Chapter 112:
Lynda didn't like to think of herself as the shallow type; she got good grades at school, read more than the fashion tips in glossy magazines, but…she had to say that the two boys who she was supposed to be serving were good-looking, to say the least.
She could feel heat rising on her cheeks, and mentally warned herself to be professional. She wasn't going to be unprofessional and stick numbers to everyone like Natalie did.
They appeared to be around her age, maybe seventeen or eighteen, the taller one perhaps a bit older than the other was.
He was unbelievably handsome, with high cheekbones and creamy skin that made him look like a dark, Byronic hero stepped straight out of poetry.
He had an aura of confidence about him that she liked, but something that simultaneously warned her away.
Bad boy. Clearly.
The-get-to-close and I'll burn your fingers off type.
The other had the same raven hair, but messier, wind-swept in a casual way that somehow didn't look like he had a bird's nest on his head, like her attempts at achieving the same effortless manner had resulted in. He was smaller, lithe, but just as graceful as his friend/brother was even though he seemed less aware of it.
His skin was more tanned, and his eyes…he had the most beautiful vivid emerald eyes. They were striking. He also had that confidence, or…dare she say it without sounding like a total pilchard, power?
She suddenly felt intimidated.
The green-eyed boy didn't have the same bad-boy aura as his companion, but there was still something about him. A danger, but it was a different type of danger.
Oh, she wanted to give him a hug so badly…but that would be a bit weird.
She noted where they sat - best seats available, and…normally reserved for any posh businesspersons passing through or couples who wanted a bit of intimate privacy.
Damn it. No. That was just typical.
Maybe they did just want a bit of privacy and happened to be rich enough to afford it.
Well, either way. She wasn't shallow…but nothing happened around here and she'd read too many fantasy and gothic romance books.
A girl could dream, right?
She persuaded Alex to switch serving tables with her.
Harry sat down, with a sigh, feeling slightly less self-conscious in the knowledge he'd done this before and that he had money on him.
And he wasn't going to compel the server to serve them alcohol! He'd decided that mixing Tom, alcohol and himself together was Bad with a capital B. And Stupid with a capital S. For good measure, he could add Disastrous with a capital D too.
They both studied the menu for a moment.
"What are you thinking of?" Tom questioned.
"You're not ordering for me again," Harry said immediately. Tom's lip twitched.
"I was merely making polite conversation," he replied, but the mischievous gleam in his eyes suggested otherwise. Harry rolled his eyes. "You were rather flustered last time," Tom continued. "I guess it must be the emotionally compromising effect of my presence."
"One day reality is going to burst that spectacularly large ego of yours," Harry stated. "When that day comes, I'm going to laugh."
"You don't like confidence in a guy?" Tom was definitely smirking this time.
Harry sneered in response, looking down at his menu again.
He ignored the fish soup - halibut, eww, and the vegetable lasagne, because as delicious as it had been Tom would be unbearable if he ordered it again.
He was going to get his own back this time. The waitress came over, smiling at them both.
"Hello, I'm Lynda; I will be your server for this evening. Are you ready to order?"
Harry spoke before Tom could say anything.
"Yes, thanks, I'll have the Spaghetti Bolognaise and he'll have the Sausage and Mash…you know the one off the children's menu?"
Harry shot the waitress an 'I know! He has such childish taste' look.
He stifled a smirk at Tom's furious expression, knowing he was going to pay for it, but unable to bring himself to care.
Payback was so sweet.
Lynda favoured Tom with what was obviously meant to be a reassuring, professional smile. He didn't expect Tom's response though.
The young Dark Lord narrowed his eyes and folded his arms in a very theatrical way, looking insulted.
"Oh my god, darling! We've been dating how long and you still can't remember I'm allergic to Potatoes!" Tom shrieked. The restaurant muted slightly, with people turning to peer at them.
Harry managed not to gape, just about.
Did Tom just…he wouldn't…Tom wouldn't go there…would he? Not publicly? Just to get back for the comment…?"
You're not allergic to Potatoes!" he replied, automatically, knowing that the bizarreness of the allergy only made it worse.
Seriously. Who was allergic to Potatoes?
The Waitress had frozen on the spot, looking mortified and at loss on whether she was supposed to wait or go.
"See," Tom said, in a waspish tone of voice. "This is your problem. You never listen to anything I say! I think I'd know my allergies better than you."
Oh, that was it. Game on.
He leant forward, offering the waitress an apologetic look, long suffering, before turning to Tom.
"Sweetheart, I think you're getting confused," he said in a patient voice, resting a hand on Tom's shoulder. "You like Potatoes, remember?" He spoke to Lynda in undertone. "He's…simple-minded," he explained. "He forgets these things…it's a bad day. I'm so sorry for the inconvenience. He seemed like was doing so much better…the treatment was really helping, I wouldn't have taken him out like this otherwise, honest."
He tried to look as sincere as possible. His left arm burned.
"Oh, that's alright," the waitress said with a fixed smile on her face. She turned to Tom, in a kind voice.
"We can make you a hot dog, if you prefer, no potatoes involved, I promise."
He could practically feel Tom fuming.
"You have very pretty eyes," Tom said, suddenly, with that charming smile on his face.
The Waitress looked startled, and then blushed.
"Er, thank you…that's very sweet of you to say."
"They'd look good in my collection."
Lynda blanched.
Harry resisted the urge to face palm. Or just smash his head against the table.
They ended up having dinner, finally - Tom had Tagliateli, and Harry was more than glad to leave, genuinely surprised they hadn't been kicked out.
Sure, Tom hadn't had the Tagliateli, but considering that all the staff had given him pitying, albeit slightly unnerved, looks all night and offered him one of the children's lollipops at the door Harry considered it largely a success for him.
He'd never seen Tom's cheeks flush so much with embarrassment.
The Slytherin Heir clearly hadn't expected him to roll with it, couple thing and all.
"So, back to Hogwarts then?" Harry asked, cheerfully, smirking. Tom speared him with a foul glare.
"Feeling pretty pleased with yourself, aren't you?"
"Yup," Harry replied easily. "And you, you're looking a little bit cranky. Should have taken the lollipop."
"I should have," Tom said. "Then I could stuff it down your throat and choke you with it."
"Choking people is a bad thing," he replied in a patronising tone of voice.
They stared at each other for a moment, Tom glaring, and him smirking.
Then, amazingly, unexplainably, they both just started laughing. He wasn't sure what it was. It wasn't even that funny, it had just been another power play. Maybe it was the context of it against all the serious discussions they'd had. Maybe because they weren't supposed to be laughing.
"Did you see her face?" Harry demanded, desperately trying to contain his mirth and hold a straight face.
Tom nodded, unable to catch his breath…and Harry was suddenly struck with the wonder of whether or not he'd ever actually seen Tom laughing like this, so openly, so unrestrainedly.
He didn't think he had.
Some odd part of him had wondered if Tom was even capable of it. They laughed until their stomachs hurt, finally spluttering to a halt.
They sat, having sunk down long ago on the hill to stop themselves from falling over and to nurse their stitches, in silence for a bit.
His eyes were drawn to the ring that still lay on Tom's finger, and Tom caught the gaze, and immediately clenched his hands into a fist.
Harry looked away again.
Could you get whiplash from his own mood swings?
"Tom," he said softly, not looking up, not needing to. "If you do manage to somehow fulfil a plan I don't like, and don't like it to the extent that you would never tell me it because you know I'd sabotage it, do you really think so little of me to believe that I'd just surrender to its consequences instead of fighting you on it?"
"Hmm, it's the stubborn streak," Tom murmured, and he could feel the other's scrutiny on his skin, prickling. "But…I also think you've been fighting all your life, and that you're getting tired of it. There's always going to be something to fight about, sometimes you just have to cut your losses."
"You mean give up - and do you even realise how hypocritical you sound about now? Cut your own losses and give me the ring. Be free."
"You really don't get it, do you?" Tom asked, in a low voice, all laughter gone. Harry glanced over.
"Get what?" he returned, nonplussed.
"I don't want to be free without you," Tom hissed. "If I did, I wouldn't be here."
Harry's mouth ran dry.
"You will though," he said, with perfect conviction. "One day. You'll look back and regret tying yourself to a path you don't follow-"
"-and people I've long since got bored of?" Tom demanded, softly, turning to face him more directly.
"Don't," Harry hissed. "Don't spin this into some soul-searching, mushy talk about feelings again."
"Since when has either one of us ever been mushy?" Tom raised his brows, looking mildly offended. "I'm pretty sure I'd have nightmares if that happened."
"Well…don't start," he said warningly. Tom studied him, flatly. "Come on; let's just go back to Hogwarts. The staff are probably running around like headless chick-"
"-Would you say we're equals?" Tom asked.
Harry came to an abrupt halt.
"What?"
"Would you say we're equals?" Tom repeated, slowly, but somehow Harry still felt like he'd misheard.
"I, well, I'm most certainly not ever going to be submissive to you, if that's what you're after," he said.
"I'll take that as a no."
"No?" Harry frowned. "I just said-"
"Your words imply that you think I assign myself as superior to you, and that I want you to be submissive and sycophantic and Death Eater-y," Tom explained. "And you deigned to actually answer my question, going on the defensive. Hence, you're uncomfortable. Hence, you don't think we're equals."
Harry clenched his jaw.
"Equals don't have the power to drag each other around," he said tightly. Tom inclined his head in acknowledgement.
"Yes, but we're not equals."
Harry's jaw clenched further at those words, an unfathomable hurt growing. Of course, he knew Tom had a humongous superiority complex, but to hear it confirmed aloud…ouch.
He was supposed to be giving some witty, acidic remark wasn't he?
He opened his mouth to speak, only for his jaw to clamp shut again as fingers gripped it, forcing his attention on default.
"However," Tom continued, "that is not to say we shouldn't be, or couldn't be, or that I don't want us to be." Harry's brow furrowed under the sudden mixed signals.
Tom's grip tightened, causing his eyes to flick back instinctively.
"If I wanted you to be submissive to me, I would have given you a Dark Mark, as in traditionally."
Harry stared for a moment.
"…huh?"
"Intelligent," Tom remarked dryly. Harry scowled. "Harry, we're not on equal ground because you're holding back. As we've both pointed out before, I'm a Psychopath, and I'm ruthless and completely selfish. I'm not going to slow down for you."
This was the most humiliating conversation he had ever had. Was Tom getting back at him for the restaurant thing?"
"I'm not expecting you to," he began, hotly.
"-and in all fairness, you keep up pretty well, considering you're always playing one handed," Tom continued, cutting over him once more.
"-I don't play one handed-" Harry began, slightly appalled and…not worried about Tom's reaction to the fact that he had actually been 'playing' to the best of his ability.
The Slytherin tapped his lip impatiently with the hand on his jaw. Tom-speak translation: shut up and stop interrupting.
Harry jerked his head back fractionally.
"-Yes you do," Tom said calmly. "Have you not noticed that most the time when you give concessions that, shall we say, give me large amounts of power over you - for example, the mark - are because you're not fighting for yourself, you're fighting with me on behalf of other people, like your godfather or you friends or whatnot. And I, selfish bastard, am not fighting for anyone but myself. Automatic disadvantage to you as you're immediately giving far more concessions than you have to."
"Why are you telling me this?" Harry asked, cautiously.
"Because you're the most fun I've had playing this game in years," Tom said flatly. "Most people play tag-team against me and lose more than you are…one handed."
"So you're saying we'd be equal if I stepped up and actually started playing properly?" Harry questioned, wondering if this conversation was as surreal outside of his head as it felt in it.
"Yes," Tom replied, evenly, releasing him and standing up, watching him. "And considering that I am brilliant -" once again, Harry was jarred by the almost oxymoronic lack of arrogance or boast in that statement - "I'm not really in the habit of having equal people. I don't really do equals. I do followers. Masters and slaves, etcetera…"
Tom took out the pack of playing cards, the portkey, offering them to him.
"So, all in all, I'm not going to get bored any time soon. Sorry to disappoint you, golden boy."
Cygnus' insides burned with jealousy as he watched the two of them. Tom had spoken to him, hadn't looked at him, since New Years Day.
He hadn't even tortured him further!
Maybe his obsession with Potter was waning? Except that it wasn't.
It was just like he, himself, didn't even exist in Tom's world anymore. It…he didn't like it.
Surely the other would have gotten over it by now? It wasn't like Potter had died. His fingers curled twitchily in his shirt sleeves.
He'd been demoted, now sitting near the end of the table where no Slytherin would deign to talk to him. Even the first years ignored him - and it was all because of Potter.
Perfect Potter. He honestly didn't think he'd hated the other more.
Yes, apparently he was being self-sacrificing and 'oh, I won't be around anymore' and whatever that crap was, but it was total bull.
Obviously, he knew Tom would never allow that, it was just a pathetic plea for attention.
And Tom was falling for it! He actually thought Potter would seriously blow himself up into non-existence. The boy had a hero-complex, but it wasn't that big.
Lestrange pressed his lips together with annoyance.
Dumbledore had completely cut him off too, now that he had his precious Golden Boy to work with.
He was so sick of being second best to that upstart Gryffindor.
He bet Tom would pay attention if he did something to Potter again, and his Lord wouldn't kill him because that would destroy the timeline…well, that's what his Lord said was the reason.
They both knew that it was really because his Lord was trying to tell him that he still wanted him around, it was the sane, non-Potter tainted part of Tom pleading for his assistance.
Who was he to not oblige?
He stared down at the letter in front of him, the spidery writing.
Cygnus, old friend. How would you like to join me in getting rid of Potter for once and for all? Make sure the attached gets to the boy - anonymously - and you will be rewarded. I await your owl. LV."
He turned the device over in his hands, marginally miffed that the focus was on Potter again, but knowing that the Dark Lord had far more taste.
Old friend…
The Slytherin Duo wouldn't know what hit them.
A/N: So, I was going to do more in this update. But the length kind of ran away with me. And I should probably get some sleep. I hope you guys like it.
To submit an entry to the competition: either post the oneshot yourself, or send it to me in a PM =) I look forward to reading them…so excited!
I'm still amused by how many people started defending Tom's plan after my last AN comment…oh I love you reviewers (all of you, not just the Tom defenders) you're the best…and just to point out the continue the thought, you know Tom's plan involves splitting Harry's soul without permission? And wiping everyone he ever cared about off the plane of existence? Morally wrong, ja? :D