The memories of the night before were vaguely fuzzy at best. It had been a while since he let himself get well and truly drunk, but for some bizarre reason, Tom felt safe enough with the man—"Call me Harry"—that he had let his guard down and let Harry side-apparate him to his home. Looking around the darkened bedroom, it was clear that it belonged to someone with old money… old Magic. He could feel it thick and heavy in the air from the wards and how it permeated every inch of the building. It washed over him, a warm embrace against his soul that always felt too cold these days.

He sat up and pushed himself from the bed. As much as he would be happy to stay there, he shouldn't.

His jaw hurt, teeth aching where his fangs were still sitting in his mouth. Glancing in the mirror, he could see where the venom had dripped down his chin. The thick, rich taste of copper lay heavily on his tongue and he swallowed, savoring the flavor. Slightly sweet, but mostly metallic and tangy.

Shit. He didn't accidentally kill his host, did he?

For the first time, the thought of murder made him sick. He finally found someone in Harry that could truly understand him.

That was pretty much exactly the reason why he didn't have lovers like his peers. They didn't have to worry that they killed someone with their kiss. And despite only knowing him a few hours, the thought of losing Harry for good made his stomach twist uncomfortably.

It was no wonder the Gaunts were so inbred. They probably lacked options, what with the fact that they couldn't exactly kiss without their fangs coming out. A mouthful of venom did not help with keeping partners long-term.

A sharp crack cut through his thoughts and Tom reached for his wand.

"Master sent Mipsy to check on his friend. Mipsy be telling Master that his friend is awake now."

The elf disappeared before Tom could ask anything further. If the elf had been sent by her master, then that meant Harry was alive, didn't it?

He narrowed his eyes at the door and climbed from the bed. A bottle of hangover potion sat on the nightstand beside him. A quick sniff confirmed it and he downed it in one gulp, feeling it take effect nearly immediately. The pressure lessened and the throbbing slowed to a dull ache.

His clothes had been moved from where they had fallen during the rush to undress. It seemed like they had been washed and pressed, not that he would complain about that. He was more than thankful to find they didn't reek of alcohol.

The first door he opened proved to be a bathroom. He relished the chance to wash up and remove the venom from his face.

The next door he tried was the hallway, and Tom wandered, following the smell of food and the clank of dishes. He rounded a corner, and there, to his great relief, was Harry. Frying bacon? It smelt like bacon anyway, but it was so odd to see a Pureblood cooking that Tom stood in the doorway and watched for in silence. Harry didn't use magic to cook, other than to send the dishes to the sink with a flick of his wrist, the casual use of wandless magic stirring something in Tom's gut that he wasn't sure he wanted to name.

Did any of Tom's so-called friends even know where the kitchens in their great houses were?

This house was a good deal smaller than most manor homes, but it was clearly well-lived in and Tom thought he had seen Romanesque arches and few windows. It had been built for defensibility rather than show, which was certainly something Tom could appreciate.

The way the muscles in Harry's back rippled as he moved about the kitchen was something Tom could appreciate too. His eyes trailed down. Harry's shirt blocked most of the view, but his trousers certainly accentuated the lean lines of his legs.

His fangs cut at the inside of his cheek and he took a second to breathe and shore up his Occlumency shields and wait for the fangs to retract once more. He still didn't know how Harry had managed to survive, unless Tom didn't bite him or kiss him, despite the rather vivid alcohol-induced dreams of doing so.

Harry turned to the table with a shit-eating grin on his face, setting the plates on the table rather than letting his house elf do so. "Enjoying the show?"

And there, peeking above his collar, were two familiar red marks.

But he didn't address that. Instead, he said, "You have a house elf to cook."

A snort was his reply.

"I like cooking."

Gone was the Pureblood lordling, but Tom wasn't unfamiliar with remaking himself to fit in certain company better. He was too familiar in the kitchen for simply enjoying cooking.

It wasn't just that. It was the way he held himself. The arrogance he had seen in Borgin & Burkes was gone. If he didn't know better, he'd say the man he left the pub with yesterday was a completely different person.

Harry motioned to the table and sat.

"I didn't always, but I wanted to." He grinned. "Happy New Years, by the way."

Tom took the seat across from him and repeated the greeting. He glanced down at the food, which honestly smelt as good as the food in Hogwarts. He took a bite and bit back his groan. Few things had a strong enough flavor, not since he created his first horocrux. Harry had no way to know that though. No reason to cook food to suit Tom's taste.

"Good?" he asked as if he didn't damn well know it was the best thing Tom had tasted in years.

Harry whatever-his-surname-was was a mystery to him, and Tom didn't like having mysteries before him. He needed to know the answers, so he would solve this one too.

That did mean that he would have to see him again, but, as he finished eating and they found their way back into Harry's bed, he didn't think he minded.

"Where were you?" Nagini demanded as Tom stepped through the floo into his flat. She was… human? Tom blinked. It had been months since he had seen her in human form, and then she had taken off to try to find a cure. He should have known she would return eventually, but it was awfully strange to see her there, standing in his flat like she had never left.

Her eyes scanned over him and a smirk quirked her lips.

"Ah. You had sex."

He stared at her. Whatever reaction she hoped for, he wouldn't reward her with.

"Was it any good?"

He blinked. "Pardon?"

"The sex. It's mid-afternoon. I came here yesterday afternoon. You've been out about twenty-four hours. So it must have been pretty good."

He honestly couldn't remember much of the night before, but he could remember slamming Harry against the wall after breakfast. Physical touch did very little for him usually, even less after the horocruxes, and yet, something about touching Harry… kissing Harry… being inside Harry… made his very soul sing.

"Ah." She laughed, and he realized he had inadvertently given himself away. "So? Who was it?"

Tom shrugged. "He came into Borgin and Burkes last week. We met by chance last night."

She nodded very seriously.

"What are you doing here, Nagini? I thought you were trying to track down a Wizard who deals with blood curses in Indonesia."

She scoffed, crossing her arms and looking away. He should have known better than to bring it up. If she had found something, he doubted she would have been there.

He bit his tongue hard. He needed to stop feeling sorry for himself. He knew being a Half-blood masquerading as a Mudblood wasn't anyone's first choice, but the thoughts got a little much sometimes. He wasn't just some Mudblood. He was going to change magic and the world.

"It was your birthday," she said in a softer tone, still looking away from him. "I came to celebrate it with you."

Oh.

She had chosen him, chosen to travel halfway around the world to be with him for a day that he tried to forget half the time.

Had Harry chosen him too, then? Surely a Pureblood heir must have had better places to be on New Year's Eve than with him, someone who had met him once and insulted him in the same meeting.

Nagini looked at him again, head tilted ever so slightly as she studied him. She resembled her snake form when she looked at him that way. He adored her for it too.

"Let's go somewhere," he said suddenly. "You can tell me everything."

She grinned.