quite possibly the prettiest girl in school. She was short and petite, with light blond hair that cascaded over her shoulders like spun silver and gold. She had a reputation for playing naughty regardless of her betrothing to Orion Black, who just so happened to be Harry's former best mate.

"Gods," he groaned, and reached up to rub the scar on his forehead. The annoying prickle had been plaguing him since their stumbling, mouth to mouth, into the cupboard minutes before.

"I know," Druella mumbled as she reached behind her back to unclasp her brassiere, "It's so warm, isn't it? Maybe you could help me with my shirt." Despite the frigid temperature of the small room, the heat between them had exceeded a comfortable level.

Harry nodded to her as his trembling fingers flicked away the buttons of her shirt. He pulled it apart, exposing her encased breasts with his mouth hung open like a fish. Her school tie hung beautifully between the cleavage, sashaying in a lovely way as she shucked the hindering clothing off and returned to working on the bra clasp.

"Help me out, will you?"

A painful jolt of electrical keep-your-fucking-hands-off-her hit Harry like a ton of bricks the instant his fingers found the clasp. Nearly blinded in agony, he took a step back and a deep breath while it subsided. "Sorry," he said through a cringe.

"We can do this another time if you're not feeling well," she said, reaching down to retrieve her clothing. "It's all right."

"No, I'm fine," Harry promised, biting his lower lip. He pressed his body against hers before she was given the chance to redress, and kissed her softly. She was not Tom, and that suited him well. Tom was a git. Tom was a bastard who kept telling him what to do. This was what Harry needed now, something to take his mind off of the plans to defeat Hufflepuff in their next match, and that silly pang in his heart that told him that this was the wrong thing to do to Orion to get back at him. And as their bodies twined together and their lips parted, Harry's scar blissfully stopped hurting.

There was a slight rumbling sound outside that they chose to ignore. Harry found his hands moving along Druella's thighs, pushing the material of her uniform skirt upward. It was terrifying to think too much into his actions. He swallowed hard, praying she could not feel how shaky he was. She was the only Slytherin he knew who was willing to give his friends a chance; he did not want to ruin that.

The door to the cupboard opened, and Harry's euphoria plummeted back down to earth with a noisy crash. "I thought so! I'm telling on you, Harry Gaunt! You are in so much trouble! How dare you two soil Professor Slughorn's stores with this disgusting act of fornication!"

"You ugly, fat little snitch!" Druella shouted back as she buttoned her shirt up. Her eyes were glued to Myrtle's, the most annoying Ravenclaw Prefect the school had ever known.

Harry ran a trembling hand through his messy hair and adjusted his awry glasses. Myrtle was incessantly spying on him to get him into trouble. She was an absolute pest. "You're not really going to tell on me again, are you? I'm going to be in detention for the rest of my life at this rate," he asked her quietly, noting the tears welling up her eyes.

"You'd better believe I'll be informing Headmaster Dippet of your doings," she said through a sniffle.

Druella shoved past her, knocking her on her bum. "See you later, Harry."

"And I'm telling on you too, Rosier!" Myrtle shrieked.

"C'mon," Harry said, sighing and holding a hand out to the stout girl to help her up. Myrtle took his hand. Her eyes were glistening with tears behind her thick glasses, causing her to look away from the boy she so dearly wished would drag her off into a dark cupboard. "Myrtle, please reconsider. If Tom found out about this…"

"He already knows!" she cried, wringing her hands in her skirt. Her nervous actions were strangely familiar to Harry, the girl reminded him of his mother. "He's the one who sent me to fetch you." She stomped off with her face covered by her hands, wailing like a banshee.

Harry's heart sank to the pit of his stomach as he followed her out, and caught sight of Tom waiting at the end of the corridor. Myrtle was whispering something in his ear. Tom's dark and narrowed eyes suddenly bored straight into him.

"Of course it would be right to inform the headmaster," Tom said, patting the Muggle-born girl on the shoulder like a good little lapdog. "That was an awful, rotten thing for him to do. And you say that she was half nude? My goodness…"

With the pinkest face, Harry stepped forward as Tom beckoned him over. He gripped Harry's arm, squeezing the flesh like a vice. "But I think, just this once, we'll let him slide. How's that sound, Myrtle?"

"Okay," she said reluctantly. "Just this once."

Tom gave her a wink and a grin. "Wonderful. I'll take care of him now. Run along." The moment she moved out of view, Tom threw Harry up against the cold stone dungeon wall. The grin faded. "What were you doing, you little letch?"

Harry rubbed the lump forming on the crown of his head. "There's no need for violence!" he spat back.

With a disgruntled sigh, Tom roughly pressed his hand over the boy's mouth as he pinned him hard against the wall. "Do you love me? Just nod or shake your head," he ordered quietly. Harry nodded uncertainly. He baulked to get away, but Tom shoved back harder. "You're little games are growing quite tiresome. You will learn to accept me; there is no other way, Harry. You're mine." Harry's eyes grew dark as he defiantly shook his head.

God, he loved the little rebel in him. Tom would never dare break that free spirit; he just wanted Harry to love him as much as he loved him. "Oh, yes you will," Tom continued. "You love me, I know you love me, and you want me to take care of you. You want me to do this, baby, you just won't admit it." He could feel the arousal growing between them. He pressed harder, rolling his hips, and Harry made that luscious purring sound in the depths of his throat that Tom so dearly longed to hear.

"I do realise that you're rebelling in some way now that we've moved up in this world and mummy is getting proper treatment. It's understandable, but it's getting out of hand. And if I ever catch you again with that little tramp—I'll hurt you both, got it?" Tom pulled his hand away from Harry's mouth, tipping his chin up with a knuckle. "Got it?"

"You do it all the time," Harry retorted, fuming.

"Is that what this is about?" Tom smirked. "I'm older than you, and I don't fancy a single one of them."

"I don't believe you." No matter how saucy Harry had become, he was still so young, so wet. He thrust against Tom's slow grinding, panting through parted and puffy lips. His arms slipped around the taller boy's neck as his head tipped back against the wall.

Tom placed a kiss on Harry's neck, sighing against the flush skin. "Would I be here right now I cared about anyone other than you?" He sucked the skin into his mouth, and Harry groaned. "You drive me mad, Harry… simply mad."

"I do love you, Tom. I'm sorry," Harry whispered back. "I'll work on it, okay?"

Everything was in motion, set to play out. Tom cupped Harry's face sweetly, nodding. His words meant little; Tom could see the lies he was telling in the glowing green of his irises. Harry had no intention of stopping this newfound mischief. He would not cease defying him… not yet.

He kissed him full on the mouth, tasting his sweet tongue. "Come on, let's get to bed," he said, releasing the smaller boy from the wall.

And as he turned to follow him, the glint of something reflecting off of glass caught his eye. Tom looked back and saw her; that bitch Moaning Myrtle duck back behind the wall. The sounds of her footsteps pounded off. She had seen them, she had seen it all.