Chapter 20. Want

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," Tom sang as he prowled, searching the room for the characteristic ripples of a disillusionment charm. It was becoming harder and harder to spot Harry as of late. On the one hand, it made him a better challenge which was fun, but on the other…

"Where are you?" he whispered to himself as he reached the center of the floor. At this point, he needed Harry to move to stand a chance of locating him...

His mind churned furiously, creating and dismissing ideas until—Ah. Now that would do.

"I have a rather intriguing theory," Tom declared, voice filling the cavernous space, "about you, dear Harry." Slowly and methodically he revolved, scanning the room through narrowed eyes as he let the tension grow. "One that's been on my mind," he continued, "for quite a while,"

Tom let the statement hang in the air. If he knew Harry—and he did (mostly)—the teen would be hanging onto his every word.

"Did you know, Harry, that the gift of Sight is primarily hereditary? With abilities passed down from generation to generation, with the fame afforded to those with the gift, the bloodlines of Seers can be traced with relative ease. So you can imagine my complete and utter shock when I—well," Tom laughed, "Charles, could find absolutely nothing linking any of the known Seers to an Evans,"

He continued to circle the center, eyes scouring the air.

"Unless, I thought, unless... It was Harry 'Pevans' you'd said, wasn't it Harry, when Professor Slughorn asked your name all those months ago? A rather odd thing to stumble over, your name. Almost as if it weren't—"

"Sabulum!"

Tom whirled around, shield already up, but the spell wasn't aimed at him; the yellow spellfire splattered at his feet. Instinctively, he fired off a hasty Incarcerous at a now-visible Harry—he was so much closer than he'd thought—and the floor beneath him began to dissolve into sand. Cursing, he surged to the side to escape before it swallowed him, all the while fending off the spells Harry threw at him.

It was only once Tom was on solid ground several moments later that the tides began to turn and it was Harry that was forced to go on the defensive. Tom almost regretted it; Harry's defensive skills were made remarkable by his stupidly quick reflexes. No matter how he pressed, not a single spell was able to hit him.

When Harry was forced to twirl away from a rather nasty paralyzing jinx, Tom laughed and pounced. They fell together, landing hard on the rock floor. Between the impact of the fall and Tom on top of him, the breath was all but knocked out of Harry. Their wands clattered against stone as Tom took the opportunity to pin his forearms to the floor the way he liked it.

As Harry gasped, Tom smirked down at him. "I won," he said smugly.

It took Harry a few seconds to speak. "Asshole," he spat without venom, cheeks flushed.

"Rude," Tom replied, determinedly ignoring it as Harry began to shift underneath him. "No need to be a sore loser, Pevans."

Harry's eyes narrowed. "Get off of me," he said irritably.

"Not until you tell me your name," Tom countered. He was forced to double his hold his arms as Harry attempted to surge forward. Tom tsked. "None of that now."

Harry's green eyes practically glowed with anger and something else. A delightful shiver ran down Tom's spine. "Harry. Fucking. Evans."

"Your real name," Tom pressed.

"That's rich coming from you," Harry muttered and confusion wrinkled Tom's forehead.

"What does that mean?"

"Nothing," he said quickly. "Get off, Tom."

Not without getting what he wanted first. "Mmm, no thanks," he said flippantly, relaxing his body on top of Harry's. "I'm quite comfortable where I am."

Harry's mouth opened—no doubt to retort—but Tom slipped into his mind.

Embarrassment, anger, desire, fear. As always, Tom was assaulted first by Harry's strong emotions. The whispered thoughts came next: Attractive, so wrong, want, want, can't know. Though he knew he shouldn't, Tom delved further until he was staring up at... himself? Not unlike Harry's, his cheeks were pink, his hair mussed, eyes glazed, lips parted. Want...

Returning to his own mind, Tom choked back a gasp. "—even listening to me are you?"

Harry was staring up at him, and Tom? Tom needed to get off of him now.

"Fine," Tom griped, determinedly not breathing in his warm scent, "I'll get off." He scrambled to his feet, breathing in once he was far enough away to calm his turbulent mind. He needed to get a grip, to focus. "Your name, Harry?"

"Good Godric." Harry ran his hands down his face, a picture of fatigue. "Look, Tom. You're right, okay? Evans is not my real last name."

Victory danced in his chest. "I knew it," he breathed.

"Yeah, congrats, you absolute git," Harry snapped and Tom blinked. "You cracked the case."

"Not completely," he argued, "I still don't know your real name."

"And you're not going to," he retorted stubbornly. "It's none of your business, Tom."

Tom frowned deeply; he had a feeling that unless he got more opportunities to read his mind, Harry was likely right.

"You're right," he said slowly, calculating. "I'm sorry."

"No you're not," Harry said tiredly. "I'm going to go."

Tom's mind continued to whir and he watched as Harry walked over to pick up his wand. "Harry..."

The teen looked back at him, eyes soft, "It's fine. See you tomorrow Tom."

It was hours later when Tom was in bed staring at nothing that he came to several rather important realizations.

Firstly, his current method was flawed. Performing Legilimency on Harry while they wrestled on the floor was a terrible method of extracting information. Flattering (and flustering), yes. Helpful, no.

Secondly, in order to perform Legilimency non-verbally, he needed close proximity and an environment in which Harry's emotions would not overcome him. If things continued the way they are, he would get nowhere.

Thus, he concluded that the best way to achieve this would be through a decidedly closer relationship than that they had currently. One in which it would be natural to stare into each other's eyes openly and at length. One in which secrets need not be extracted through magical means but rather through trust and love.

And if Tom absolutely had to cuddle Harry or buy him chocolates or, Merlin forbid, kiss him, to gather the information he needed, so be it. It would only be because he needed to know. No other reason. Obviously.