Chapter 27.

"Wait."

Harry's hand had risen without thought, fingers pressing against soft lips. They moved as Tom choked out a rough "Why?"

"Promise me, Tom."

He had not meant to say it.

"Promise me what?"

He had not meant to barter...

"That you won't hurt Minnie."

...to barter himself for Minnie's safety.

He'd come tonight determined and angry, itching for a fight that had turned too playful too quickly and now Harry was here, pressed onto cold stone, trapped all too willingly beneath the heavy heat of Tom Riddle.

Heart pounding, he stared up into Tom's wide eyes, hoping beyond hope that this would work. He had seen the fury on Tom's face after Minnie had slapped him, and it had scared him. Mere hours ago, he never would've attempted this, he wouldn't have even wanted to after the way Tom had acted when he'd gone to warn him days ago, but something had changed in the hallway outside the Great Hall. Tom had admitted his faults, had promised to make it up to him, and now... Harry just had to hope he would—

"Fine," Tom breathed, and Harry's hand dropped; his breath stuttered in his chest. "I promise."

A shocking wave of relief washed over Harry and he felt his face break into a wide smile. "You're serious?"

"Of course." Tom was smiling too now as Harry pushed himself onto his elbows, drawing them ever closer. "I said I'd make it up to you, didn't I?"

Relief gave way to something achingly fond. Their faces were inches apart now; Tom's pupils were blown, almost drowning his warm brown irises and Harry could see a dark eyelash clinging to his cheek. "You did," Harry whispered, and the last time he'd felt like this, Fawkes the phoenix had come soaring into the Chamber of Secrets, his unearthly song sending his heart swelling to twice its size.

"I meant it, too." There was something almost challenging in Tom's voice. It was exciting.

Harry swallowed before murmuring, "Oh yeah?"

Tom's lips twitched. "Yeah."

"Prove it."

A shock of air hissed between the boy's teeth, sending a thrill down Harry's spine. "Oh Harry," he breathed, delighted. "I will."

The promise curled Harry's toes and the phoenix flame in his chest seemed to spark as, eyes eager, Tom shifted, sitting back and settling onto his knees which straddled Harry's hips.

"I'm going to kiss you now, Harry," Tom told him determinedly. "If you'd like," he added.

"Yes!" Harry blurted and then blushed. "I mean—I would. Er, like that."

"Good," Tom breathed, and he looked as excited as Harry felt and almost as nervous. "Good."

And then Tom was leaning forward, his eyes fluttering shut, and as Harry's eyes closed too, he felt fingers drag slowly up the back of his neck to tangle in his hair. The feel of it sent his fingernails scraping against the cold stone floor as his hands reflectively clenched and a small noise escaped his throat. But he had no time to feel embarrassed. Tom's impossibly soft lips had finally, finally pressed firmly against his and they'd begun to move.

It was heady. It was gold. It was a hand pulling at his hair, a hot tongue licking into his mouth. Swallowed groans and a choked "Tom," a whispered "Harry." There was no hesitancy in their kisses, no reluctance. Tom kissed Harry with fervor, over and over and over. And Harry couldn't get enough.

He was hot, feverish with the taste of Tom and it was without thought that he grabbed Tom by the silver and green tie and yanked, twisting, sending them toppling over onto the floor, Harry all over Tom.

The Slytherin pulled back as far as he could, pinned to the ground as he was. "Harry," Tom gasped again, this time in shock. "What—?"

Harry shut him up.

Al was waiting for Harry when he returned to the common room.

"Well you certainly cut that close," he remarked pointedly as Harry flung himself wordlessly onto the armchair next to him. Harry still felt as if he were floating. He could hardly believe where the night had gone. "It's five 'til curfew." When Harry didn't respond, Al pressed further, waving his words away. "But that hardly matters, does it? What happened? Did you get to talk to him? Is Tom going to kill Minnie?"

Harry shook his head.

Al's jaw dropped. "You're joking! You saw the look on his face, he was livid. What on earth did you say to him?"

They hadn't done much talking, now that Harry thought of it. His face grew hot at the thought. "I, er—" He coughed. "Just asked him not to," he said simply.

"Really? That's all—Oh!" Al's eyes had just landed on Harry's neck and widened almost comically. "Oh."

"What?" Harry asked suspiciously, twisting his head uselessly to try to catch a glimpse of whatever had Al looking so shocked. "What is it?"

Now Al looked almost amused. "Er, well. Let's just say you might want to invest in a scarf tomorrow."

Understanding hit him like a bludger and his hand jumped up to his neck, to the hickey Tom had undoubtedly given him. As Harry could feel himself flushing further, Al began to laugh. "Oh shut up, Al" Harry said without venom, tugging at the neck of his robes.

"I bet you were really persuasive," Al teased and now Harry's face was burning.

"Al!" The strangled warning sent Al into further hysterics. Other people were beginning to look at them now. Harry snatched a stray pillow off the floor next to the armchair and chucked it at him.

"Oof!" It smacked Al in the face and fell to the floor. "Hey!" he protested, and as Harry picked up another pillow he dived for the one that had just fallen.

Just as he scooped it up, just as Harry had begun to swing, their imminent pillow fight was abruptly halted by the appearance of none other than Minerva McGonagall.

"What are you two doing?" she hissed.

Harry and Al dropped their pillows, Harry more in shock than in intimidation. Minnie was actually talking to him?

"Nothing!" Al yelped. "Nothing at all!"

Harry just gaped at her. First Tom and now Minnie?

"Good," Minnie said, "Because I need to talk to you, Harry."

She looked him straight in the eyes as she spoke, and in response, Harry felt some of his shock ebb away. A heavy sort of seriousness seemed to settle on his shoulder.

"Yes," he said. "Yes, I think that'd be a good idea. But—" Harry glanced around at the numerous onlookers, "Perhaps somewhere else?"

She looked around too and Harry felt a twinge of amusement as the spectators seemed to quell under her gaze, hastily resuming their conversations with their neighbors. "Yes, I think that'd be best."

They turned away, and with a reassuring glance to Al, Harry followed Minnie to the portrait hole. They waited for it to shut before they faced each other.

"Okay," Harry said, bracing himself. "What is it?"

"I..." She looked to be steeling herself too. "I just wanted to say sorry."

"For?"

Minnie's lips grew thinner. "For the tournament. Dolomorsus. That wasn't okay."

"It wasn't," Harry agreed. He'd looked up the spell after the tournament; that spell had been borderline Dark magic. "But we both know that's not really the problem here."

She nodded jerkily. Harry wondered if she'd noticed his neck yet and fought the urge to fidget with the collar of his robes. He didn't think she had.

"I'm not stupid, you know. I know what he's like." They both knew who "he" was. "But, you know what, that's not even the point. You don't get to decide who I spend my time with, Minnie."

"I know that," she exclaimed. "I'm just worried, okay?"

"You don't need to be." Frustration welled up in Harry's chest. "I can take care of myself—"

"I'm not saying you can't—"

"You are though!"

She looked stunned at the anger behind his words. Harry took a deep breath.

"You are," he continued, quieter now. "You're saying you don't trust me."

"That's not..." Her voice trailed off. She looked upset now. "I'm not trying... I just don't want you to get hurt."

Harry felt a pang at this. "I know."

They stared at each other, the silence heavy between them before she said, again, "I'm sorry." He gave her a tight smile as his eyes flicked to the floor, but she wasn't finished. "I'll try."

He looked back up, thrown. "You will?"

"Yes. I still don't trust him," she added quickly, "But... I do trust you."

Harry couldn't help it; his face broke into a broad smile. "Thank you, Minnie. Thank you."

She nodded, smiling a little herself, and turned to the Fat Lady, who had been shamelessly eavesdropping on their conversation. "Balderdash," Minnie said, giving her the password.

"Hardly, my dear," the Fat Lady replied with an almost motherly sense of pride. She held her hand to her heart, openly touched. "Hardly."

Minnie glanced over at Harry with commiserating exasperation and he grinned at her. When she failed to open the passage to the common room, Harry cleared his throat pointedly. "Could you, er... Let us in?" he asked dryly.

The Fat Lady tsked, clearly annoyed that he was ruining the moment, but waved her arm nonetheless, and the portrait hole opened up before them.

Harry and Minnie climbed through together.

How could so much change in a single evening?

Harry found himself marveling at the thought as he climbed into bed later that evening, tired but satisfied. Weeks of disagreements and aggravation and tension... Finished. Resolved in a matter of hours. He grinned up at the dark ceiling above him as he pulled his covers up under his chin. It was incredible, unbelievable. But the proof of it was felt in the warmth in his chest, clear as the bruise on his neck, left there by Tom's hungry lips. Oh, those lips... It had felt so good, the feel of Tom on his sensitive sk—Wait.

Harry shot up in the dark with a gasp.

His sensitive skin.

His skin.

"Holy—Jesus—Merlin's balls!"

"What?" One of the Weasley twins' sleepy voices came from Harry's left. "Harry? What is it?"

Harry's heart was pounding as he threw aside the curtains. "Nothing," he whispered hastily, "Go back to bed," and he heard the rustle of sheets as someone turned over.

Holy mother of Merlin.

Harry leaped from the bed, grabbing his glasses with one hand and his wand with the other from the side table. Once he could see marginally better, having jammed his glasses on, Harry brandished his wand and whispered again. "Accio journal."

With the skill of a seeker, he deftly caught the spelled journal Tom had given him as it flew from his backpack. Immediately, he stalked over to his desk where he knew a quill and ink were waiting for him. He threw himself into his chair, opened the journal, and pointed his wand at the page.

"Lumos minimus."

The very tip of his wand glowed weakly, barely enough to illuminate it, but it was enough.

"Tom," he scrawled, ink splattering. "I just realized. When we touched—"

Harry couldn't believe it.

"—I didn't have a vision."

"I'm so sorry, dear," the horrible painted woman simpered, "But I simply cannot let you in. The password, you know."

Tom smiled stiffly at Agatha "The Fat Lady" Ashmore, itching to curse something. This was—

"It's ridiculous, I know. Absolute nonsense, but the rules are the rules."

He barely heard her.

"It's rubbish," she continued, staring at him pointedly. "Tripe! Bosh!"

What was she on about? "I am aware," Tom said coldly, and he turned away from her, lest he do something he would regret. He would just have to wait for Harry then. The last several Gryffindors who had left the portrait hole that morning had given him mistrustful looks, hurrying away before he could so much have spoken.

The Fat Lady looked affronted now and blessedly shut up.

At least he would have quiet as he waited, he thought, and just as he resigned himself to his fate, the portrait swung forward once more and Tom found himself turning to face Minerva McGonagall. Fury ignited in his chest.

"Minerva," he hissed.

She looked caught off guard, fearful. Good, he thought spitefully, but even as he did, she schooled her features into something defensive and haughty.

"Riddle," she sniffed coldly. "What are you doing here?" To Tom's delight, her hand twitched at her side, and he could tell she longed to pull her wand out. "Waiting to catch me off guard, were you?"

Tom laughed derisively. "And why would I do that, Minerva? Why would I waste my precious time on someone like you?" He poured as much contempt as he could into the word.

"Come now," the Fat Lady said nervously from behind McGonagall. "We'll have no fighting here."

They both ignored her.

"You're not worth the effort," he spat.

Instead of bristling at the insult, McGonagall eyed him shrewdly. "But of course... You're not waiting for me."

"Caught on, did you?"

She shot him an infuriatingly unimpressed look before continuing. "You're waiting for the real reason you won't expend 'the effort.'" She mimed quotations around the words and Tom's nails bit into his palms in his anger. "We both know what, or who," she stressed the word, "is holding you back, Riddle."

"You—!"

The Fat Lady squeaked, cutting Tom off as the portrait hole opened again and Harry climbed out. Immediately, the Gryffindor seemed to catch on to the situation, green eyes flicking between Tom and McGonagall who were glaring daggers. They settled on Tom in the end.

"Is there a problem here?" Harry asked sharply.

"Of course not," Tom lied with ease, his rage dulled by Harry's arrival. He turned to the girl. "Right Minerva?"

Her eyes were ice. "Not at all, Riddle," she said stiffly. She turned to Harry. "I'll see you later, Harry."

They were on speaking terms again, then? Tom waited as Harry said his goodbyes, promising to meet up with her before class, and watched amused as she shot him a final look of loathing before heading off down the hall.

When they were alone finally, Harry spoke. "What was all that about?" he asked.

"It was nothing, Harry."

He eyed him carefully. "Sure," he said finally, voice skeptical, but he seemed to put it behind for now as he addressed that which was clearly more important. "So you got my message then?"

"Yes." The only thing more shocking than the news had been the fact that Tom himself had missed it. Had kissing Harry truly been that distracting? He answered himself. Yes, yes it had. "Why do you think—?"

"I don't know." The two began walking toward the Great Hall, heads together. "It's not like—" He gestured at his arms which sparkled. "Well, I still have the wards—"

"Who have you been going to for that, by the way?" Tom interrupted, curious. He'd wondered that a few times.

"Dumbledore's been helping me," Harry answered.

Immediately, Tom's nose crinkled with disgust. "Dumbledore?" he repeated. He eyed Harry's arms with distaste.

Harry rolled his eyes, but his lips twitched. "It's your fault I had to go to him," he pointed out, fairly.

"I know," Tom said sourly.

"He called them clever."

"I don't care, I still hate the old geezer."

"Of course you do." The words were fond.

"So it's not the wards then," Tom said quickly, and the fond look on Harry's face which unnerved him so melted away to one of musing.

"No, it can't be."

They walked for a beat or two in silence, and Tom had to swerve a little to avoid the uncomfortable sensation of stepping through a passing ghost.

"Touch me," Harry said suddenly, and Tom's mind seemed to stutter at the unexpected command. "To see if I get a vision," Harry added, and Tom watched pleased as a fetching pink spread across the Gryffindor's cheeks.

"You only need ask, dear," Tom drawled, and the two halted at the top of a staircase.

Tom stretched out his hand and slowly dragged it down the length of Harry's arms. Immediately, Tom was struck with the exhilarating shock of Harry's magic and he watched as Harry's eyes burned gold.

A moment later, they dulled back to their normal vibrant green and Tom removed his hand.

"Well that didn't work," Harry said dryly.

Despite his itching curiosity, Tom decided not to ask about the vision. "Shame." They continued on off down the stairs. After a second, Tom asked, "Well, what does Professor Lyptus say about this? When was your last private lesson?"

"Er," Harry didn't look at him. "It's been a while."

"You've been going to your private lessons, surely?" Tom asked.

"Not really," he admitted.

"Harry..."

"Don't 'Harry" me Tom."

He put his hands up, "Alright, alright. I won't judge. Much." As Harry scowled, Tom smirked. They were getting close to the Great Hall now; he could hear the murmurs of conversation.

"She's getting me a broom if you really want to know," Harry said defensively.

"A broom?" he asked, confused. "What's she getting you a broom for?"

"To help me get 'in tune' with my body," Harry quoted loftily.

Tom quirked an eyebrow before allowing his eyes to wander up and down that body. Harry flushed and he grinned. "You make it too easy, Evans, far too easy." They'd arrived at the base of the stairs before the Great Hall. "Look, I think Professor Lyptus stands the best chance of helping you with this for now. I'll look into this obviously but—"

"I know," he interrupted, "I'll go to my lessons, or whatever. God, I hate divination."

"Says the Seer."

"Yeah, whatever," Harry waved him off. "Look, I've got to meet Minnie—"

"It's Minnie again, is it?"

"Yeah it is," Harry said firmly. "She apologized to me last night."

"Even with that on your neck?" Tom asked slyly, and he took a moment to admire the bruise he'd left there before he said, reluctantly, "I can cover that for you if you'd like."

"Oh shit, please," Harry nodded. "I was going to wear a scarf, but I forgot it."

"C'mere." Tom caught a hold of his sleeve and dragged him forward. "A scarf," he muttered, shaking his head. "Honestly, dear, have you never heard of a glamor before?" It took him little effort to hide the mark he'd left on Harry's neck, and he was almost sorry to see it disappear.

"Thanks," Harry breathed when he finished; his voice was a little rough.

"I'll let you go," Tom said, pleased, "but later... A duel?"

He nodded immediately, eagerly. "Yes let's!"

Tom smiled. "Good." At last. Something to look forward to.