He was warm. Floating in it. Surrounded by it. Warm, relaxed, and calm. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so at peace.
Come to think of it...he had never felt such a sense of well being before.
Harry rested in a place of soft dreams. He could think of no other way to describe them. They weren't quite right, almost not there. Fuzzy impressions of his friends, of the times they had spent together. Eating ice cream on hot days. Playing impromptu games of Quiddich. They were easy and ephemeral. Flowing one into the next, leaving him feeling happy and complete.
It went on and on, until a hand rested on his shoulder, pulling him from their muzzy hold.
"Harry." The voice was soft, deep. Familiar. Though it took him a moment to realize who.
"Tom?" Harry blinked up into bright umber eyes, golden from the hint of sunrise. "Wh-where..." They were in a forest, resting on a pile of pillows and blanket by a stream. The sun appeared to be just rising. How long had they been there? Why was it so warm, so quiet?
Tom smiled, taking Harry's elbow, he helped him sit up. "This is a dream, Harry. Don't you remember?"
Yes...now that Tom said it, he did. "I was having a bad dream," Tom nodded, "you showed up and changed it."
"It's time to wake up, now." Tom said instead of commenting on his swooping into Harry dream to turn it upside down. As though that were normal for him. He just smiled, leaned back and said "Wake up." With such command that Harry did, in fact, wake up.
He blinked up at the windowed ceiling. Fish scuttled over his head, not a soul moved around the room. Harry sat up, crawling to the end of his bed he pushed the curtain back just enough to see the clock across the room. It was early still, though if he were an early riser he might wake at such a time.
Was it real? Was Tom awake now too. He probably did rise at this hour...it was madness, but Harry could envision it so.
He let the curtain fall back into place and slumped back into the covers. Tom Riddle had come to his aid. Again. It was one thing to step in and help someone with a quick fix, like he had with the Room of Requirements. It was another to follow someone into a dream to alleviate their distress.
Harry had a connection with Voldemort. He may want to deny it, but after everything with the Department of Mysteries, the months of shared dreams, of Voldemort's emotions leaking into him, he couldn't. He had thought, though, that such a thing would not follow him to the past. He had been here a while now and nothing that Tom felt or did reached him. They hadn't shared dreams before. There wasn't an exchange of emotions....right?
Harry rolled over, burying his face into his pillow. He couldn't figure this out...he had no explanation for the connection before falling into the past, he certainly didn't have one now. But it was easier to focus on that than to remember that Tom had seen one of his nightmares...what had the dream even been about? He could only remember the beach, the sense of panic. It was still mortifying to have been caught in such a state from someone so...so Tom!
Someone rose from across the room, yawned loudly and headed for the bathroom. The rest of the room would begin to rouse too. He might as well get up now since he was already awake.
Tom's shoes were gone from the rack when Harry slipped on his own. He probably got up early so that he was the first one to leave. If there was one thing that could be said about Tom Riddle, as Harry was learning, it was that he took his role as Head Boy very seriously.
The crowd in the Great Hall continued to throw Harry. Every time he entered to see the milling masses, having to weave and push his way to his table, he was struck again by how vastly different this point in time was. He fell onto the bench next to Alphard with a relieved sigh. A quick glance down the table showed him Tom, in conversation with a girl in Ravenclaw colors. Harry hurriedly turned away.
Good. It was good he was busy. It meant Harry didn't have to worry about whether he should get up to go ask him about the dream. It was probably nothing anyway. What would he even say? Oh hey, Tom, did you happen to walk into my dream last night? No? Well okay then, please don't think I'm crazy!
Harry quickly scooped...something, into his plate and put the dream out of his mind.
Everything went as it should after that. Which wasn't hard to believe. This was the past, not Harry's strange little pocket of Hogwarts. Where something as big as sharing a dream with Voldemort meant he needed to rush off to Dumbledore, or someone, and find help for some poor soul who was about to be murdered.
In the past, it seemed, sharing dreams with Tom Riddle just meant he got the best night's sleep in literal months.
It was a crazy, messed up world....and Harry should just enjoy it.
Tom was never alone that day, Harry couldn't help but notice. Tom was tall, and while Harry was shorter than normal, it was easy enough to pick Tom out of a crowd...so long as Harry wasn't stuck within it.
So he stood in the doorways. He climbed on top of the benches in the courtyards. He peered down the table at lunch and dinner. Each and every time Tom was entranced in, no, he was entrancing another, in deep conversation.
Even in the common room Tom was never not busy. He helped people with homework as he worked on his own. When that was finished he held some sort of court by the fire. Harry would have gone over and asked him if they could speak, but when he got near enough to their chairs that his destination was obvious, Abraxas Maloy stared him down as though wishing he could set Harry aflame with thought alone.
So he had thought better of it. It was nothing, it had to be nothing. Tom hardly looked his way all day, and if one happened to wander into the dream of another, surely they would want to ask that person about it.
So it didn't happen.
Harry went to sleep as he normally did. Or well, he tried to go sleep as he normally did. He tossed and turned and dug his way so deeply in his covers it was a wonder he hadn't managed to fall inside the mattress. Suddenly he was oddly energetic. Nervous. It fizzed down his nerves.
What if it happened again?
What if it wasn't Tom doing anything, or their connection, or whatever it was? What if it was just Harry, having odd and incredibly comforting dreams about Tom Riddle.
Would that be worse? Better?
He was so sure that sleep would not come. How could it? He was too worked up trying to figure out what it could mean if Tom Riddle featured in his dreams all on his own.
Then he blinked....closed his eyes for a second and a sensation, warm and dizzying came over him. When he opened them he was back in the forest. Back on the pallet of blankets and pillows. Bubbling stream flowing slowly before him, the soft twitter of birdsong. A warm fragrant breeze rippled his hair, tugged insistently on his robes. They were a lovely jade green, he noted...Harry didn't have robes this color.
"Hello, Harry."
He whipped out around, in his body, in his real body, it probably would have hurt. In a dream, it was just a quick thought and then he was looking at Tom.
He sat where he had the night before, his pile of pillows smaller than Harry's. The golden sun, either setting or rising, he couldn't tell, limned Tom's face perfectly. As though it had only risen at all be highlight his pleasing features.
"Tom?"
Tom just smiled.
"This is a dream," Harry said, a lot more certain this time. "I'm dreaming...of you for some reason."
Tom gasped, a hand pressed to his chest. "I'm wounded."
Harry humored Dream Tom with a little laugh. He stared out at the stream. "I've never dreamed of this place before, so why would I now? Two nights in a row...and why would Tom be here?"
"Because I like it here, and it's my dream, Harry. I'm just letting you in it."
Harry goggled at his smug, stupid face. "Your dream?" Letting him? Letting him! As though Harry had asked. He snapped his mouth shut when he realized it was open. "How...why?"
The how, really, was more important than the why in Harry's opinion. He could understand the why....sorta. Tom Riddle wanted to control the things around. It helped him to look good. Made sure he was always cast in the best light.
Literally!
Tom leaned back on his pillow and sighed, his gaze finally moving from Harry to the stream. "I really wish I knew."
"To which?"
"Pardon?" He tilted his head to Harry. Lazy, and at odds with his Head Boy persona.
"You know which, how or why?"
"Both, I suppose."
He didn't sound like this bothered him in the slightest. Harry sat up, looking down at him for a change. "You just wander into people's dreams and don't ask questions?"
"This is my dream, Harry."
"That's not an answer." Harry demanded, though he was oddly hopeful. Maybe it was just something that Voldemort could do. Dream walk. It wasn't anything special about Harry after all.
Tom sighed. "I don't know why I ended up in your dream yesterday, but I think it ended up being for the better, yes?"
"So, you really saw it?" Harry deflated a little.
"The beach, yes..." Tom was back to giving him a very sturdy and inquisitive look. "I didn't recognize it."
"It isn't important....why are you smiling?"
"Because you've never spoken this much to me before." Tom's smile was lovely, especially in the soft golden light. "You always seem so skittish when I'm around. Except that one time," Some impossible way Tom's smile became brighter, "When you were angry you shone, you were fearless."
Harry huffed, turning away from him. He didn't want to have any of these conversations with Tom. "So, what. Do you just swoop in when people are having nightmares to give them good dreams?"
"I told you, Harry, I didn't mean to end up in your dream. I've never done this before..."
Harry's heart swooped down into his stomach. Well, shit...he was rather counting on that...
"Why, has this ever happened to you before?" Tom sounded as though he were just curious, his facial features still showed mild interest and good will.
Harry couldn't believe that was it.
Images raced before his eyes faster than he could control them. A giant snake, lashing out and biting, again and again. Screams and blue light. The same twisted hall. Mr Weasley falling from that chair.
"No." It sounded like the truth. The bitter taste of the lie stuck to his tongue.
Tom hummed and turned back to the stream.
Silence fell between them...Tom seemed at his leisure but Harry was more on edge than ever. Would it be rude to ask to leave? It probably would be...though for the life him he wasn't sure what the hell he was supposed to do here. How had he been so at ease the night before.
Oh, right. Because hadn't known it was real!
"You can sleep, you know."
Harry jumped at Tom's sudden voice, he'd forgotten just how close they were. "What?"
"You can sleep here, like before. If you wanted." He motioned to the blankets and pillows with a careless wave, then shrugged. "Or not. You're still asleep, so you can actually do whatever you want. You'll still be rested when you wake up."
"Do you do this every night?" He somehow couldn't imagine it. It was too peaceful, cheery, of a place to have bred a Dark Lord.
"Yes." Tom said simply. It was easy and casual. Voice sturdy and sure and body relaxed.
Yet somehow Harry knew it was a lie.
"Okay." Harry said, turning away from him. He had lied, Harry had lied, they could both be good liars here together. In this strange little paradisaical forest that Tom had created.
They sat in silence for several minutes more. Tom seemed perfectly happy to sit there, doing nothing, but now Harry wasn't tired, probably a side effect of the dream. He didn't know what to do with himself. He was just about to get up again when Tom spoke.
"I always wanted to live near a place like this."
Harry sat back down, hard.
~~~
Harry settled back down, looking at Tom with open shock. As though he had just grown a full set of horns instead of making a innocent confession. "Is something wrong?"
"No, I just...wasn't expecting you to say that."
"And why not?" Tom rose a brow at him.
"Why tell me something like that?" Harry asked. It was a pretty good question, Tom supposed.
"You know I'm an orphan, right?"
Harry opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. He didn't seem to know how to answer. Tom helped him out.
"I know you are as well," he said as easily as he could, turning back to the spring, "I know how difficult it can be. Being alone. Especially here at Hogwarts."
Harry snorted, from anyone else it would have been uncouth, from Harry it was cute. "Yeah, I got that...Slytherin is really...er...concerned with family."
"It isn't just Slytherin, Harry. Blood purity is important among all the houses and all of the Wizarding World. If you don't want to be devoured, you need to learn that." Harry's only reply was to fidget some more, Tom laughed derisively. "You must have been pretty secluded living with your godfather if he didn't teach any of this to you."
"Something like that." Harry mumbled softly.
He was locking up again, turning small and quiet. Like he had in class. Like he was in the common room. Tom thought fast, this was the most Harry had ever spoken to him, the most he had ever focused his attention on Tom. Just Tom. He didn't want that to slip through his fingers so soon. He tried again...family might be off limits but what about...
"Do you play chess?"
"I...what?" Harry blinked his large jade eyes at him again.
"Chess, Wizarding chess, do you play." Tom wove a hand and there between them on the blanket was now a chess board complete with tiny animated figures. They all waved their little hands up at Harry, hopeful.
"Uh...yes." He said, a little unsure.
"Then lets play," Tom sat up, with a though he rearranged the board, white facing Harry, "you go first. I insist."
Hesitantly, and with many looks at Tom to make sure he was serious, Harry took up a pawn and made the first move.
Something sharp, frozen, and dark inside of Tom thawed, just a little bit.
~~~
Harry was okay at chess. He was no Ron, but against a regular player he was good enough. Tom, of course, was not your regular player. He was good. Very good. Better than Ron, probably. There was no way Harry was going to win against him. But game after game he gave it his all. They played, they talked about little things like the weather and other dull topics, and Tom would win. Each time he reset the game with a wave of his hand. He probably didn't need to wave it, it was a dream after all. But it was clear he enjoyed the gesture. The show of it all.
Every time the game reset, white pieces in Harry's court, black in Tom's.
"You won, you should be white this time." Harry had said the first time.
"I told you," Tom said with a small smile, "I insist." And that was all he would say on it. Harry didn't bring it up again.
At some point Tom announced that the night was over, it was time to wake up. Harry didn't know what tipped him off. The sun never moved in this place. Time seemed to stand still. But as soon as he said it Harry found himself blinking up at ceiling above his head, early morning light just brightening the waters.
Harry threw back the curtain, no one was up yet just like the day before. Unlike the day before Harry didn't wait, didn't question the situation. He was rested, even though, for all purposes, he spent the night awake and playing chess. He simply grabbed his pack of toiletries and prepared for the day.
The day went exactly how it had before...perhaps exactly as it had since the term had started. Tom was too busy to do more than catch Harry's eye at breakfast, giving a small wink before turning to address another student, Hufflepuff that day. Every other time Harry saw him he likewise was held in some sort of conversation or watching the masses with great intent. As though constantly ready to lend a hand or quell an argument, whatever might be needed of him.
It was possible that was just how Tom's days were. Maybe he spent all day preforming as Head Boy between classes, and the perfect, diligent student during them. And in the evenings he helped kids with their homework and ran the common room with an iron fist.
It sounded exhausting.
When the hell did he find time to do all of that and become a budding dark lord?
That evening Harry was back in Tom's dream, the chess board laid out once more. White facing Harry, black towards Tom. Without a word of greeting, or any comment on the day, Harry made the first move, and waited.
Tom smiled, wolfish and sharp, and moved a piece of his own.
Days passed in this fashion. Harry woke, well rested and ready for the day. Which seemed to go better than the weeks before. Perhaps it was the dreams, or just that Harry was finally sleeping, but he hadn't felt so good in a very long time. Before he knew it the weeks and seasons were passing. The days growing colder, wetter. His evenings filled with study, long baths, and pleasant dreams. For a long time Harry just was. Happy. Content. And worry free.
For the most part.
"Is this how it was set up last night?" Harry asked, squinting down at the board. He had just entered the dream, Tom, of course, was already there, their game from last night still set out. Only...
"Of course it is." Tom said, easy and cheerful.
The liar.
"You only had one of my Bishops last night." Harry glared at him, arms crossed over his chest.
"Is that right?" Tom asked smoothly.
"Yes."
"Silly me," he said, not sounding at all remorseful as he plucked one of the little ivory bishops up and placed it on the board. Right in the spot it should have been. The chess piece mimicked Harry's poster, glaring at Tom with all his tiny might. "I guess I must have forgotten."
"Sure." Harry huffed, he wasn't actually mad, he had to fight a smirk as Tom took his move. He was going first tonight, but he wouldn't be taking Harry's bishop on the first move.
Harry made his move and waited. Tom enjoyed taking his time, drawing out his moves as though he were really putting thought into them. Harry knew he did it for his benefit, he wasn't so good that he could give Tom Riddle a run for his galleons...yet.
Watching Tom, as it turned out, was a good way to learn.
"You know," Tom said lazily, making his next move, "You could join me in the waking world sometime."
Harry blinked up at him, Tom had stretched out over his side of the blanket, his focus still on the board. "Join you?"
"Yes. By the fire, in the library, at dinner. You don't have to eat exclusively with your year."
"Everyone else does..." Harry tried to set his focus on the board again.
"They do tend to, though it isn't a rule or anything."
Harry snorted, "Didn't feel the need to add that one?"
"It's important for people to be able to make their own choices. Don't look so surprised, Harry," Tom laughed lightly, "I know there are a lot of rules, but you have to admit that if you hadn't been wandering around alone you most likely wouldn't have been attacked that once."
Harry shook his head, finally making his move. "It's probably best that I don't...your friends don't seem to like me very much." Abraxas' ire could be Harry's imagination. If it wasn't for the fact he'd grown up around another Malfoy and had learned their many looks of anger, hatred, and disappointment all too well.
Tom waved his hand as though banishing the thought, "Don't mind them. Purebloods are....slow to change."
Harry bit his lip in worry, they were close to topics of conversation that Harry really wanted to steer clear of. In the weeks of their nightly games they had managed to not talk of anything of consequence. Harry had figured that Tom must like the distraction. He was rather, horrendously, overworked in the waking world, controlling his dreams like this was probably the only time he ever really let go of his Head Boy persona and relaxed. Keeping the conversations light and strictly on school work, the changing weather, and the game before them.
Now though.
There was plenty of talk in the common room. Younger students who would ask questions of older students, and Harry had over heard numerous times the Tale of Tom Riddle. He was the Heir of Slytherin. He had come into the school nameless and alone, only to prove that he not only belonged with them, he was meant to lead them. It had been his parseltongue at first, the thing that set him apart and above the rest. Then the stories were either vague or so outlandish that Harry often just ignored them.
He was nearly 100% sure that Tom had never ridden a dragon into battle and came back with the head of a giant. It was...ludicrous. If rather hilarious. If he were being honest.
"Harry?"
Harry jumped and hastily moved a piece across the board, he didn't even see what it was.
"Well that's...an interesting move." Tom said in good humor.
"I'm not...you know...a pureblood." Harry said suddenly. He couldn't really say why, only that he wanted, needed, to see what Tom might say at the confession.
For as much as he was enjoying his time in Tom's dreams...he couldn't, shouldn't, forget who he was actually talking to.
Tom looked up at Harry's mumbled words, a perfectly sculpted brow raised, "I hadn't thought that you were."
"Oh?"
"Of course not, if you were we would have heard about you before. You look like one, but, your name."
"Right...my name." Harry fisted his hands into the folds of his robes, "My f-father was muggleborn. My mother was a pureblood."
Tom nodded, "I thought something of the sort. What was her maiden name? Maybe you have relatives here."
Harry shook his head and spoke quickly. "I'm not interested in making family connections. She was pretty far removed from her family anyway...I think...I never got to ask her about it. It doesn't matter."
There was a long pause, Tom stared at the board, he didn't make a move. "I never knew my parents either," he looked to Harry, eyes dark and intense, "there are ways of finding out after the fact, you know. Even if your parents are dead."
Harry shook his head again. "I don't care to know." He wanted to back out of this conversation right now. "It's your turn."
"So it is," Tom plucked up a piece and moved it.
They went back to benign topics after that. Harry steering the conversation whenever he thought Tom might be veering back to territory he wanted to avoid. Eventually Tom sat up, declaring the evening over. He gave Harry one last, linger look, something in his eyes, in the set of his jaw that Harry had trouble placing.
Almost like he wanted to say something, do something, but was holding back.
"I do hope you'll think about what I said, about joining me when we're awake."
"I'll...I'll think about it." Harry said softly under his piercing gaze.
"Good." And with that one word. Harry woke up.
~~~
Tom felt better, lighter, than had a in a while. Since the ritual, at the very least. Now that he was sleeping better his head was clearer. His plans for his final year were starting to take real shape. He was the top of every class, had received several missives from prominent members of the Ministry regarding his future. And was well on his way to securing another Horcrux.
One was good.
One was fantastic.
But one wasn't enough.
He had a contact, someone who had flushed out the last details he needed for such an endeavor. Using the accidental death of that girl had been good at the time. Resourceful, even. But he wanted something bigger, more meaningful, for the next. His contact wanted to meet at Hogsmead, which meant waiting almost another whole month for the information.
Tom could be patient. His plans had not really changed over the years, only grown and solidified. And with something of this magnitude.
Oh yes. Tom could wait.
He had never been one for idle down time. There was always something that he could prefect, or some thread that he could tie to himself for future use. Any free time was spent lending a hand when it was needed, be it a professor or student, it hardly mattered. There was always someone to win over, to keep close, to impress how much of a charming, helpful man Tom Riddle was.
It made for busy days, if often trying and repetitive. Necessities. The trials one had to endure for success. Tom had long ago learned the importance of such things. At least the moments he now took to rest did not feel like such a waste. His shared dreams with Harry could be looked at as another string tied to his web.
Sleeping, because try as he may to convince Harry to join him and his followers during the waking hours, he had yet to wander down their end of the table, or join them near the fire of an evening. Though every time Tom caught sight of him during the days, a small figure next the wildly flapping Alphard that was his constant shadow, he had always been busy either with his nose in a book or listening to something one of their peers had said.
It was at least some balm to Tom's roughened nerves that Harry was always looked after. Safe.
Weeks passed swiftly. Days spent in lessons and being the perfect Head Boy. Nights he spent basking in emerald green eyes and a bright smile. Finding his way into Harry's good graces had been something of a trial and error process. He kept to himself mostly, which made it difficult for Tom to just happen upon him in the common room. Alphard said he rarely spoke about much outside of lessons and, oddly enough, Quiddich. In fact, it had been hard for Tom to find topics on which Harry would gladly engage in when they dreamed together.
But, oh, when he did hit on something that Harry enjoyed, the differences were outstanding. Finding the right words to make him laugh, and he opened up like a blossom to the sun. Sometimes Tom would say something that would bring out Harry's sharp wit and wicked grins.
As well as their time together was going, he was never able to ilicit more than a, "I'll think about it," from Harry upon asking him to join Tom in the waking world.
Weeks turned into a month. Tom was a patient man.
That did not mean that it hadn't begun to wear on him.
September waned with a few sputtering rainstorms, giving way to a soggy October. Try as it might, the sun never seemed to stay out for longer than a breath of two at a time. Soon November would rush in with freezing winds and a barrage of storms, and the first Quiddich match and Hogsmead trip of the year.
It was the topic of much chatter as Tom lead the way back to the castle from the seventh year greenhouses. Even Abraxas was animated about the up coming events. What he would purchase at his favorite stores, what the out come of their match against Hufflepuff would be. He did not say these things to Tom. He knew better than to pester his lord with such trivialities. Instead he carried on the conversation mostly for the amusement of several girls in their class.
That was, until the girls turned their attention away from Abraxas' flowing blond hair and inane chatter to gaze with longing further up the grounds. It was Abraxas' sneer and low growl that drew Tom's attention more the flighty whims of the girls.
At the top of the next hill was a group headed towards the forest's edge. His eyes fell on Harry instantly. He led the group next to a nearly skipping Alphard, the rest of the sixth years huddled close behind them. It was chilly enough already that most had taken out their cloaks and scarves, even within the walls of the castle.
For a moment the two groups regarded each other, not used to meeting in such a way, before continuing on. Harry and Alphard had Care of Magical Creatures this hour, he had glimpsed it on Harry's schedules that first day. Sixth year, late October, dreary with sudden bursts of sunlight, there were a few shadow creatures that lived on the edge of the forest they could be going to observe. Not truly dark things, just animals that thrived in the chill, dark, and rain.
Beside him Abraxas was nearly vibrating with the urge to remain civil. He perhaps thought that he had been subtle in his dislike for Harry. The glares he's throw Harry's way, the snide comments he didn't think Tom knew he made. He had no way of knowing of Tom's deepening interest in Harry, only that Tom had once said he had found him interesting. That wasn't what held his tongue though. It was one of Tom's rules, never speak ill of a housemate out in the open. There were too many Ravenclaws around for Abraxas to make any of the little smug remarks about Harry that he had begun to mummer under his breath in the common room.
Tom smiled broadly, tipping his head towards Abraxas, prepared to say something mockingly jovial. Maybe something along the line of Abraxas needing to greet their fellow Slytherins. Something that Abraxas couldn't just ignore, something he would have to act on so as to not anger Tom. He had only opened his mouth to speak though when high pitched shriek echoed across the open field, pulling Tom's attention away from Abraxas' pale and pinched face.
On another rise, frolicking through the swaying dead grass, was two Thestrals. They pranced, almost dance like. One bowing low to the other before, with a flap of giant leathery wings they took off racing down the hill.
Beside Tom, Rosier stepped forward, he was the only one in the group besides Tom who would be able to see what was going on. Though the rest had quieted, following Tom's gaze to what they thought was just a bare hill. "I suppose they got out of their pin again." Rosier said, low, unaffected.
Tom hummed in agreement. Kettleburn was always loosing track of his creatures. Thestrals weren't anywhere near as dangerous as the more superstitious liked to think they were, especially the ones raised in captivity. They were docile. Nothing harmful or ominous about them.
"Well, that's interesting." Rosier wasn't watching the Thestral's any longer when Tom looked up, instead he was focused further up the hill. At the group of the sixth years.
For the most part everyone was still milling around, though now they were cutting their attentions from the hill where the Thestral were racing towards them, and...Harry.
Harry is the only one on the hill watching the beasts approach. Tom didn't even have to wonder if he could see them. It would explain some things. Harry's hesitance to speak of his past. The edge of sadness that always seemed to surround him. Any remaining doubt was wiped away when after a short conversation with Harry, Alphard exclaimed, "You can see them?" So loudly that the entire castle must have heard.
It's unclear what Harry's reaction was. He was so buried in his large velvet cloak that only the top of his pink cheeks showed, but soon enough he was separating from the group to continue his route to the forest. The rest of their group following at a slower pace. Some wistfully glancing in the direction they had last seen Harry look, not knowing that the Thestrals had long since passed.
"Yes," Tom said, low, thoughtful, "that is interesting." Gathering his own cloak close he began walking the path once more. "Come," he said over his shoulder, all but Rosier having remained frozen in their tracks. "We mustn't be late, now." The other's, of course, had nothing to do but follow, as slow and despondent as the sixth years were with Harry.
Harry. Was there a way that Tom could bring this up without pushing him away? A way to share some sort of burden together that would instead draw Harry closer? Tom had seen death outside of the girl who fueled his horcrux after all. The tragic death of growing up in a poor orphanage in a time of war and deprivation. Nights were cold, food was scarce. And medicine even more so. It did not matter that Tom had not been terribly effected by such things. The near constant crying in the night was marginally less disturbing than when it stopped. By morning there would one less child at the table for breakfast.
One less rasping cough in the crowed of fearful and sick children.
Tom had never feared though. He had never gotten ill. It was magic, he knew that now. Some powerful force within him that had kept such things at bay. But he could leave that part out. Tell Harry the rest. Show him more of himself than Tom had ever shared with another living soul.
It was with no small amount of...trepidation...awe...epiphany, that he realized he had already done so. In their nightly talks together Tom had slowly began to open up. Just as Harry had done for him.
Perhaps the most outstanding part of it all was that this was not at all upsetting to him.
He just wished he could figure out why...
The rest of the day was horrifically mundane in comparison. Classes came and went with nothing exciting to take his mind away from Harry and his grim past. Their grim pasts. Only a small scuffle in the hall between a Griffindor fourth year and a third year Hufflepuff girl gave him any respite, short lived as it was. It had been a disappointingly slow day. He didn't even feel bad retiring to the common room to read by the fire before dinner instead of making his usual patrol of the corridor outside of the library. It was always an anthill of activity this time of day. But Tom just couldn't find the motivation for it all.
He had just managed to lose himself in the pages of the book he'd chosen, Mapping the Wandering Soul by Owain Cadogan, when the door to the common was thrown open with a bang, a damp and disheveled Alphard storming in a moment later.
"Alphard!" Orion scolded, already snapping his own book closed and rising from his seat before had finished speaking. "What in the name of Merlin do you think you are-"
"Have any of you seen Harry?" Alphard asked hurriedly, stepping out of Orion's path. He was muddied and soaked through, his large dark eyes frantic as he looked from one of them to other.
"What do you mean, have we seen him?" Tom closed his book slowly and rose. Ice to Orion's fire. Alphard froze. "I told you to keep an eye on him."
Alphard swallow visibly. "I...I did, or, I thought I had. He was there in our last class I know! We were looking at some sort of magical moth chrysalis, and I know he was there..."
"And," Tom prompted in a low growl. He would not lose his calm, he would not blow up at Alphard for losing his...for losing Harry. He took a deep breath and said again, a little calmer. "And then what?"
"I...well I had practice," Alphard ran a hand thought his already messed up hair.
Red began to seep into Tom's vision. Quiddich. Alphard had neglected a direct order, his one task that Tom had set him, for Quiddich. "Orion, Abraxas, go look for him in the library. Rosier, Avery, search the Great Hall, maybe he's lingering there until dinner." They nodded as Tom gave out orders, turning as one to go fulfill them.
"Wha...what should I do?"
Tom rounded on Alphard, eyes blazing, if he had less control over himself, over his magic, Alphard would not have still been standing. "You will pray that he is unharmed," Tom said through gritted teeth, "because any harm that has fallen on him I will set on you threefold, do you understand?"
"Yes, my lord." Alphard voice was soft, shaky, as he averted his eyes and bowed to Tom, properly cowed.
Good.
Tom only stopped long enough to pull his cloak from the hook and slip on his shoes before sweeping through the door, slamming it shut behind him.
~~~
Thestrals. It wasn't often that one saw them outside of the start and end of the school year. Of course they were pinned somewhere on the grounds. Harry knew that well enough. He had never actually seen them like this before. Wild and carefree. Lovely in their oddness. They were so much more gentle and kind than people knew. Watching them dance and play as they were filled him with something...sad, but hopeful all at once.
Of course Alphard would notice him looking. Of course he would ask what was going on...He had seen Tom and Rosier look at the Thestrals as well. Not that that was surprising.
Harry had tried to walk away from Alphard's prying questions after that. He didn't want to talk about the Thestrals. He didn't want to talk about why he could see them. It was too complicated. Too painful. And as much as he had grown to like Alphard, it was not something he could ever see himself sharing with him.
Luckily class started as soon as they reached the forest. Professor Kettleburn was a spry man with shockingly white hair and mustache, and bright brown eyes. He could not seem to focus too much on learning that some of the Thestrals had gotten out and were now taking a joy run around the castle grounds, because a group of golden caterpillars had woven metallic chrysalis' in the night and he couldn't contain his glee at finding them.
Harry had looked on with the others, going so far to touch one softly as Kettleburn had instructed. He could, in fact, feel the little creature rolling around in the pod. It was...something...somewhere between fascinating and gross. He could now say he'd seen it, touched it. It was not, however, something that could keep his attention.
The day was chilly. Rainy. Gloomy. Harry only had his cloak, and though it was large and warm, he now wished he'd had the forethought back in the summer to get a pair of gloves and a scarf...something. Oddly enough it was warmer in the forest. Perhaps the trees cut enough of the wind, held enough of the sun's fading warmth. Either way, the warmth was nice, the class was dull...and there was a little hollow near the base of a large tree that kept calling Harry's name.
Slowly he broke away from the group to settle into the little divvet. It was just big enough to curl up in, and boy was it nice to just lay back for a few minutes. They had been standing around for fifteen minutes just listening to Kettleburn ramble on about how the moths would glow gold when they broke free in a few weeks. Harry could still hear everything just fine. Even when he pulled the hood of his cloak down over his eyes and snuggled further into it's massive folds.
He really needed to write to Jean-Loup and thank him for making his cloaks so warm a voluminous. That was the last thing on Harry's mind as he closed his eyes.
It was the sound of the rain that eventually woke him. Large drops falling on the leaves around him with such forceful racket that had Harry jerking out of his once peaceful nap. Harry was still dry, despite the current downpour. The wind had picked up and he was no longer as warm as he once had been. Crawling out of the little hollow Harry noticed for the first time the clearing was empty. The class must have long since dispersed. Which meant that Harry had missed anything else that Kettleburn might have said about the moths.
God he really didn't want to have to read anything on them, but it looked like he might need to. Leave it to Kettleburn to throw them a pop quiz on the damn things just because he thought they were neat.
Harry made to stand, but was tugged back down immediately. It only took a moment to realize he had snagged his robes on a small bush with black spiky limbs. He could probably pull away...and rip his robes. He really didn't want to do that. Now that he actually had nice clothing he wanted to make sure they stayed in good condition. So with a sigh he bent back down to begin the arduous task of untangling himself from the bush.
All around the forest things moved, groaned, cawed, and hooted. Twigs snapped, wind chuffed through the boughs. The forest was alive around him, as it always was when Harry had entered it. It was not usually something that bothered him. Then again, he had never really been in the forest alone before.
A branch snapped somewhere behind him, Harry whipped around as much as he could but there was nothing in the gloom that he could make out. How long had he slept? The forest was growing dark around him, luminous eyes began to peek out at him from the underbrush or a tall branch.
Harry didn't panic. He had his wand. He was one...two....maybe a handful twists away from freeing himself and then he'd leave. Nothing would follow him. He certainly didn't double his efforts, and only end up stabbing his fingers on the thorns, when the sound of something slithering over the fallen leaves joined the falling rain. Certainly not! And he didn't let out a surprised squeak when a shadow descended on him, wrapping around his body and....
It was not a shadow but two arms, pale hands that moved Harry's out of the way and went to untangling his robes with sure, swift movements. The body behind him was larger than his own. Warm and, oh.
Oh!
"Tom?" Harry asked, "Why are you in the forest?"
Instead of answering, Tom finished freeing Harry before grabbing him tightly by the elbows and nearly lifting Harry completely off his feet, away from the thorn bush and back towards the edge of the forest.
"Tom?" Harry asked again, but the only answer he got, beyond stormy brown eyes, was Tom gripping him by the neck and pulling him close as he marched Harry back to the castle. Part of him wanted to pull away, ask what Tom thought he was doing. But he was warm, some of Tom's cloak now covering Harry as well. And...as much as he would have liked to deny it, Harry had been a little worried back there. The forest really wasn't the best place to take a nap.
Duly noted.
Won't happen again!
So he allowed it. As well as the little bit of warmth to fill his chest that had little to do with the extra cloak and body heat, and everything to do with the fact that Tom had come for him. That he seemed genuinely upset that Harry might have been in danger.
He should have known that it was too good to last.
As soon as the door to the common room closed behind them Tom was rounding on him, dark eyes flashing, "Detention," he said, voice and body visibly shaking.
Harry gaped at him, "What?"
"I said, detention."
"Wha- you can't do that!" Harry spit back at him, "I haven't done anything!"
"I told you never to be out by yourself. You've been told, twice now. And still you chose to wander the forest alone!" Tom had gotten his body under control, but his eyes were still too bright, his voice still too high and heated.
"I didn't 'wander' the forest alone. The class left me." Harry crossed his arms over his chest and glared as best he could. "That does not count as breaking one of your little rules." He couldn't help the mocking tone that came out, he still thought Tom's rules for the house were idiotic, over-protective, and paranoid.
"You were attacked in the halls not a month ago, these rules are there to keep everyone safe. The other houses will not hesitate to pick us off one by one if they see us alone or divided."
Harry really couldn't argue with that. He wanted to, because as much as bulling was a thing in his time too, it had never gotten as bad as it so obviously was now. When things came to blows in his time both parties were usually fighting for a while. No one tried to strike down a lone student in the hall just because they felt like it.
That didn't mean it would always happen, or that it wasn't still paranoid. But...
Harry sighed, "I still didn't break your rules." He said flatly, "falling asleep and waking up alone does not equate wandering off on my own."
Tom's eye twitched, the rest of his face falling deadly still, "you," he said, softly incredulous, "fell asleep in class?"
Harry blinked at him, "Is that, ah...is that another one of your rules?" Judging by way Tom pinched the bridge of his nose and took several deep breaths, Harry would hazard a guess towards 'Yes!'
"Detention, Harry," Tom finally said, in calm control once more. When he looked up at Harry again there was nothing a great since of exhaustion about him, all anger having fled. "Sunday and Wednesday evenings in Professor Merrythought's classroom. She hasn't sorted through her files in nearly sixty years, I know she'll appreciate the help." And then he smirk.
Smirked! Like it was all great fun!
And just like that, Harry was angry again. Yes, he probably shouldn't have fallen asleep during class. And he should have been more aware of his surroundings so that if he had fallen asleep he could have woken up and left when the others. And he very well could have come to some harm in the forest alone. But he hadn't. And no one had seen him there and attacked. And no one needed to know that he had been anything but a perfect student during a very bored lesson.
But was there any way he could properly argue this with Tom? He already knew the answer was no. Tom ruled all of Slytherin. He had his rules and you either followed them or paid the price. It didn't matter a part of Harry understood. That Tom didn't even do a bad job of keeping the peace, that his rules had purpose. It had just been....an exceeding bad and trying day, and the last thing he wanted was to be yelling with Tom, smug and sure of himself, in the entryway to the common room.
Without a word Harry slipped off his shoes and threw his cloak onto the peg with his name before pushing past Tom. The whole common was silent. Every eye turned towards them and their little spat. Harry paid them no attention as he walked through, head held high, on his way to the sixth year dorms to draw himself a scalding bath.
It was Thursday...he had two days before his detentions started. Two day to gather himself. To forget this all happened before having to face reality again. He spent the rest of the evening soaking in too hot water. Chasing any linger chill away with bubbles and steam. By the time he had pulled himself out and gotten into bed the rest of the dorm was still, curtains drawn, lights snuffed out. Then another consequence made itself known.
Harry didn't want to see Tom in his dreams that night. He was still too emotionally sore from being marched back to the dorms like a child and given what he still felt was an undue punishment.
He laid there for a long, long time. Staring up at the gently undulating waves above him. Anytime his eyes began to droop he forced them open. It wasn't until the light above him began to change with the coming dawn that Harry allowed himself to drift into a light, fitful sleep. There were no rolling hills, no golden sunshine, or games of chess spread across blankets. Just dark, and cold, and the overwhelming sense that he was alone.