Chapter 43:
Harry was distinctly un amused.
Tom, despite keeping an arm securely around his shoulders (or his waist) now seemed content to ignore him. Well, until he tried to move away, then suddenly he seemed to remember Harry was there long enough to mockingly chide his efforts and tug him back to his previous position.
It was infuriating and he wanted nothing more than to punch or curse the other into oblivion. Except, he just knew that such a reaction would only serve to delight Tom, which was counterproductive.
He had to play this sneakily, let his Slytherin side loose, beat Tom on his home turf.
The rest of the Slytherin's were watching them both carefully, warily, some with the faintest touch of sympathy in their eyes.
It was time to up his game.
Abandoning his silence caused Tom's gaze to immediately zone on him for a second, but he made no sign as to being aware of it, as he eagerly engaged Zevi and Draco in a conversation. He made sure to smile, laugh, lean forward and use his hands when making points, but not pay any attention to the Slytherin heir. The other's grip tightened fractionally in response, but otherwise Tom maintained his own light conversation with no change in expression.
Harry suppressed a smirk. Oh, he had to be seriously getting on the young Dark Lord's nerves for him to be able to tell so easily.
Success.
He still wanted to go up to bed though. This was simply making the best of a bad situation, he had no desire to actually be there. But he was, so he was going to do his best and damn the consequences. Misery loved company and Tom was NOT winning this round!
The night was wiling away and some of the other Slytherins, including all the younger years, had headed off to bed. It was, after all, a school week. Zevi and Draco were beginning to seem increasingly uncomfortable with Tom's frostiness towards them, for unwittingly aiding Harry in his endeavour.
Maybe, he could even ignore Tom to the point that he fell asleep…he would have done, he really would, but visions and nightmares had ingrained in him a hatred of sleeping and he most certainly did not trust Tom in this mood enough to actually relax enough around him to manage even a doze.
Soon, it was only him, Tom, Zevi, Abraxas, Lestrange and Alphard left in the common room. Draco had abandoned him, taking the opportunity opened by Blaise Zabini's, Theodore Nott's and his other snake buddies departure to make his own escape. Stupid ferret.
Harry was getting desperate for his victory and chose Lestrange to be his victim. He struck up a conversation, an argument, a banter - just like he would have with Tom. After several repartees he grinned, reaching over to mockingly pat Cygnus' shoulder, only to have his fingers yanked back and twisted. He had a moment to savour his triumph at causing Tom to snap his restraints and react where he himself didn't, before he felt his fingers break. Ouch.
"Get out," Tom ordered, his voice like ice.
He'd stopped playing now. Sore loser. Zevi and Alphard both leapt to their feet, more than happy for the excuse to flee the oncoming storm. Abraxas followed the order in a more sedate manner, his lips quirked in a way that spoke of the sensation of being reluctantly impressed. It wasn't often that someone beat Tom, and Harry was going to cherish the feeling. Cygnus flicked his gaze mulishly between them.
"Tom?" he questioned, not moving. Tom's gaze snapped to the brunette, his eyes wild.
"That was an order," he spat. Seemingly startled, terrified, by the sheer intemperate rage upon his lord's features, Lestrange fled.
All witnesses were gone.
Harry maintained his façade, just for kicks, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor. Curiosity killed the cat, but damn it, he was so very curious about what Tom would do.
He loved pushing the other's boundaries, just as Tom adored playing his own twisted mind games in return. Tom just didn't like losing. Ha.
"What exactly are you trying to achieve?" Tom demanded.
God, his fingers…Tom shook him when he didn't reply, rough enough to make his teeth rattle in his mouth. "Harry."
"I don't know what you mean," he responded after letting Tom hang until the point where the other appeared genuinely about to murder someone just to bait a word from his lips. He didn't move his gaze from the floor just yet though. "I'm merely giving you the space that you wanted. Back off, wasn't it?"
"Oh, so you've just suddenly taken a liking to actually following my suggestions. How convenient for you," Tom sneered. Harry shrugged.
"That doesn't please you, my lord?"
"You are infuriating."
He was abruptly shoved away, back a few steps to put some space between them. His eyes scanned his hand instinctively in their freedom- the fingers were pulled grotesquely out of shape, starting to colour an awful purple-yellow colour. He couldn't move them, though they weren't broken like he'd thought: dislocated. Painful. He let his hand fall in a pretence that it didn't bother him. He'd fix his fingers when he was alone; thankfully it wasn't his wand hand.
He could hear Tom pacing and found himself looking up at the Slytherin Heir for the first time in hours. It was like watching a tempest trapped in a human body. He sucked in a breath despite himself when Tom rounded on him once more.
"Since when do you call me 'my lord'?" the other questioned.
"You don't like it?" he enquired delicately. "Isn't this what you wanted - you've proven you don't much care for my actions when I base them on friendship." Tom's expression darkened. He spoke before the young Dark Lord could. "But you know, that's fine. You've successfully cured me of making the effort for you, congratulations."
Tom was staring at him, his jaw set. He smiled sweetly back.
"And there was me thinking this was merely your rebellion against being ordered downstairs."
He could see thoughts spinning a million miles a minute behind those familiar clever eyes.
"That too," he replied, the smile vanishing as he grew serious. "I do not appreciate the psychotic mood swings, Riddle. You cannot switch between treating me like I'm nothing but your toy, the latest of your experiments, and then expect me to be favourable to your company. I will not stand for it. I'm not some elastic band you can keep pinging to see if it will always come back, because I can assure you right now that I won't. I am so sick to death of not knowing where I stand with you!"
"Where you stand with me? Why, aren't you needy today," Tom laughed cruelly. "You sound like an insecure girlfriend, I hope you realise that. It's pathetic."
For the love of!
"I guess that answers my question then," he replied quietly. "See you around."
Why did he have to feel disappointed? It was ridiculous.
He turned wordlessly, only to wince as his wrist was caught in a tight grip. It was getting repetitive.
"Wait. Don't you dare walk away from me."
"Now who sounds needy," Harry muttered spitefully. Tom ignored his words, pulling him back round to face him once more. He was silent for a minute, impassive, before speaking with a measured tone.
"I'm a psychopath, Harry. Clinically. You know this. You cannot possibly expect me to be - cuddly - like your lions. I do not care about people. I put myself above everyone else, and I always will. I respect you too much to tell you otherwise, I will not lure you in with some false traditional care. It would be nothing but an act -"
"Please," he scoffed, even as Tom frowned at the interruption of his 'important speech'. "I never expected you to be cuddly. That would be seriously disturbing. All I ever expected was for you to drop the bloody double standards and the sense of entitlement you seem to have about everyone around you. I have no obligation to you, I put up with your crap by choice. You could do with remembering that every once in while."
Tom was quiet, musing this over.
He tugged at his wrist, wanting more than anything to simply go to bed now. He was tired. He couldn't be bothered with this. Tom squeezed the bones together, in reprimand, to make him still, before loosening his grip again. Harry hid a sigh. He could have hexed the other off, but Tom had hold of his only working hand. Harry suspected he'd switched on purpose, anticipating the move.
The common room hummed in its silence. Hermione would be having a field day to hear them now. He'd ended up having that discussion about feelings after all.
"I suppose I can try, on one condition," Tom replied finally.
"What?" he asked guardedly.
"Never call me 'my lord' again. Not you. It's unnatural. Tom."
A/N: Well. That was a rather interesting chapter to write, I hope you found it interesting to read. Was it too OOC? Eek, I'm extremely nervous to post this. I'm going to hide. Aah. - The Fictionist.
PS: I am in absolute delighted shock. 25 reviews for the last chapter? I love you guys. Seriously! I feel very humbled, and I hope I live up to your expectations.