Chapter 68:
Harry was sitting at an odd little café in the village, sipping a strong shot of black coffee, when Tom entered some time later.
The other had the slightest exasperation on his features as he strode over to the table Harry was sitting at.
"I thought I told you to come back, I've been looking everywhere for you," Tom said, dropping into the seat across from him. "And you didn't even get me a coffee," the Slytherin Heir added, eyeing the steaming cup Harry was drinking from.
Harry arched his brows.
"Actually, you told me to stay out the graveyard and do something useful," he remarked unbothered, shaking his head. "You really should work on that memory of yours." Tom stared at him flatly for a moment. Harry grinned. "And I never promised to get you a coffee…go get one yourself."
"Some friend you are," Tom scoffed. Harry's grin merely broadened at that. He felt a lot better down in the village, where it could be any place in the world, rather than the Graveyard of his worst nightmares.
"So, did you find what you were here for?" he asked after a moment. Tom surveyed him for a moment.
"Perhaps," he replied. Harry waited for elaboration, but none came.
"What were you here for, anyway?" he questioned, trying to sound casual. Tom's smirk told him exactly how well he succeeded at that.
"To see my father's grave," came the response. Harry was silent, regarding the other thoughtfully. "It bothers you, doesn't it?" Tom asked, leaning forward slightly over the table.
"What? The Graveyard? Again with the memory, because we've already covered that," Harry replied, with a forced easiness.
"No, my words," Tom said, no trace of joking in his tone anymore. "My desire to murder-"
"-Keep your voice down," Harry hissed. "There are people in here who could hear you and get the wrong idea-"
"-The wrong idea?" Tom's lip curled up fractionally. "What, that I've killed people? Would kill people? Enjoy killing people? Let me tell you a little secret, sweetheart, that's not the wrong idea."
Harry wanted to look away, avoid those intense, soul searching eyes watching him intently, but couldn't quite manage it.
"But, by all means," Tom continued, "we can take this outside if it pleases you. There's a restaurant up the road if you're interested."
"You're taking me out to dinner to talk about your psychopathic tendencies?" Harry was pretty sure his voice came out somewhat strangled, and at the very least highly incredulous.
"No," Tom said. "I'm taking you out to dinner because I'm hungry and rather enjoy the sensation of not being under constant scrutiny from the general student population. The conversation will happen anyway sometime, however much you cringe from it."
Harry felt a reluctant smile tug at his lips at that response.
It was just so typical…but that didn't change the fact the conversation was not going to happen anyway.
Mockingly, Tom offered him a hand to pull him up.
"Indulge me," he said. "We're friends aren't we?"
Damn.
Somehow, Harry did end up sitting in a restaurant with Tom. Thankfully, without candles or something equally…romantic.
"You do know you're paying, right?" Harry asked, "cause I didn't bring any money with me." He hadn't felt the need to; he'd been under the impression that they were just going to the Graveyard.
Tom waved a dismissive hand.
"I can always imperio the owner to let us dine for free."
Harry glared, immediately starting to rise from his seat, only for his left arm to yank him back down again.
"Oh relax, Golden boy," Tom drawled. "I'm paying. Order what you like and don't be so morally uptight."
"You know, you really need to stop doing that arm thing," Harry said. Tom merely arched his brows, looking amused.
"What purpose were you thinking I was going to use it for? A conversation partner when you're sulking, perhaps?"
"Friends aren't supposed to try and control the other for their own nefarious ends," Harry pointed out.
"Well that wasn't in the definition," Tom said, sounding mildly perturbed.
"Try a different dictionary," Harry suggested.
"Or we could just burn the dictionary to make a fire," Tom replied. "Much more fun. Besides, I never said I'd be a good friend to you….what are you having? The waitress is coming over?"
Harry quickly looked down at the menu, hastily trying to find the cheapest meal on the menu.
"Er, fish soup," he said, panicking, not sure why he was telling Tom this.
It was lame, but he'd never actually done the whole restaurant thing before…he'd never had need to, and the Dursley's had certainly never taken him. What type of fish was it-oh god…it was halibut. Ew.
His nose wrinkled slightly. He should have checked that.
"What can I get you two boys?" the Muggle women asked cheerfully, flipping her brown hair over one shoulder, eyeing them both as she arrived at the table. "Are you ready to order?" Tom's eyes flared briefly with distaste, but when he replied there was nothing but charm.
"Two vegetable Lasagnes and the house wine," Tom said, confidently. Harry's head whipped to stare at him.
"Oh…" the waitress said. "Can I see your ID? It's policy to check."
To Harry's shock Tom simply handed over a card, meeting the women's gaze squarely.
"A beautiful women like you, should I be offended or flattered that you don't think I'm eighteen yet?" Tom questioned, smiling. The waitress blushed slightly, looking dazed.
"I don't know," she replied, handing back the ID. "What do you think? Two vegetable lasagnes and a house wine coming up."
With a coy look behind her, the waitress sauntered off again. Tom pocketed the card with disdain.
Harry gave him a look, demanding explanation.
"You hate halibut," Tom deadpanned. "Where were we?"
"You have a fake ID?" Harry gaped. Tom favoured him with a pitying expression.
"No, it was a blank piece of card. I used a non verbal compulsion." Harry blinked.
"A compul - you compelled her?" he yelped.
"Keep your voice down," Tom said, smirking, "there are people in here who might get the wrong idea."
"You can't just do that!" Harry hissed.
"I just did," Tom said. "Do you need a new glasses prescription? Anyway, I told you to stop being so morally uptight. It's getting annoying. Relax and enjoy. You're ruining my good mood." Harry didn't loosen his tense posture. Tom rolled his eyes. "It didn't hurt her. Go down the denial route and pretend it was a fake ID if that doesn't upset your delicate sensibilities so much. Honestly…"
Harry narrowed his eyes, but when Tom simply looked at him flatly, completely remorseless, he decided to just drop it for now. He supposed it had been innocent enough.
He looked away, pretty sure he should be making small talk or something now.
He hated small talk. Especially with Tom, because he knew the other found it to be a fairly boring exercise too.
At the feeling of being watched, he looked in Tom's direction again, not remotely surprised to find that gaze drilling into his skull, as if searching for a way to dissect him. If he cared to think about, that probably wasn't socially acceptable either. Who cared.
They did end up talking, Harry being careful to keep the conversation away from anything resembling that conversation, while Tom regarded his attempts with an irritatingly knowing countenance.
The Slytherin Heir didn't force the topic though, which surprised him. Harry supposed he still hadn't fully learned to predict Tom's reaction to any given scenario, he probably never would…that was made the whole relationship friendship thingy so thrilling.
Salazar.
What if he was a masochist?
He was glad for the release when the food came, giving him the excuse to avoid appraisal.
Tom poured the wine with a small smirk of contentment, before raising his and tipping it towards Harry. He wasn't sure if the action was mocking or not, like the hand had been.
"To old memories and new," Tom said.
Impulsively, Harry returned with a toast of his own, wondering absently if he'd regret it, but unable to care.
"To burning the dictionary."
Tom grinned.
It was much later that they arrived back at Hogwarts, admittedly just a teensy, wincey bit not sober.
Okay, maybe a smidgen more than a that a teensy wincey bit, but not much.
He could walk straight, and think relatively coherently. Everything was just rather pleasantly buzzed.
The teachers strode out across the grounds to meet them.
"Where on earth have you been?" Snape demanded, face twisted into a snarl, looking ready to seize Harry by the collar and throttle him.
Hermione came running out, flinging her arms around him, despite how the proffessor's tried to stop her.
"It's Mr Weasley…he's been attacked by a giant snake!"
Crap.
A/N: Thanks for the reviews. Hope you like this one. =) Will probably update this AN when I'm not in a mad dash…but I thought you might like a post now? :D