Chapter 21. Compliments

As October drew to an end, Harry found himself growing increasingly suspicious. Tom was acting... weird. Well, weirder than usual.

In an unexpected move, Tom had gone radio silent in the few days after Harry's confession about his name. Having expected to be harrassed for answers, Harry was left wary and confused as Tom instead left him alone, content to just stare, his face contemplative whenever their eyes met from across the classroom or dining hall. The distance felt strange, and Harry found himself faced with free time that was inevitably filled with thoughts of Tom: What was he doing, where was he, why was he ignoring him? And then, when Harry had finally confronted him, Tom had brushed him off. It had been... baffling.

Now, though, Harry would've almost preferred the silence. Tom was back, and he had taken to complimenting him. All the time.

"Have I ever told you how striking your eyes are when you duel?" "Very good, Harry." A hand carding through his hair—"I like it this length." "As always, you are remarkably perceptive." "You continually impress me, Harry Evans." Eyes dragging up and down his body—"Nice."

It was fucking unnerving. So unnerving he finally decided to take Minnie up on her offer.

"Hey, Minnie?" Harry asked after several minutes of deliberation. She looked up from her Transfiguration homework. "Can I talk to you?"

It was the perfect opportunity—Al had turned in early for the night and Augusta was at a Gobstones meeting. Their usual corner of the common room would likely remain undisturbed.

"Yeah sure," Minnie said, carefully setting her quill down, "What's going on?"

Harry couldn't help fidgeting in his chair across from her. "Have you noticed anything odd about Tom lately?"

She eyed him strangely. "Not really, no," she said slowly, "But to be fair, the only time I really see him is when you're around... Is everything alright?"

The words burst out of him. "He won't stop complimenting me! Everything I do is 'remarkable' or 'fascinating' and it's fucking weird because Tom's Tom, you know, and there's no way he's just being nice. Tom—Tom doesn't do nice. There has to be another reason, Minnie. There's got to be something else happening here, some plan or some plot or—"

"Or he fancies you."

Harry choked. "W-What?!"

Minnie's head tipped back, "Oh Merlin help me."

"He doesn't—! Look, Tom's a lot of things, but he's not—" Harry's voice cut off as he glanced around, "...gay," Harry whispered. "Actually," he added on second thought, "I don't think he likes anyone."

Minnie looked absolutely bewildered. "Tom's not... happy?"

"What?" Harry asked. "No, I said—Tom's not... You know..."

"I very much don't, actually."

Harry glanced around again before lowering his voice. "A homosexual. He's not."

"Why are you whispering?" Minnie asked.

"Well, I don't want to—I dunno, insult him or—"

"Ohhh." Understanding finally lit Minnie's eyes. "Harry... You know it's okay to be homosexual, right? I know the Muggles are a bit backward, but in the wizarding world, it's normal."

Harry blinked. While he definitely knew some Muggles hated gay people—"gay" was almost as bad as "magic" in the Dursley household—he had no idea wizards didn't care.

"Just look at Professor Merrythought," she continued, "She's married, you know. Her wife comes in on the weekends sometimes. You should talk to her."

Harry's mouth opened and closed.

"Or Professor Dumbledore!" Minnie added, and Harry's mind exploded. "He's homosexual, too."

"Dumbledore is gay?"

"Is that a Muggle term, 'gay?'" she asked curiously.

"What? Oh. Yeah..." he said vaguely. Dumbledore was gay?!

"Interesting," she hummed before laughing a little. "Wow. Did I just fry your brain?"

"No," Harry retorted irritably, "I was just surprised, that's all."

"Understandable," she said. "Look, er, I'm sorry if I've ever left the impression that being 'gay' wasn't normal. I assumed..."

Harry panicked. "I'm not gay!"

"Are you sure?" Minnie asked.

"I..." Fuck. "...No."

"You don't have to know!" she rushed to reassure him. "I was just curious."

Harry nodded slowly.

After a long pause, Minnie asked, "So you really don't think Tom is homosexual?"

"I don't—" The memory of Tom's face inches from his own cut him off. He certainly likes pinning you to the floor, his mind whispered. "...I don't know."

"Well, in that case, perhaps it would be best that you and Tom sat down and had a nice talk about each other's feelings."

Harry physically recoiled at the thought. "Merlin, Minnie, why?! That sounds awful."

At that, Minnie rolled her eyes and muttered something that sounded an awful lot like "Boys."

Harry took it as his cue to change the subject.

Listening to Tom's compliments was almost worse now that he knew there was a possibility, however slight, that Tom was sincere. Before Harry could assume Tom just enjoyed flustering him; Tom Marvolo Riddle would never jeopardize his reputation—his future—by being gay after all. But apparently, the wizarding world didn't care about that. Which left Harry with a chance, a tiny, tiny chance, that maybe Tom did find his eyes striking when he dueled...

"Are you finished with the knotgrass yet?" Tom asked.

"Hm?" Harry startled. "What?" Partnering with Tom for potions had not been his idea; the Slytherin had all but snatched him the second he'd entered the potions classroom.

"The knotgrass, Harry," Tom said, exasperated—yet fond?

"Oh!" Harry looked down to see a only few pieces of loose knotgrass left. "Yeah, this is the last of it."

"Perfect," Tom smiled, and Harry's stomach really needed to cease its incessant swooping—it was getting ridiculous. "I'll start adding it now then."

As Harry finished with the last bits, Tom began to drop the carefully braided knotgrass into the cauldron one by one. Once completed, he began to stir—two stirs clockwise, four stirs anti-clockwise for ten minutes, the instructions said—and looked out at the classroom.

"Is it him?" Tom asked quietly, jerking his head toward one of the Slytherin boys. Positioned in the back corner of the classroom, they could see everyone.

"Tom..." Harry rolled his eyes. "Quit it."

"This is entirely your fault. If you hadn't been so vague—"

"Tom."

"'A short guy,' Harry? Really?"

Harry heaved a sigh. As the Tournament drew ever closer, Tom had taken to nagging him about the vision he'd had all the way back in fucking July—the one where he won a duel with a 'short guy.'

Tom flicked his wand, and the stir rod began to move of its own accord. Hands now free, Tom reached out and grasped Harry's shoulders, staring at him intensely. "I need you to look at him and focus. I need you to remember, Harry."

Harry gave him a vexed look, "How could you expect me to remember that, Tom? It was months ago."

Tom ignored him. "Rosier is the shortest Slytherin fourth-year. If he—" he pointed "—is not the 'short guy' you saw me defeat in your vision, that undoubtedly means I will win the first wave of the Tournament."

Harry shook him off. "First off, you've already told me this. Second, you know that's not how my visions work. The duel I saw could happen years from now!" Tom made a dismissive noise at the back of his throat. "Besides," Harry continued, "I think we all know you're going to win the first wave, Tom."

Tom looked incredibly pleased. "Oh we do, do we?"

Harry was unamused. "There's no need to be so smug about it."

"That may be true, but it's so fun Harry," he crooned, eyes sparkling.

Harry's lips twitched despite himself. "You're ridiculous."

"It's a shame you can't read your own future," Tom commented, apparently choosing to ignore that last comment. "Though," his voice lowered, "in my opinion, it hardly takes a Seer to know that you could take on any one of these idiots." He gestured to Harry's fellow Gryffindors.

Cheeks warm, Harry frowned, "Don't be rude. You don't know that."

"I think I've dueled you enough to say otherwise."

"Yeah, well, I doubt I'll be able to tackle my opponents, Tom."

"Good," he said firmly. "I would hate to watch that."

"Why?" Harry said, surprised.

Tom just hummed. "All I'm saying is don't count yourself out, Harry. You're an incredible duelist."

Speechless, Harry could only nod as Tom turned back to the cauldron. The noise of bubbling liquids and the soft chatter of classmates washed over them. Harry watched Tom stir, content in the relative quiet.

After a moment, Tom asked, "Do you have any plans for Samhain?"

"Samhain?" Harry asked, confused. "What's—" Tom's eyebrows began to cinch with incredulous disbelief and Harry cut himself off. "Oh, yes! Samhain!" Harry lied, "Erm, no. No plans."

"Good," Tom said cryptically.

He eyed him suspiciously. "...Why do you ask?"

"No reason."

"Sure," Harry laughed, and Tom glanced over at him questioningly. "There's always a reason with you, Tom," he explained.

With that, Harry turned to begin dicing ginger root, missing the odd expression on Tom's face completely.

"What's Samhain?"

Professor Dumbledore looked up from cutting his chicken in surprise. Though unexpected, the invitation to dine and check in with the man had been welcome; in fact, Harry couldn't help but find the timing fortunate considering. "'What's Samhain?'" he repeated, "Why, Harry, it's only one of the most significant magical holidays of the year!"

"Really?" Harry asked, a little surprised.

"Of course!" the man exclaimed. "Samhain marks the day on which the barrier between the world of the living and the world of the dead is weakest. It is the day on which we wizards honor our ancestors and make peace with the fallen." When Harry nodded absently, he asked, "Why do you ask? What brought this up?"

"Well, Tom asked me if I had any plans for Samhain," Harry explained.

To his surprise, Dumbledore did not look shocked. "Oh really?" he said, eyeing Harry knowingly. "You know, I can't help to have noticed that you and Tom have been spending a lot of time together lately."

Harry willed himself not to blush as he mumbled, "Yeah, I guess so."

A small smile spread across Dumbledore's face and his blue eyes twinkled. "Is there anything you want to tell me?"

"Are you gay?" The question burst free from his lips before he could stop it.

Dumbledore blinked. "Pardon?"

"Oh, erm, I mean..." Fuck. If he wasn't before, Harry was certainly blushing now. "I was just wondering... Is it true you're homosexual?"

For a moment, Dumbledore just stared, and Harry wished with all his heart for the floor to swallow him. Finally, though, Dumbledore cleared his throat. "...Yes I am. Why do you ask?"

Hope began to bloom in his chest. If that was true, then— "So wizards are really okay with that, then? That's what Minnie said."

Dumbledore's eyes grew soft. "Of course, Harry. Homosexuality is normal and natural. The way Muggles demonize love is something I'll never understand..."

"Yeah..." Harry absently picked up his fork and began poking at his food.

"I wonder," Dumbledore mused after a moment, "What could have brought up this line of questioning?"

Harry's head jerked up from his plate to see a curious expression and his cheeks began to warm. "Nothing," he said too quickly.

"Mhmm," the man hummed, face contemplative. "Well, 'nothing' or not, consider an old man's advice..." Dumbledore's voice trailed off; the man was clearly struggling to find his words.

Harry, who was far more used to a Dumbledore with a white beard, couldn't help but blurt, "You're not old."

Dumbledore's eyes crinkled as he smiled. "Thank you." His smile faded as he continued. "Now, my advice… It is all too easy to become blinded, Harry." He said the words carefully and with purpose. "To see people as you want them to be as opposed to who they are. I made this mistake once. I loved a man so much I couldn't see him for who he truly was until it was too late..."

Harry frowned, confused. "Sir?" he asked.

"Just think on it," Dumbledore said with a smile, and Harry nodded slowly, his mind still wrapping around the idea of Dumbledore loving someone. Romantically... "Good. Now," he clapped his hands together, "I've been meaning to ask: How have your dreams been?"

"Well actually," Harry said as he picked up his knife, immensely relieved by the change of topic, "I haven't had any for a while now." If Dumbledore's face grew stricken, Harry was too busy wrangling a slippery potato that he just couldn't cut to notice it. "No loss there, if you ask me."

The professor made an odd noise Harry took to be one of agreement and he began to eat. They didn't talk for a while.

It was later, when Harry was making to leave, that the topic of Samhain was once again broached.

"Professor," Harry asked as he stood from his chair, "Before I go, I just realized—when is Samhain? I assume it's coming up but—"

"Ahh, yes," Dumbledore said, "Completely slipped my mind. Samhain is this Saturday."

"That's in two days..." he said slowly. "That's..." Harry's stomach sank. "That's the 31st."

"Yes," the man affirmed. "Samhain is always celebrated on the 31st of October. I believe the Muggles call it Halloween. It's funny, isn't it? How their interpretation of Samhain is so much more fearsome than ours. Some scholars have theorized that the vilification of Samhain came about around the same time as the witch burnings. All that fear... It's a shame really."

"Mmm," Harry hummed, "Terrible."

As he left, he thought of fear. Fear, Dementors, and screams on Halloween.

Tom woke on the 31st of October pleased. Watching Harry flush at his praise all week had been surprisingly gratifying. And, dare he say, cute. He was only annoyed that he hadn't seen much of him yesterday but that would make the moment that much better, he supposed.

For today was the day he would ask Harry to go steady. After a week or so of careful flattery, he would undoubtedly say yes.

It had been difficult at first to wait, but Tom managed if only for the symbolism. For what better time to ask than on a day so full of powerful Magic, on a day when time lost all meaning and the past, present, and future were one?

Today, he would ask.

Today, he thought with glee, Harry will become mine.