Word Count: 3874

Warnings: NA

Fight For Me

He was really hoping that someone—anyone—would burst out of the wardrobe, cackling, and tell him that this was just a hoax. Really, really, hoping.

The navy sheets on the bed seemed to be mocking him. He didn't know why, but they were. The bed itself looked plush and inviting, and under normal circumstances, Harry would welcome the invitation and busy his face in the bouncy looking pillows. He'd spend as much time in the bed as he could.

Harry loved hotel beds.

Except… there was definitely only one bed in this room, and there were going to be two of them in the room, and honestly, the last person Harry ever wanted to share a bed with was Tom fucking Riddle.

Okay, no, that was a lie. A big lie. A huge, very bad lie.

Only months ago, Harry would have been more than happy—he'd have been delirious, in fact—to be sharing a bed with Tom, because it would have meant a whole night of pleasure and very little sleep.

But not now.

Not now, when they'd broken up, and were only here in the same hotel because their best friends were getting married and they were the best men. Tom was Lucius' best man, of course, the two of them had gone to school together, and Lucius had worked for Tom ever since.

Harry would stand for Hermione. She'd forgone the traditional bridesmaids in favour of a best man, because the only person she'd wanted up there with her was Harry.

When they'd originally booked the hotel, nobody had foreseen that Tom and Harry wouldn't even be able to meet each other's eyes by the time that the wedding rolled around.

Nobody had foreseen that the hotel would be fully booked, with no option to book another room, or even to put a fold out bed in a closet, they were so full.

Harry really would have taken the broom cupboard.

He'd have taken it happily, in favour of what was sure to be a torturous few days.

Dropping his bag to the left side of the bed automatically—Tom always slept on the right, and Harry cursed himself for even remembering that—and slouched himself into one of the two chairs by the bay window.

The room was nice, at least. He considered the two chairs thoughtfully. The one he was sitting in was comfortable enough, and perhaps, if he pulled the two of them together—and requested extra bedding from housekeeping—he could make himself a bed on the chairs instead.

He was small enough, he thought.

The thought of waking up in the morning with the chairs split and him hanging between them was off putting. Not only would it do his back absolutely no good, but Tom would no doubt find it amusing, and Harry was done being the man's entertainment.

It was only two nights, he told himself firmly. And perhaps Tom wouldn't even stay in the room; he was handsome, and there was no doubt in Harry's mind that he could find a willing body to share a bed with elsewhere in the hotel.

The thought made Harry grimace, and he wasn't sure which he would prefer. He wouldn't get any sleep either way. Either he would have Tom beside him, or he'd spend the night obsessing over where—and with who—Tom was.

"Putting the chairs together wouldn't be comfortable," a quiet voice told him, and Harry startled. He hadn't even heard the door open. He looked over, just as Tom closed the door behind him. "And it's not very sensible either. I know you're small, Harry, but you're not that small."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry replied, turning his head back to the window, to try and avoid Tom seeing the pinking of his cheeks.

Tom hummed, and it was such a familiar sound, it made Harry's chest ache. "Have you been here long?"

"About ten minutes," Harry replied. "I should go and find Hermione, though. I'm sure she's got ten thousand jobs waiting for me to do." He got up from the chair and walked towards the door, cursing Tom inwardly when he didn't move away from it, leaving Harry to skirt around him so that they didn't touch. "I'll see you later."

"See you later," Tom echoed softly, just as the door closed behind Harry.

Pressing his head against the wall of the hallway for a moment, Harry sighed. This was going to be an unmitigated disaster.

…

The bar was emptying quite rapidly.

Hermione and Lucius had already retired for the evening. They weren't bothering to follow the tradition of spending the night apart; Hermione had admitted to Harry that neither of them slept well when separated, and she'd much rather get a good night's sleep than follow that particular tradition.

Harry ran a finger around the rim of his glass. He wasn't drunk; he'd switched to lemon and soda water after his first couple of drinks, because he wasn't stupid. While he'd have absolutely loved to have gotten black out drunk in order to avoid the awkwardness of sharing a bed with his ex, he knew that he was an affectionate drunk, and that was absolutely the last thing he needed.

Though, perhaps if he had gotten drunk, he'd have been able to sleep sitting up in one of the chairs and avoided the bed altogether.

"I'm heading up to the room, are you coming?" Tom asked, leaning against the bar beside Harry.

He'd been chatting with some friends of his and Lucius' across the room all night, and Harry had been spared the awkwardness of people talking to him as though they were still together. Regardless of that, all of the tension in him had come back full force the very moment Tom had appeared beside him.

"In a minute," he replied softly, nodding to the glass that was still half full.

"I'll wait for you," Tom offered.

Harry shook his head. "It's fine. You'll be showering anyway, right?"

Tom had always showered at night, whereas Harry preferred to shower in the morning. Another thing he hated himself for remembering.

Tom stared at him for a long moment, and then nodded. "I'll see you upstairs then."

Harry watched him walk away, and then sighed to himself. It was going to be a long night.

…

Stripping out of his clothes, Harry listened to Tom puttering around in the bathroom. The shower had turned off moments ago, and it wouldn't be long before the man joined him in the room.

In the bed.

Glad that he'd thought to bring pyjamas, instead of sleeping in his boxers, which was his usual preference, Harry was dressed and beneath the covers by the time Tom left the bathroom. He'd turned to face the wall, away from Tom's side of the bed, and he was lying as close to the edge as he could without falling out.

He closed his eyes and focused on keeping his breathing steady and slow, even when he felt the bed dip as Tom sat down.

There was movement for a while, as Tom got himself comfortable, and then light clicked off, plunging them into darkness. Harry tried to ignore that Tom had used the same body wash he'd always used before, but it was hard.

The scent of it ignited something in Harry the way it always had, and he had to try and force himself to calm down. It was like a pavlovian response, and Harry wanted even as he didn't.

"Goodnight, Harry," Tom whispered into the dark.

Harry didn't reply. Instead, he listened to their breaths in the otherwise silent room. He didn't know how long he lay there, unable to sleep. Tom shifted a few times beside him, and Harry wondered if he was asleep.

He'd always slept like the dead when they were together, he barely moved through the whole night. He really wasn't used to Tom being so fidgety.

Harry was just drifting off to sleep when he felt a hand on his back, the mattress dipping as Tom rolled towards him, sliding a heavy arm around his waist. He pulled Harry back against his chest and buried his face against the back of his shoulder, sighing contentedly as he stilled.

Harry swallowed hard. He knew that he should wake Tom, should maybe even reprimand him to stay on his own side of the bed, but he'd missed this.

So much.

He'd missed Tom.

He could feel himself relaxing into the hold. He'd always felt safe in Tom's arms, like nothing could possibly hurt him if only Tom kept hold of him.

He'd always been possessive and protective, and while some of his friends had asked him how he didn't suffocate under Tom's gaze, Harry had always loved it.

But then, so had the woman he'd slept with while Harry was visiting his godfather.

The reminder made Harry shift, and he tried to pull out of Tom's grasp, but his balance on the edge of the mattress was already precarious and Tom was showing no signs of letting go.

Pushing the darker thoughts aside, Harry gave into the feeling of being back in Tom's arms, and leant back against his chest. He closed his eyes and relaxed once more. It was late, and he had to get some sleep if he was to look acceptable for Hermione in the morning.

If he showed up with bags beneath his eyes big enough to hold a week's shopping, she'd be furious with him.

Trying not to think about how much it would hurt when he left the hotel without Tom to cuddle at night, he let himself drift off to sleep.

…

The wedding was as beautiful as Harry had known it would be, and he watched on with pride as his best friend married the man she loved.

If he shed a tear or two, well, he wasn't the only one.

He forced himself to smile for the photos, not wanting to ruin her day, even when she requested a photo of Harry and Tom together. She'd given him an apologetic look, at least, but he knew her, and he knew that she was a stickler for perfection.

Honestly, he wouldn't have complained anyway. She'd been through a lot to get to this day, and he was truly happy for her; he'd do anything to keep her happy.

He was happy enough for her that, when she dragged him onto the dancefloor, he went willingly. Mostly.

"How's it going with you and Tom?" she asked, the minute they were amongst the crowd.

He frowned, spinning her out before he pulled her back in. "There's nothing between Tom and I anymore, you know that."

"He didn't cheat on you, Harry," she said softly. "Lucius has been trying to figure it out, and he finally got the full story yesterday. The woman, he'd been with her before, years ago. She threatened to blackmail him, and when he refused to play ball, she came to you instead, and told you that it had happened recently."

Harry shook his head. "It doesn't matter anymore, Hermione. There was time for Tom to tell me the truth. I asked him about it more than once. I didn't just leave him; I didn't want to leave him. He never even denied it."

"Maybe he wanted you to trust him," she suggested, but she looked unsure. "The way he looks at you, Harry. It's… he adores you."

"Then why didn't he fight for me?" Harry asked. Then he shook his head. "We shouldn't be talking about this. It's your wedding day! Happy thoughts, Hermione."

She chuckled, and shook her head at him. "It is my wedding day."

"Oh my god, you're married," Harry said, blinking. "Bloody hell, we're getting old!"

…

"I spoke to Hermione earlier."

Harry glanced over at Tom. They were back in their room, having left at the same time. Harry was struggling to get his shoes off; he'd had considerably more to drink than he had the night before.

"Can we just not do this?" he requested. "I don't want to end the night by fighting with you over things best left alone, Tom."

"I don't think we have a choice," Tom replied, walking towards the chair where Harry was sitting. He perched on the edge of the other armchair, leaning closer to Harry than necessary. "Because you're going to leave here tomorrow, and I have no idea when I'm going to see you again."

"You don't need to see me," Harry burst out. "We're over, we have been for months. What could you possibly have to—"

"I didn't sleep with her when she told you I did. I slept with her before I ever met you, and when she wanted more, I told her no and walked away. Before I met you, that was the way I did things, Harry. Relationships were… for other people. When she heard that I was with you, she… Well, let's just say that she wasn't very happy about it."

Harry, having finally managed to get his shoes off, sat back in his chair and pulled his legs up, wrapping an arm around them. Apparently, they were having this conversation whether he wanted it or not.

"She told me that if I didn't give her fifty thousand, she'd make you leave me," Tom continued, shaking his head. "I scoffed at her, Harry. I told her to fuck off. Nothing she said to you could make you leave me, we were solid, weren't we? You wouldn't believe that I'd cheat on you, because you knew that you were the only one for me. Hadn't I told you that a thousand times?" Tom looked away. "And then you asked me if she was telling the truth."

Harry swallowed hard. "What would you have done, if someone came to you and told you that I'd slept with them?" he asked, his tone soft. "What would you have done, if they came to you, and described the birth mark on my inner thigh, and the decor in the bathroom that's only accessible through the bedroom that we shared. Would you have immediately known that they were lying? Would you not have even questioned it?"

"Harry, I—she knew the bathroom decor?"

Harry nodded. "She even knew the brand of hair gel that was in there. My hair gel, Tom."

"I… you didn't tell me that," Tom murmured, frowning slightly. "That's an even bigger issue, because it's a security problem. She shouldn't have been able to get in the house—she shouldn't have known anything about the bathroom. Even when I did have sex with her, it wasn't at the house."

Harry just shrugged. He was tired, and he really just wanted to go home and pretend that the time in the hotel hadn't ever happened.

"Harry, I didn't sleep with her. I haven't even looked at anyone since the day I met you."

Harry blinked. "Even since we—"

He cut himself off, because he didn't want to know. Why did he even ask that?

"Not since that very first day," Tom swore.

Harry almost didn't want to believe him, but he did .There was so much sincerity in his voice, and his eyes looked pained in a way that Harry had never seen before.

He bit his lip, and then shook his head. None of this mattered anymore and she shouldn't let it. Tom should have had this discussion with him months ago, when it happened.

"It's late, and we've both been drinking. We should just… go to bed."

Tom stared at him for a long moment, and then sighed. "As you wish."

…

His head was pounding. He hadn't even opened his eyes to the hell that was the morning light, but he already felt awful. Like a whole band had taken residence in the front of his head, and they were practising heavy metal music.

He blamed that feeling for not realising that his pillow was moving until he'd been awake for about five minutes.

Pillows weren't supposed to move.

He forced his eyes open, and then winced, because why was it so bright? Okay, it wasn't actually that bright, but still. It felt like it was. It didn't take him too long to realise that the reason his pillow was moving was because he was using Tom's chest as his pillow.

He also had one leg thrown over Tom's thigh, and his arm over his stomach.

Apparently, Tom wasn't the only one that migrated across the bed when he was asleep.

Shifting, Harry looked up to see that Tom was already awake and watching him.

"Sorry," he whispered, attempting to pull away from where he had a good hold on his ex-boyfriend. Tom's hands stopped him, gentle but firm, one on the back of his head, and the other on Harry's arm.

"Don't be," Tom replied. "It's still early, you should go back to sleep. You'll feel better when you wake up."

"We've got to be at the brunch—"

"It's not for hours yet," Tom promised. "Go back to sleep, Harry."

Harry thought about refusing, he really did, but he was comfortable, and Tom's fingers were moving in his hair, against his head, and were doing wonders for his headache.

He closed his eyes and relaxed, falling back into a doze, his fuzzy focus on Tom's hands.

He was playing with strands of Harry's hair and occasionally massaging his head with one hand, and drawing nonsensical patterns on Harry's arm with the other. It felt so good, and Harry felt oddly guilty for enjoying it so much.

When he woke up again, a little while later, Tom was still awake, but his hands had stilled.

"Do you remember what I said last night?" he asked, when he felt Harry shifting again.

Harry nodded. "I wasn't that drunk, Tom."

"And yet, you remain firm that we must stay separated, despite knowing that neither of us have done anything wrong?" Tom asked. "Why are you insisting on punishing us both, Harry?"

"It's not about punishment," Harry said, pushing himself upright in the bed, the sheets falling to his waist. "It's… you didn't even deny it. How can you say that you love me when you're not even willing to fight for me?"

"Would you have listened, had I denied it at the time?" Tom asked, arching his eyebrow. "As I remember it, you were quite certain that Bellatrix was telling the truth."

Harry sighed and rubbed a hand through his hair. "I need to go and get a shower. How long do we have until brunch?"

"An hour," Tom said, looking away.

He looked frustrated, and Harry bit his lip, feeling bad. He wasn't trying to frustrate Tom, he just… he wasn't sure he trusted his own judgement anymore.

Sharing a bed, sleeping wrapped around Tom, even just being near the man in general, had reminded Harry of how strong his feelings were for Tom, but Harry wouldn't be anyone's doormat.

He couldn't just pretend like nothing had happened. Tom should have told him the truth back when it happened. He should have fought for Harry.

It would be so easy to ignore his own doubts, to kiss Tom, and just give in and go back to him, but he just didn't know if he should. He didn't really know anything about them anymore.

Leaving the bed, he grabbed his wash bag and some clean clothes, and locked himself in the bathroom. He just had to get through today, and then he could go home and… and be on his own, he supposed.

Tom-less once more.

The idea didn't fill him with any kind of joy.

…

"He's fired. He had better hope that he never crosses my path again, Rabastan, I suggest you tell him as much. Only my respect for you is keeping me from coming after him with the full force of my lawyers."

Harry frowned slightly as he left the bathroom. Tom was on the phone, already dressed, and looked absolutely furious.

Harry was almost packed by the time he ended the call and threw his phone on the bed with somewhat excessive force.

"Are you… okay?"

"Bellatrix had been sleeping with Rodolphus, one of my security team. Rabastan's brother, I'm sure you remember him?"

Harry nodded. He did remember Rabastan—the two of them had shared their amusement of how protective of Harry that Tom could be.

Tom ran a hand through his hair. "That's how she got access to the bathroom. She visited him when he was on duty at the house, and… well, I'm sure you can fill in the details."

"I… oh."

Tom just looked at him. "Harry, I…" He shook his head. "I am not a man who gets refused often. You… When you questioned me, I reacted badly, and I lashed out at the lack of trust, but I should have talked to you. I should have been… better. I'm sorry."

Harry nodded, not really sure what to say. Hadn't this been what he'd wanted for months? He didn't know what to do now that he was finally getting it.

"I love you," Tom continued, stepping towards Harry. "I have loved you since the very first day I saw you at Lucius' engagement party, and I haven't stopped. If anything, I love you more now than I did then."

He reached out a hand for Harry, and after only a minor hesitation, Harry slipped his hand into the offered one.

"I suppose there's something to the adage that absence makes the heart grow fonder," Tom murmured, tugging Harry closer, gently, always gently. "If there's a way that you'll take me back, I need you to tell me, Harry, because living without you is untenable."

"It's not that I don't love you," Harry admitted. "It's not that I don't want you, or that I don't want to believe you. I don't trust myself anymore. I believed her, and maybe I shouldn't have, but you didn't give me any reason not to. What happens the next time a crazy ex shows up?"

"I like to think that I learn from my mistakes, Harry. It won't happen again," Tom said, and it sounded like a promise.

Harry leant into Tom's hand when he cupped his cheek, and stared up at him for a long minute.

"A date?" he offered. "I'm not saying that we have to start right back at the beginning, because that would be ridiculous. I love you, and I believe you love me too. I just… I can't move back in. Not yet. We should… we should date."

Tom nodded, and then his lips tilted up as he looked down at Harry with affection. "Do I have to wait until that date to kiss you?" He asked, as his long fingers traced Harry's cheek. "Because it's been entirely too long since I've kissed you, Harry."

Harry smiled slightly, and then pressed up on his toes to press his lips to Tom's.

When they parted, Tom pressed their foreheads together.

"I love you, Harry Potter."

Harry's smile widened, and he pressed a second kiss to Tom's jaw. "I know. I love you too."