Chapter 95:
Harry rolled his sleeves up deliberately when he got dressed, eyeing the disguised marks, so much like the remnant of nails cutting into his skin in tiny, crimson, perfectly formed crescent moons, with a slight wariness.
He hoped Tom liked his "birthday present," though he admittedly couldn't see the relevance and reasoning behind this particular request.
He tried to think if anything had changed that would cause Tom to suddenly want him to display his arm, and instead couldn't help but feel terrified at the thought that Tom would randomly decide to morph the awkward but explainable 'nail marks' into the serpent when he got bored…which would leave Harry desperately trying to come up with some argument that proved it wasn't a Dark mark or anything like a Dark Mark, when it clearly was.
He wished Tom would just tell him the specifics of what the could use the snake for; Harry knew more about the traditional skull-and-viper model than he did about this one! It was ridiculous…but utterly Tom all over.
Salazar. He resisted the urge to twitch his shirt sleeves down over his arms again, instead trying to look casual, his heart pounding as he entered the Great Hall and sat down in his customary spot.
He regarded the now…how old was Tom? With all the time travelling crap? Was he even technically a year older today?
Damn, it was too early in the morning to think about.
Alphard was babbling at top speed to the Slytherin Heir, something about a-party-tonight-in-the-common-room-because-it's-your-birthday-and-new-years-eve-and-there-would-be-fireworks-and-you'll-get-your-present-then-and-you're-going-to-love-it, while Lestrange looked mutinous at not finding time to speak himself.
Tom raised a brow at the Black Heir, vaguely disdainful.
"I didn't understand a word of that," he said, though not particularly cruelly.
Alphard sighed, but didn't look to bothered, knowing Tom could have phrased that in a far more withering manner if it truly irritated him, still gesticulating excitedly in his hands while he starting over. Harry resisted the urge to groan into his cup.
After a moment, Tom's head came round to face him, flicking down to his bare arms almost immediately, before the barest smirk touched his lips in approval.
Harry folded his arms, feeling uncomfortable and entirely without barriers - which was absurd and irrational, he knew!
"Happy Birthday," he said instead, and the question slipped out before he could help it. "Uh…how old are you now?"
The other Slytherins stared at him, appalled by his asking.
"That's not a very polite question," Tom said, looking amused.
"To ask old women," Harry rebutted, defensively. "It's the time travel! I don't even know how old I am - I stopped doing maths in primary school."
"You don't know how old you are?" Abraxas drawled, sounding entertained. Harry scowled.
"You know what, never mind, it's way too early and-"
"I'm sixteen," Tom cut in, quietly, that smirk still in place. "In our time I would be seventeen when the date comes around, as it is, it's still a couple of months. You're sixteen, though you would be fifteen without the time travel." Harry blinked.
"Isn't seventeen a big birthday in the Wizarding world?"
"Yes, though you really should know that," Lestrange sneered. Harry ignored it, studying Tom thoughtfully, about to speak when the mail zoomed in.
A large black hawk swooped over to their table, depositing an elegantly wrapped cylinder in front of Tom. Voldemort's owl.
Harry shifted back slightly. Dumbledore stood abruptly at the head table, looking about to come over, before his fingers white-knuckled and he sank slowly back into his chair, gaze fixed on Tom.
Harry's head snapped to what he presumed was a "gift." Tom glanced sideways at him, considering, while the other Slytherin's craned their necks to see.
"Who's it from?" Abraxas questioned, "if you don't mind my asking?"
"The Dark Lord, if I'm not mistaken," Tom said.
"Well, you never are mistaken," Lestrange said immediately. Harry snorted, feeling uneasy.
"I'll be at the Gryffindor table," he said softly, moving to stand, only for Tom to tug him down again with a frown, grip wrapped around the mark, which buzzed under the Slytherin Heir's touch, before he let go again, turning to the present.
Tom undid the wrapping paper with ease, letting it slide down. There was a copy of the daily prophet. The hall had suddenly gone subdued. Harry leant over to read.
Ex Auror Dead - Alastor 'Mad Eye' Moody found slaughtered in his home.
On the page there was a Dark Mark stamped against the title, and that spidery crawl. Happy Birthday, child.
Harry's throat went tight, his eyes widening, an odd emptiness in his stomach...and then Tom's fist slammed down onto the table, causing Harry's gaze to snap to him, body tense.
Tom looked absolutely furious. And Harry wasn't sure why…Tom had no love lost for the grizzled Auror, hell, they'd argued last time they met…
"How dare he," Tom hissed, under his breath, seemingly livid, before he spun on Harry. "Did you see this happening?"
"No…really!" he added, hastily, when Tom continue stare at him with a scarily emotionless expression. "I would have tried to stop it…why are you acting like this, you don't…didn't even like Moody?" he questioned, tentatively, knowing the other Slytherins wouldn't so much as breathe to loudly right now, let alone speak.
"Because he's goading me," Tom muttered darkly. Harry arched his brows, lost.
"You're going to have translate how your mind works for me," he prompted. Tom's jaw tightened, and he abruptly rose and walked out the hall. Harry felt his left arm tug, and stood too, only to pause at the shocked stares the other Slytherins were giving his arm.
"Did your arm just have a snake on it?" Draco asked, croakily.
Hell.
Harry gritted his teeth and walked out after the Slytherin Heir, not replying, feeling self-conscious.
He followed the vague tugging sensation to a nearby empty classroom and ducked in, shutting the door behind him.
Tom was pacing like a trapped tiger, with a violent energy that sent shudders down Harry's spine, and he stayed silent, waiting. Tom turned to him after a while, eyes dark.
"If he can get into the house of a notoriously paranoid and talented Auror," Tom proposed, tightly, "how difficult do you think he is suggesting it is for him to get at…other things of mine?"
"How was Moody yours?" Harry asked nonplussed, before pausing, feeling exhausted. "Is this you talking in terms of humans as your toys and possessions again?" he checked.
Tom gave him a flat look. Right. Yeah. Of course it was.
"So, basically, just to clarify, you're annoyed that Voldemort killed Moody because he was yours to bicker with?"
"It was a power play, just leave it at golden boy," Tom said after a moment, suddenly seeming noticeably calmer, pupils merely feverish with a dance of plans.
Harry followed the gaze, glancing down at his arm, to where Tom was looking. He folded his arms across his chest again.
"Is there anything I can do?" he asked, carefully. Real Birthday or not, Tom shouldn't have to deal with this crap today.
"Don't wander off…"
As the day progressed, Tom seemed noticeably calmer, at least on the surface, his cold analysis cutting to action after initial…violent…reactions had eased.
Alphard was still babbling about the party in the Common Room, and everyone seemed to be getting a bit excited for it.
Harry caught sight of Luna a few times, but never got the opportunity to go after her…and it would have been a bit unfair to ditch Tom on his birthday.
After dinner, as he was heading towards the Slytherin Common, Hermione and Ron caught up with him.
"Harry, mate," Ron said excitedly, "you coming up Gryffindor later? - Fred and George are going to set off some fireworks when the clock hits twelve for the New Year, it's gonna be awesome, they made them themselves. Don't know where they got the money, but it's brilliant."
"Actually-" Harry began.
"He's busy. Party at Slytherin," Abraxas said brightly. Too brightly. Harry rolled his eyes.
Weasleys and Malfoys; honestly, some things never changed.
"Oh," Hermione bit his lip. "Okay, but you'll come visit for a bit? I mean, if you're with the Slytherins all - is that a tattoo?"
Harry's gaze shot to his arm, and then he resisted the urge to glance immediately at Tom. The snake hissed at Hermione, who looked startled, and then she instantly looked at Tom.
No one said she wasn't intelligent, and a snake kind of indicated to Tom, so it didn't require that much intelligence in the first place.
Her breath hitched, her lips trembled, before she looked back at Harry, tears welling in her eyes.
He hated Birthdays.
"It's a long story," he muttered.
Tom rested an arm on his shoulder, and this time Harry did shoot him an annoyed look, birthday or not. Tom simply smirked at him.
"Do you like it? I think it suits him," the Young Dark Lord drawled.
Ron was turning red.
"Is that what I think it is?" his best friend demanded. Harry stiffened.
"That would depend on what you-"
"-A Dark Mark, Harry? Since when? All this time - you've -"
"Oh relax ginger," Tom sneered. "Harry's not on the Dark side…yet. I'm working on it."
"Well you can bloody well work on someone else then," Ron snarled, grabbing Harry by the arm as if to pull him away.
The next second, Ron's hand shot back as if scalded, and he clutched his fingers protectively to his chest, making an odd pained noise in his throat. His skin was singed.
The calm that had been masking and layering over the danger, the psychopathic tendency to lash out at the smallest motivation if Tom didn't feel like controlling the urge, was shattered in an instant...and he did not want his friends around that.
He stepped between the two, arms spread to avoid any attempts to fire.
"Stop it," he snapped. "I don't want my year to end on a bad note. Ron…I'm not on the Dark side. I will never be on the Dark side, he's just baiting you, ignore it. Tom, just…no. Hermione, sorry, but I'll see the two of you tomorrow, I promise. I just-" he tugged a hand through his hair, feelings stressed out and his skin was prickling with discomfort.
Ron stared at him, and for a moment, Harry thought he was just going to punch, but then the red head just turned and walked away, shoulders slumped.
"Happy f***ing new year Harry."
Harry stood in the corner of the room, shadowed, watching while the Slytherins offered present after present to the young Dark Lord.
Lestrange was clearly looking for a private moment to give Tom the family ring. Harry got the vindictive wish that the private moment would come when Lestrange was wasted, so then Harry could see if he got down on one knee in addled intoxication.
He cradled a firewhiskey, wondering what the Gryffindors were doing. It was about half an hour to midnight, to New Year, and he felt like a pretty terrible person.
The solution to that probably didn't lie at the bottom of the bottle, but he was having fun trying.
After a while, the crowd dispersed into smaller groups, and Harry found the bottle snatched out of his hands. Tom smiled at him, completely friendly, bad mood disappeared.
"Easy pretty boy, you're an appalling drunk. You cried on me last time."
Harry sighed.
"Pretty boy? That's a new one," he said. Tom's head tilted.
"You're upset…you do realise you agreed to revealing the mark? I mean," Tom clapped a hand on his shoulder, laughing slightly, "to be honest I did you a favour, darling. Now you can find out if they're actually good friends or not. If they don't stick around then they can't be worth it, can they?"
"I know I agreed to it," Harry said. "That's why I'm not lashing out at you. And because it's your birthday. I was just kinda hoping you'd be less of a bastard about the whole thing. Stupid really."
"I'm always a bastard Harry," Tom said, and by the lack of nickname, Harry assumed he'd made an effort to sober up a bit for the conversation. "It's my new years resolution," Tom added confidingly.
Harry arched a brow, feeling a smile tug at his weary lips, despite himself.
"What, to be a bastard?"
"No," Tom frowned. "To stop being one to you. So much fun though."
"That would be the sadistic tendencies, I imagine."
"And the possessive ones," Tom muttered.
Harry's eyes widened.
"How many drinks have you had?"
"Too many. Far too many, my dear. I hate this time of year… and alcohol lowers my inhibitions the more I drink. That's interesting. Stop me from doing something stupid and don't bring this conversation up in the morning or I will decapitate you."
"Sometimes I wonder why I put up with you," Harry sighed, again.
"So do most people," Tom shrugged. "They think you're too good and nice for someone like me. It's probably true."
Harry looked away.
"You're nice enough yourself, when you want to be, when you choose-"
"-Ah, ah," Tom half sang, with a warning lilt, pressing a hand over his mouth. "I don't like that conversation when I'm stone cold sober, don't start it now, hero."
There was a moment of silence, and Tom's hand dropped, but the eyes were surveying him more sharply now. It was a few minutes until midnight.
Tom offered him the firewhiskey bottle once more, concilliatory.
"I'll help you talk to your friends tomorrow, if you want," he said softly. "Civilly."
Harry took the offered drink, with a measure of wariness, taking a swig, knowing an attempted olive branch when he saw one.
A minute to go.
"Happy Birthday," he said, in response.
Tom clinked their glasses together, thoughtfully.
"Here's to good year," Tom returned.
Harry laughed, mirthlessly, but without bitterness also.
"Yeah, I'll drink to that."
Lestrange watched, jealously twisting in his gut, as Tom and Potter stood close together, in a darkened corner of the room, almost touching, chinking their individual beverages together. Leaning even further towards each other, gravitating as if each held their centre of gravity in the other.
It was sickening.
It should have been him over there, sharing those looks, focus of that alluring attention.
Not…not Evans. Stupid commoner.
Around him, he could hear the other Slytherin's yelling out the final ten seconds.
He pressed a hand against the ring in his pocket as the new Year began, the other's cheering around them, so irresponsible.
His lord pulled Potter closer for a moment, as if there was much space between them to close, an arm wrapped around his shoulders as they both drained the rest of their glasses, laughing. Tom pressed his lips near Pottter's ear, saying something.
He raised his glass silently, in toast, eyes gleaming with excitement…
And watched as Potter abruptly dropped unconscious to the floor.
Happy New Year, love.
A/N: So this chapter was a bitch to write. Literally, horrible. L I apologise. But you know…at least it's Friday? Thanks so much for the amazing reviews, I feel like I don't deserve them in light of this update.
PS: I apologise if my ages were wrong, feel free to correct me.
PPS: Lord Toewart, tell your mum that her titles are awesome! Haha, if I do a sequel, I'd definitely consider them. Tomorrow's Triumph is my favourite!