Chapter 29. Hogsmeade

Harry would've been surprised at how quickly the news that he and Tom were dating had spread, had Tom not made it so obvious. It was that that was surprising.

Before, when Harry had secretly pictured the two of them being together, he had imagined Tom—the heir of Slytherin—to act with subtlety or discretion. He had pictured stolen kisses in secret passageways and meaningful looks across classrooms and corridors. Those still happened, luckily, but they happened alongside shockingly blatant displays of affection. The first time Tom had gone to hold his hand in the corridors, Harry had actually flinched away before acquiescing nervously and blinking back a vision. It would've been suspicious—he had thought at first that Tom was only doing it to get on Minnie's nerves—except that Tom's tactile nature persisted beyond the corridors. Providing practice with his visions, Tom always said. Harry was growing to suspect that Tom just enjoyed touching him.

Not that Harry minded, of course. He actively enjoyed his time with Tom. ...Very actively. It just made him... almost skittish sometimes, the more casual touches. A hand on his lower back, fingers smoothing out his collar, a claiming settling of hands on his shoulders. But perhaps that made sense. He'd never been great with touch, even with Ron and Hermione, and it had only gotten worse after the Time-Turner. He was just unused to it. He kept having to remind himself that that was something people did when they dated.

Like this apparently.

Tom stood before Harry and Augusta in the corridor, holding his hands out toward him expectantly. Harry stared at them blankly.

"You can't be serious," he said.

Augusta elbowed him in the ribs. "Harry!" she hissed, appalled. "Don't be rude."

He ignored her. "Please tell me you're joking, Tom."

Tom's smile only grew, and infuriatingly, Harry felt his cheeks begin to warm.

"No," he said firmly, warning. "I'm not doing this. We're not doing this."

"Darling..."

"You are not holding my books for me."

Tom sighed. "I'm just trying to help, Harry."

"I don't need—I'm not a girl!"

Augusta—who had actually sighed dreamily when Tom called him 'darling'—let out an affronted noise beside him at that, but Harry once again ignored her, leaning forward to hiss, "It's embarrassing, Tom."

He tutted quietly. "Carrying your partner's books has nothing to do with gender, Harry. Let me do this for you."

"I know that," Harry flushed deeper, "But..."

"We haven't got much time before Defense, you know," Augusta reminded him. To his annoyance, she was looking at Tom approvingly.

"Harry..." Tom crooked his fingers and Harry's resolve broke.

"Fine." He shoved his book bag at Tom, hating the little flicker of warmth in his chest. "Fine! Take my stupid books then."

The smile on Tom's face was annoyingly triumphant and stupidly handsome as he hoisted the strap of the bag over his free shoulder so he was now carrying two. "With pleasure," he hummed, voice low.

Jesus Christ. Harry's stomach swooped and he took that as his cue to leave. Spinning on his heel, he turned and stalked off down the corridor toward the direction of the Defense classroom. Why did he have to go and use that voice?

"Don't mind him, Tom," Augusta said from behind him, and Harry glanced back to see the two of them walking briskly after him, side by side. "I think it's sweet of you."

"You're too kind Augusta," Tom replied warmly. "So... How long do you think it'll take for him to speak to me again?" His tone was playful; Harry grit his teeth, feeling stubborn.

"I give it, hm, a minute or two, I'd bet."

Tom tsked. "I doubt it will take that long. Look; I've never seen his shoulders so high."

Harry whirled around, stopping the two in their tracks. "You—!"

"See?" Tom grinned slyly at Augusta who laughed.

Harry poked him hard in the chest. "You're so annoying!"

"Oh please," he scoffed, eyes glinting with amusement, "You love it."

It took all of Harry's restraint at that moment not to grab Tom and shake him. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and covertly slipped his wand from his pocket. "You sure about that, darling?"

"As sure as—"

"Accio Tom's book bag!"

Tom let out a small noise of surprise as his book bag flew off his shoulder and soared toward Harry's awaiting hand.

"Ha!" Grinning, he snatched it and bolted down the hallway.

Fond amusement bubbled in his chest as Tom watched Harry streak away laughing with his things. A large part of him itched to run after him but propriety held him back as he and Fawley continued to walk down the corridor.

Apparently, he couldn't quite keep the eagerness off his face.

"Merlin, you two are odd together," Fawley said, obviously without thought. Tom looked at her and she flushed with embarrassment. To her credit, though, she didn't rush to placate him, instead shrugging. "Sorry, but it's true."

"I suppose our relationship could be viewed as strange," Tom acquiesced, noting tension in her shoulders despite her casual tone. It was true after all. What he and Harry had was not banal, was not normal. For one, they probably dueled a fair bit more than the average couple. "I can't fault you for that."

The way her shoulders relaxed and the relief on Fawley's face was not missed by Tom, and he felt a twinge of annoyance. Ever since he had begun dating Harry, Tom had been trying to win over his friends to varying levels of success. He had next to no chance with McGonagall of course (not that he wanted to win her over; he'd rather eat glass) but Fawley and Longbottom... Those two were not outside of the realm of possibility. It helped that Fawley—Augusta—seemed to find his relationship with Harry to be cute and adorable. She had "called it," apparently. He took advantage of this fact, of course, and he felt he had made some serious headway. They were on a first-name basis now. But even then... Fawley still acted nervous around him.

Patience, Tom reminded himself. It had only been a couple of weeks.

With practiced ease, Tom steered the conversation to safer grounds, and they spent the rest of the walk discussing Merrythought's latest assignment before they arrived at the Defense classroom. Unsurprisingly, Harry was waiting outside, joined by Longbottom and—fantastic—McGonagall. His boyfriend, Tom saw, was clearly disgruntled as he watched him approach.

You didn't chase me, Harry's eyes accused, petulant. I ran, and you didn't follow. It sent a lick of warmth and eager anticipation down Tom's spine, the underlying want there, and he grinned widely, a promise for later. An apology. It was enough for now and Harry's lips reluctantly twitched as his hand fiddled with the strap of Tom's book bag.

"Swap?" Harry asked.

"Sure," Tom agreed, and he knew they were okay. He hadn't gone too far.

McGonagall's hawk-like eyes, of course, did not miss the exchange.

Harry still couldn't help feeling a little apprehensive whenever Minnie and Tom got within arms reach of each other despite reassurances from both parties. Minnie, surprisingly, had taken the news of their relationship well when Harry had told her, with a slight sigh he couldn't begrudge her and a dry "If you must." Meanwhile, Tom had taken to acting as if The Slap had never happened, and Harry could find no malice in him toward her beyond a tightening of the jaw whenever Tom laid eyes on her. But still. There was a slight... fragility to the air whenever the two were together that set Harry on edge.

He tried to ignore it as the two exchanged stiff greetings and he took his bag back from Tom.

"Alright there Harry?" Augusta asked with a grin from beside Al. "You ran off quick."

"Never better," he said.

"I was wondering when you'd gotten a Slytherin pin, Harry," Minnie commented dryly as she watched Tom take his book bag from Harry and sling it over his shoulder. "Nice to know you haven't fully defected to the dark side yet."

"Give him time," Tom smirked, "I'm sure I can get him into a Slytherin scarf or something."

Minnie's nose scrunched up oddly in response as Harry retorted, "Over my dead body, Tom."

"That's the spirit," Al said happily. "Now. What is the plan for this weekend? I know Harry asked you but will you two be joining us first or are you going off and doing your own thing from the get?"

"That's up to Harry," Tom said, eyeing him. "I wouldn't mind joining you all if you'll have me. Though," he turned then to Harry, "I would like you to myself for a couple of hours at least."

The declaration made something in Harry's chest squirm with delight and he caught himself in a smile. "I—Yes, that sounds good. We can all head down to Hogsmeade together and split off around lunch or something? We can play it by ear."

"Good idea," Al agreed, "It'll make it easier to buy gifts for each other if we're not all together anyway."

The three Gryffindors had a tradition of swapping gifts before leaving for the holiday break and had included Harry without hesitation, a move which had both touched him and caused him a great deal of worry. Between Tom and Dumbledore and Minnie and Al and Augusta... Anxiety gnawed at him. He simply didn't have the money for that many gifts. But he would, he reminded himself. He had a plan.

The general agreements of his friends were cut off short as a voice behind them spoke. "Alright you five, we haven't got all day." They turned to see Professor Merrythought who gestured them forward. "In you get."

Harry entered with his friends, welcoming the distraction of his favorite class. His financial worries could wait.

Several days later, Harry was called to stay behind after Transfiguration. Curious, he stayed at his desk, standing when Dumbledore closed the door behind the last student. As the man turned around, he looked unusually grave without his characteristic easy smile, and Harry's own smile faltered.

"Professor?" he asked. "Is everything alright?"

Dumbledore walked over until he was standing right in front of him.

"What is this I hear about you 'selling fortunes?'"

Is that all? Harry tried his best not to shuffle beneath Albus Dumbledore's piercing gaze as he struggled to come up with an explanation. His mind was warring with a contrasting mix of relief at it not being anything worse and prickling shame, which was not very helpful. "It's nothing really," he said, stalling.

"From the little I know, it doesn't sound like nothing," Dumbledore said seriously.

He let the words hang there until it was too much to bear. "I just wanted to make some money," Harry blurted. "For Christmas presents."

"Harry..." The man looked so disappointed. "I thought you said you still had some money left from your summer job."

"I do!" Harry cried. "I didn't lie. It's just..." Four knuts, he thought, cringing. "Not much."

Dumbledore brought a hand up to rub beneath his eyes. "I wish you had felt comfortable coming to me, Harry, instead of resorting to reckless experimentation with your powers. I am your guardian. For the foreseeable future, I am here to support you in all capacities."

There was a knot in Harry's throat.

"I will not force you to return the money you received, but I will insist that you do not continue 'selling fortunes.'"

Harry nodded.

"Perhaps..." Dumbledore looked thoughtful. "Yes. If you are not comfortable asking for pocket money, perhaps an allowance would be—"

"You don't have to do that!"

"I know. Nevertheless, I will."

"I'll ask you," Harry said. "I don't need an allowance."

The man assessed him before finally relenting. "If you insist. Now, tell me. How much do you need for Hogsmeade?"

Harry told him.

Harry allowed the chattering of his friends to wash over him as he entered Hogsmeade for the first time in this era. Even though Harry had only been twice before, the small village was a familiar sight with rooftops blanketed in glistening snow and roads packed with Hogwarts students. It filled him with an achy joy that faded the farther they walked as he noticed more and more changes like sharp discordant notes in a cheerful tune. Where was Zonkos? And Dervish and Banges? And... was Honeydukes really a stationary store?

This was precisely why he hadn't gone before now, he thought angrily. He'd experienced something very similar in going to Diagon Alley over the summer and those changes had hurt then too. He never should have left Hogwarts. Hogwarts was never stagnant, with its moving portraits and trick doors and stairs that lead somewhere different every day. Hogwarts was dynamic; fifty-three years couldn't change that.

A gloved hand slid into his, and he started, turning to see Tom. There was confusion and maybe a little concern etched in his boyfriend's fine features, but Tom did not press beyond an inquisitive quirk of his eyebrow. Harry just smiled thinly, gratefully, and shook his head. What else could he do? Tom simply stared before finally squeezing his hand in acknowledgment, and somehow, impossibly, the gloom seemed to wilt away as he focused on the warm weight of it. Not gone, but suppressed. Held at bay.

It was easier after that to join in on the laughter and jokes that led them, blessedly, to the Three Broomsticks. The cozy pub, at least, still existed.

The five of them filed in and squeezed into a booth that was unfortunately situated right next to the kitchen, forcing them to have to speak loudly to be heard as they drank the butterbeer Al and Tom had fetched them. The sweet drink warmed Harry, and by the time they had ordered lunch, he felt almost normal again.

"Get a load of Malfoy!" Augusta all but shouted, pointing toward the bar. The Slytherin fifth-year had been obnoxiously sending ornate sparking patterns into the air for a while now and had finally accidentally set fire to the tinsel hanging from the ceiling. He had also, more amusingly, set fire to his hat. He didn't seem to be aware of the latter yet.

"Pathetic," Tom said, rolling his eyes as he watched his fellow Slytherin flail about. He'd finally noticed the hat. "Serves him right." Everyone turned to him, curious (and in Minnie's case at least, more than a little judgmental) and he continued. "Abraxas has been absolutely insufferable since winning the first round of the Tournament," he explained. "Between his showy displays and thinly veiled threats, there hasn't been a moment of peace in the common room. We'll see how cocky he is once I'm done with dueling him."

"You think you'll win then?" Minnie asked.

"I'm fairly confident," Tom said dryly, pointedly watching as Abraxas stomped on his hat, cursing. Augusta snickered.

"It'd be cool if you and Harry got to face off in the end," Al said.

"I'd be more surprised if we didn't," Tom replied with a confidence Harry didn't feel.

"Really?" Augusta sounded incredulous. "Even if you win the duel with Malfoy, you'll have to face either Walburga or Cygnus Black. And Harry is going up against Moody."

Tom simply shrugged.

The second round of the tournament was still inter-House, with the victors of the fourth and fifth years and the victors of the sixth and seventh years facing off. Whoever won, fourth or fifth, would then face off against the other winner, sixth or seventh. If Harry did somehow defeat fifth-year Alastor Moody, he could be going up against a seventeen-year-old. And still Tom had faith he would win.

It was more than a little flattering.

"You're either arrogant or crazy," Minnie said in a tone that should've been jovial, but it fell flat. Harry had to stop himself from physically wincing.

"I prefer 'self-assured'," Tom said, his smile a bit too sharp.

"I wish I'd been paying more attention to Moody's duel," Harry interjected, hoping to head off a confrontation. "If I knew his style, I could use that."

"His defense is abysmal," Tom said immediately. "He's more powerful than the average wizard and used to winning quickly. It makes him sloppy. He'll underestimate you. Survive long enough, get a few well-placed spells in there, and he'll fall. You could take him easily if you actually took the time to increase your spell repertoire."

"He sounds like someone else I know," Harry teased.

"I resent that," Tom sniffed. "And you are dodging the point again."

"Look, I've been busy alright?"

"With what?"

Harry's retort was cut off by the arrival of their food, but he didn't miss the way the others had been staring at them, appearing caught off guard. Once everyone had gotten their meals, Minerva addressed Tom.

"You know your tactics," she said slowly.

"Of course I do," Tom said. "Unlike some people," he shot Harry a look, "I actually prepare for duels instead of flying off the seat of my pants."

"Merlin's pants, they might just pull it off," Al exclaimed incredulously.

Tom practically radiated satisfaction for the rest of the meal.

Harry could've sworn he'd swallowed a snitch as he and Tom waved goodbye to the others in the cold outside of the Three Broomsticks. It had just hit him as they'd all gotten up to leave that this was a date—Harry's first date in fact—and he was nervous. Which was stupid because he had been the one to ask Tom out in the first place, he reminded himself, and it wasn't like he hadn't spent time alone with Tom before.

"So..." It had begun to flurry sometime during their lunch so Tom had small flakes of snow in his coifed hair when he turned to Harry and asked, "Where to first, darling?"

Harry tried not to fixate on the snow or the way Tom's cheeks were going pink from the cold as he shrugged. "You'd know better than me, I suppose."

"Hm. Well, Torrel's Toffee House is always good. They've got a pretty varied selection of sweets this time of year so you're sure to find something for the others. And it's next to Script and Scroll which is helpful," Tom added. "I need to buy some more parchment and ink."

Some of his tension leaked away at the normalcy with which Tom spoke and he nodded. "That works for me."

Tom smiled. "Perfect. Shall we, then?" Instead of reaching out his hand to hold like he'd expected, Tom proffered his arm. At first, Harry just stared at it, and the Slytherin rolled his eyes. "I won't bite you know."

"You do realize we're not a ball, right?" Harry asked, gesturing to the crowded street full of bundled-up wizards and dirty snow. "There's no need to escort me like I'm some—"

"Merlin forbid a Slytherin attempts some chivalry for once," Tom muttered, cutting him off. "Just humor me, hm? Maybe you'll like it." He proffered his arm again with a challenging expression and stunned, Harry took it.

Their first few steps side by side were clumsy, hampered by their thick robes and the snowy footing, but they found a rhythm together with ease as Harry allowed himself to relax and be drawn closer to Tom. He found quickly that he welcomed it—the cold was biting and Tom was warm—but he prayed Tom wouldn't notice how out of breath he'd become. The cold betrayed him with each quick puff of swirling white vapor.

To hide it, he spoke. "You're staying over break, yes?"

Tom looked down at him, amused. "Is that even a question?"

"Not really," Harry admitted. "I'm staying too, just so you know. Dumbledore told me yesterday."

"Would you have gone if it was an option?" Tom asked.

"No."

"Good."

"I love Hogwarts." The words escaped him without thought, wistful and Harry looked off toward the castle.

"I do too," Tom said softly. "It hides so many wonders behind its walls. So many secrets."

Harry hummed, missing suddenly the Marauder's Map. "I wish I had a map of it."

Tom's footsteps faltered beside him. "A map?" he asked.

"Yeah," he said. "It would be so helpful. There's so many secret passageways."

"Now there's an idea," Tom mused.

Excitement stirred in Harry's chest. "Imagine if we could somehow track people on it, too."

"That would be very difficult, but..." Tom's eyes were far away yet bright. "Not impossible."

"It's just a thought," he said.

"An intriguing thought."

"Oh dear. I've lost you haven't I?" Harry said dryly.

That drew him back. "Not yet," Tom smirked, "Though you've now provided me with ample food for thought should you bore me."

"How kind of me," Harry said, and Tom laughed as he drew him toward a busy shop that Harry figured must be Torrel's Toffee House. "I suppose I'll just have to try my best to remain interesting."

"Don't worry," Tom said, "That is an area in which you excel."

Maybe the cold wasn't so bad after all; it would hide his blush well.