Harry was avoiding him.
It was rather hard to miss, even if Tom didn't suddenly find himself on constant alert for Harry's presence.
The night of their...confrontation, Tom wasn't really surprised by Harry's aloofness. He had sent Alphard to check on Harry when it was time for them to head to the Great Hall. Lacks, though he had been that afternoon in his Head Boy duties, Tom couldn't be late for dinner. Ten minutes after sitting down, two arguments, one at the Ravenclaw table and one from Griffindor had been quelled, and no fewer than five students had come over to ask menial questions of him, when Alphard had arrived. His feet dragging, refusing to meet Tom's eyes as he told him that Harry said he wasn't coming to dinner.
It was troubling...Tom was troubled. Which was not something he had been very often in his life. He told himself it was because Harry had not seemed to understand why Tom had been upset. That was why he was unsettled. It was obvious that Harry hadn't paid attention to the rules that first night. After all, wanting to go for a walk on one's own was one thing, but falling asleep in class! If anyone had seen it would have reflected poorly on the whole house. What if Kettleburn had noticed that one of his students had just decided to nap in the bushes? Losing house points would have been the least of their worries then!
No, Tom had been in the right, and Harry hadn't stayed around long enough to hear him out.
It couldn't last. One thing that Tom was quite certain of was that Harry was a forgiving and kind person. One so rarely saw such things in the pureblood crowd where every sentence had multiple meanings and no one spoke the truth to your face. Harry had been honest, at least on topics he had been comfortable in sharing with Tom. The topics he didn't wish to discuss would simply be met with silence. With Harry, it was the truth or nothing. Back stabbing and duplicity were not in his nature.
So, of course, he would soon forgive Tom their little spat, and perhaps not agree that the punishment was due, but accept it with the dignity befitting their house.
Still, by the time Tom was settling into his bed he couldn't help but feel that it hadn't been time enough. It had become his habit, after settling his mind and body, to reach within himself, to that place that lit up whenever he was near Harry, and follow it to the source. From there he would go to the meadow by the river, the chess set, the blankets, and Harry.
That night, try as he may, the connection would not form. Tom tried to rest after what left like the hundredth futile attempt to bring Harry into his dreams, going to the dark place where time and matter didn't exist. But rest never came. It was like those first few nights all over again. Something restless grated under his skin, prickled the back of his neck, raced through his mind on an endless loop.
He rose the next morning having gotten no rest at all.
No one would ever know it from looking at him. Tom Riddle would not let his appearance fall just because someone else was upset by something he had done.
He hadn't even done anything!
Other than save Harry from tearing his robes and give him a just detention for breaking house rules.
The image of Harry, crouching in the dark forest, struggling to free himself came unbidden to his mind. Along with it the sudden jump to his heart that had come with the view the first time around. Before Tom had seen that he was not injured, simply caught on a thorn bush. Relief, and yes, anger, had replaced the...he would not call it fear. Tom had never feared anything in his life, he certainly hadn't been afraid then. So, no, not fear. Concern, perhaps.
He banished the image from his mind as he combed his hair and left the dorm. It was a day as any other. He had students to guide and work to do. There were scuffles in the halls and professors to speak with about them. Fridays he had Defense Against the Dark Arts, where he informed Merrythought that Harry would be joining them on Sundays and Wednesdays for the foreseeable future.
Harry, unsurprisingly, said nothing to Tom as he sat next to him in what had become his usual spot. He was a fiery little ball of anger at Tom's side. Almost he could feel the resentment being thrown towards.
His imagination. Obviously. Though he couldn't for the life of him shake the sensation.
Fridays also brought Transfiguration. The bane of Tom's life. Not that he wasn't the top of the class. That he didn't succeed in record time for every little task Dumbledore set them. It wasn't even that Dumbledore never openly acknowledged that Tom was the lead. He couldn't lie when grading, he wouldn't stoop so low as to give Tom less than he deserved then.
It was the looks, mostly, that he would send Tom's way when he thought no one was looking. How he avoided Tom's person in class unless they had to interact with each other. Then there was always a teasing, nearly mocking tone to what he said.
Tom had done some things in life that Dumbledore didn't like. He would like Tom even less if he knew the whole truth. If he knew the things Tom wanted in the very near future he would probably try to have him arrested on the spot. That was hardly the point though. As far as Dumbledore was concerned Tom had given his little trophies back to their owners and never stuck a toe out of line since.
Yet he still looked to Tom as though expecting him to make a mistake.
In seven years he never had.
Eventually, blessedly, Friday drew to an end. All throughout the day Tom had tried to catch Harry's eye. In the Great Hall he had kept his head down. In the halls he had hidden behind Alphard. In class he just ignored Tom's greeting.
Tom was not, absolutely not, frustrated by this.
That night he meditated, relaxed, and once centered, reached for Harry.
Nothing.
As he had the night before he tried again. And again. And again. Over and over there was nothing. Tom didn't want to give up. He wanted to march into the sixth year dorm and force Harry to talk to him until he came to his senses and just went to sleep already. As he was fairly sure that Harry must be awake. Otherwise Tom would be able to find him. It had always been so simple before.
He didn't though. Instead he rolled over and attempted rest on his own. Harry couldn't keep it up. He would need to sleep at some point.
By the time Sunday afternoon rolled around he was very nearly to the point of finding Harry and shaking some sense into him. Tom hadn't seen him at all on Saturday. He wasn't in the secret room Tom had shown him before, he wasn't on the Quiddich pitch. And Tom couldn't wander off to try looking for him elsewhere.
Luckily, for Harry, he was in the common room that evening. If Tom had needed to send a search party out for him Harry would have found himself writing lines for the rest of the year! He didn't say anything when Tom told him it was time to go. Just rose from his spot on one of the sofas to sweep gracefully across the room to get ready.
Tom could admit it to himself that walking beside Harry through the torch lit halls was the most content and relaxed he'd been for the last few days. Even if Harry still refused to look at him. At Merrythought's door Tom stopped, hand on the latch to keep the door shut just a moment more.
"Harry," he said softly, not too sure what exactly he wanted to say. I'm sorry, didn't seem like the best option. He wasn't sorry.
Harry crossed his arms over his chest, defensive. His robes were red silk, they brought out the green in his eyes, highlighted the creaminess of his skin. Tom usually hated the color...he couldn't quite remember why.
"Yes, Tom?" Harry said after Tom's silence had gone on too long. His eyes were bright, but the hollows under them were too deep. His cheeks too pale. Tom suddenly wanted nothing more than to take it all away. Give Harry what little peace he could. And he was ready to in that moment. To apologize for something he had, just moments before, thought was the right thing to do.
Then the door slid forward and it was all Tom could do to keep from falling forward onto his face.
"Oh, Tom, there you are. Good, good," Merrythought stepped aside to let them in. She had evidently tired of waiting for Tom to arrive and decided to go find him. Though how she imagined she'd traverse the entire castle looking for him he couldn't fathom. "I seem to have worked myself into something of a disaster with this schedule, I need your help." She had already turned her back on them before she finished.
Tom looked down at Harry, at the hand he had fisted in Tom's robes. He must have grabbed at Tom when the door opened. Wanting to help steady him. Something in Tom's chest turned over, painfully warm and full. Harry released his robes with a little blush as he looked away.
"Come on, Harry," Tom said, gently leading Harry through the door, "I'll show you what to do."
~~~
Tom led him into Professor Merrythought's office. It was full of clutter, the trinkets and souvenirs of a well lived life. There was a fair sight more medieval muggle weapons that Harry would have thought. Swords, maces, a few quite intricately forged war hammers. He didn't get the chance for a better look as Tom stood him before a filing cabinet that took up an entire wall.
The whole wall!
Where the hell was he even supposed to start? He looked over at Merrythought who was handing Tom a stack of papers to shuffle through, she didn't look over at him...did she even know Harry was given the task of sorting through her ancient filings?
Probably not.
With a sigh Harry decided to start with the top drawer furthest to the left and work his way down. It took a few very strong tugs for the drawer to open with a horrendous screech! but he got it, and pulling a stack of dusty parchment from inside, went to work.
Twenty minutes later Harry was pretty sure he was losing his mind.
There was, in fact, nothing about these files that were in any sort of order. There were assignments
from the last week in the same cabinet as things handed in nearly forty years past, and no correlation between the two. Papers from the pop quiz they had taken last month was in the drawer with essays on bogarts from a third year class that probably had great grandchildren now.
He didn't know what to do. Tom had given him an impossible task. Literally, impossible! He sat in the middle of a sea of papers, now out of the confines of their dark prison they scattered around him, an army of yellowing pages that meant to snuff Harry out. He, covered in dust and far too exhausted to even begin to know how to handle any of it, just sat and stared into a far off distance.
"Well, what's all this, then?"
Harry looked up into the smiling face of Professor Merrythought. She was looming over him, leaning on her cane, her eyes sharp and glittering. "I-" he started, cleared his throat and tried again, "I...I don't know what's going on...I don't," he didn't know where to start...how he could finish this? Where could he even leave it for later? "I don't know how..."
Tom came over then to stand next to Merrythought and peer down at him. There was something of concern in his dark eyes, though the corner of his mouth twitched a bit. At least he wasn't out right laughing. Harry would have definitely hexed him then...whatever bonus detention he earned be damned! This was all his fault anyway!
"I suppose you were right, Tom, those files were a mess."
Oh good, at least she was aware there was a problem, suddenly hopeful, Harry said, "is there maybe...some of it that can go?"
"Go?" Her utter confusion sent Harry's poor heart plummeting.
"Y-yes," Harry said, softly hesitant as he reached for one of the papers closest to him, "like this one. An essay on how to protect yourself from, um, shadow gnomes, written by a second year in um...1919." The kid had consistently misspelled the word 'gnome' throughout the essay, the whole paper had received the lowest possible score due to 'shadow gnomes' not actually being a thing. And though a less addled Harry would have found it an exceedingly entertaining read, really the things this kid came up with for defense of these imaginary creatures, there was no reason that he could see for Merrythought hanging onto it at all. Let alone for some twenty odd years.
He hazard a glance at Merrythought, hopeful that she would see reason. But if anything she looked even more confused than before. Behind her Tom stood just out of her sight, a hand held over his mouth, eyes bright with merriment. And, oh yes, Harry was going to hex him later.
"If I may, " Tom said, having evidently put himself back together once more as he stepped beside Merrythought, "it's getting late, and all of this," he wove a hand at Harry and the mess of papers, "can wait until Wednesday. After all, he's done the hard part already." He laughed fondly, and though Merrythought didn't join him in it, she no longer looked like Harry had suggested they murder her children.
He would, perhaps, hex Tom a little less severely.
With a flick of his wand Tom gathered up all the papers and set them aside near the filing cabinets but out of the way. Harry picked himself up off the floor as Tom and Professor Merrythought wrapped things up at their little, over crowded table. He gave a few futile pats to his robes, imagining the cartoonishly large cloud of dust that would probably follow him for the rest of the night.
The way back to the dorms was as silent and awkward as their trip to Merrythought's office had been. Whatever Tom had been about to say before he didn't seem in a hurry to pick the conversation back up. Which was fine. It wasn't as though Harry wanted to talk to him or anything. What did he have to say anyway? Hey, thanks for giving me the worst possible detention. It was super fun swimming in a pile of dust and ancient papers. Can't wait to do it! So glad I don't have allergies!
When they returned to the dorm Harry threw off his shoes at the door and headed straight for the sixth year dorm and the baths. After taking a quick shower to wash off the dust he slipped into one of the large baths. It was always a little surprising that the others didn't use them as much as he did. Were they not aware of how much of a treat this was? That the other dorms...or well...Griffindor, didn't hace such luxuries?
"So...I guess it didn't go well?"
Harry looked up from the soft blue bubbles to see Alphard perched on his knees near the edge of the bath, giving him a very sympathetic look. He would sometimes come and check up on Harry when he had disappeared into the baths for too long. Stating his concern that Harry'd either drowned, or had grown a fin and gills. Harry had been quite uncomfortable with it the first time, now though, he was rather happy to see a friendly face.
Harry snorted into the bubbles, "you can say that again."
Alphard's lips twitched, though he did seem to be trying not to enjoy Harry's pain so much, "I told you, she's a barmy old bat."
Harry leaned back with a groan, resting his head on the side of the bath, "She hasn't touched some of those cabinets in years, other than to pile more useless papers in them."
"Did Tom say how long you have to do it for?" Alphard relaxed a bit as well, stretching his long legs out so he could face Harry better.
"No...but knowing him it'll probably be until the job is done...which will be never. Hey!" Harry perked a little at a sudden idea, "you wanna go flying tomorrow afternoon? You don't have practice right?" The Slytherin team had already been assembled in full at the start of the year, he could have still asked to try out as a backup, or possible replacement...but the idea of expending so much aggressive energy had not been appealing. Still wasn't, actually.
"I ugh...I'd love to but," Alphard rubbed the back of his neck, his shoulders slumped, "but I have detention..."
"What! Since when?"
"Since Friday. I erm...I told Kettleburn his moths were shiny garbage." Alphard gave a very strained laugh, "Yes, yes, complete garbage. Old bugger gave me detention everyday for the next month."
"But that's..." Insane. Unfair...not at all something Alphard would even do. He might grumble about class but he was never anything other than polite to their teachers during them. He feared Orion's wrath more than he hated learning.
"I know, but there isn't much I can do about it now."
"Yeah..." Harry slumped a little more into the hot water, suddenly weighed down by the day. Something wasn't quite as it should be...but he was too tired to properly care.
The days passed in the same bone weary fashion. At least Harry had been able to sleep for most of the week, even if his dreams were back to being dark, cold, and restless. He came out feeling marginally better than he had before sleep, which wasn't saying very much. Tom didn't try talking to him again, though he always looked seconds away from opening his mouth and saying something that would probably make Harry even more angry at him.
It was clear he wasn't sorry for his part in Harry's misery, and it didn't help that by the second Sunday Harry hadn't made much progress in his sorting. At least he would have a whole week until he had to immerse himself into the sea of crumpling parchment and dust. Wednesday was Halloween, and Dippet had so graciously declared that all detentions would be postponed so that everyone could enjoy the feast.
The day dawned, cold and stormy. Stepping out into the drafty corridors filled him such deep nostalgia. The Great Hall and entryway were decorated with giant pumpkins and autumn colored leaves that had been enchanted to fall and swirl around on their own. Thunder cracked all throughout the day. So forceful the castle shook, drowning out conversations before blinding light filled every room. The students all laughed and cheered at such a spectacle. But it was far too close to other Halloweens for Harry's taste.
Thunder so loud one could slip a troll into the school unnoticed. Fleeing back into the castle after Herbology, covered in mud and soaked to the bone reminded him far too much of a certain Death Day Party he had attended in a similar state. Alphard knew a spell to clean and dry his robes, 'because Orion,' was the only explanation he gave before setting himself and Harry to rights.
But even dry and warm, and frightfully weary Harry couldn't shake the gloom that had loomed over him the whole day. This was worse than when he first fell into this...timeline...world? He felt worse than when he realized he wouldn't be seeing his friends for a while. If ever again. Worse than starting a new year of school without them. Halloween was the anniversary of his and Ron's friendship with Hermione. It wasn't always the best of days for him and his friends, but they had always been together for it.
Nearly Headless Nick was still around somewhere, though the Great Hall was always so full that even the ghosts blended into the frey. It wasn't as though Harry could just walk up to him and start a conversation anyway. Just go, hey, we will know each other in about fifty years and I'm feeling kinda down, let's go celebrate your Death Day by sniffing moldy cheese....
Yeah, no...he'd pass on that.
Dumbledore knew him in the future and this Dumbledore knew he wasn't from this time, but he hadn't really had the opportunity to speak with him much yet.
Then that only left one other person he had any sort of connection to in his time, and well...He was still not speaking to Tom...and thoughts of their shared future did not help ease his sorrows any.
So when dessert was rolling to a close and Dumbledore rose to excuse himself from the staff table, Harry made to follow.
The Hall was a cacophony of yelling and laughter. Sweets were being passed around, a few students, all muggle-born, had magicked fantastical costumes and were parading around the hall to the jeers and cheers of their peers. No one noticed as Harry slipped down the aisle to follow Dumbledore through the little door near the staff table.
"Professor?" Harry called out softly, shutting the door and the noise of the Great Hall out behind him.
"Harry?" Dumbledore turned, startled confusion replaced by twinkling joy so quickly it was almost not there. As always Harry was struck by how young he was, how he wasn't Harry's Dumbledore. With his bright auburn hair, his smooth face. But he would be, there were things there already that nearly stopped Harry's heart to see. Close, but not quite.
Harry thought vaguely about turning around and going back to the feast, he hadn't eaten much, he hadn't been properly hungry in days actually. He really shouldn't be troubling someone who didn't even know him...No, no, he needed to talk to someone and Dumbledore was the only safe option.
"Let's go for a walk, shall we?" Fifty years younger and Dumbledore still knew how to read Harry like a book. With a small smile Harry nodded and followed Dumbledore out into the hall.
Thunder cut the silence between them as they walked the deserted halls, blinding bolts of lightning illuminated the path before them, so stark and harsh even the torches seemed dull in their wake. It was strange to not be led to the gargoyle but rather down the wing where the Transfiguration class was. Dumbledore's office was next door, smaller than the Head Master's office though no less warm and over crowded.
The furniture was a bit more cozy, over-stuffed chairs near a fire, piled with pillows and worn blankets. Dumbledore made a small attempt to tidy the chairs before motioning Harry to take one. He sat a little awkwardly, feeling silly all the sudden. So he was a little down, it probably had more to do with the weather than anything. He should go try to make the Room of Requirements into that sunny meadow again.
That sent a sharp pang through Harry's chest for another reason altogether.
"Lemon drop?" Dumbledore asked, Harry looked up to see him holding a crystal bowl of yellow candies.
Unthinking, he took one, "Thanks," he said softly, popping the sweet and sour treat into his mouth.
"Now," Dumbledore said, seating himself in the other chair with a soft sigh of relief, "What has you out of sorts, dear boy?"
Harry sucked idly on the lemon drop for a while, pondering over how best to answer such a question. "I suppose..." he started, staring into the fire to avoid Dumbledore's equally bright eyes, "I suppose I'm just missing my friends today."
"Aah," Dumbledore, leaned back in his chair, smiling wistfully, "It can be hard to enjoy special occasions when those dear to you are absent."
Harry nodded to the flames, "I guess I just didn't realize how special Halloween was for us until I couldn't celebrate it with them."
Dumbledore hummed at his words, seemingly content to simply let Harry enjoy his company and the fire. After several minutes of silence though he said, "I do hope you've been settling in well. I had meant to ask earlier, but-"
"It's fine," Harry said hurriedly, "Things have been...good."
"I've noticed you've grown close to Alphard Black. He's a good boy, cheerful."
Harry gave a little laugh, Alphard was far more than cheerful, he was boundless energy made flesh.
"And the rest of your house?"
Harry sighed, "They're fine. They've been polite to me, and Tom has been helpful..." he trailed off rather lamely. Dumbledore didn't like Tom, the rest of the Slytherins had told Harry that Dumbledore wasn't too keen on the house as a whole, though he had never seen any of this supposed prejudice in his classes.
"Tom Riddle?" Dumbledore asked in an overly casual way. Harry was not fooled.
"He's...not how I thought he would be." Which was partly true, he was prepared for charming and faux caring, he hadn't been prepared for whatever it was he and Tom had been sharing before their little rift.
"You knew of him before?"
Harry plucked nervously at his robes before he could meet Dumbledore's eyes, a little smirk curving his lips, "I could say, but that would be telling you about the future, wouldn't it."
Dumbledore chuckled, his bright eyes twinkling for real, "So it would be." He sat there for a while, simply smiling at Harry. "You know," he said, distant and thoughtful, "I often worried about him...Tom, I mean. I fear he is planning on taking a dangerous and foolish path in life."
Harry nodded, he too feared the same. Though it was hard to imagine Tom turning into the twisted form from Harry's nightmares. He wasn't that creature. Not yet. "A very wise wizard once told me that it was our choices that define us," Harry said softly, "Tom still has a few more big choices to make...I think."
"Hmmm," Dumbledore hummed thoughtfully, "Very sound advice indeed." They shared a little smile, then Dumbledore sat forward with a clap of his hands.
"Tell me, Harry, do you happen to like Quiddich?" And like that Dumbledore steered the conversation away from uncomfortable, or dangerous topics. He may not yet be the pillar of strength that Harry knew so well, but he was close. He still knew how to help Harry when he needed it, and he was once more so grateful to have Dumbledore in his life.
The night was long when Harry finally made it to his dorm. Dumbledore had kept him talking for hours, calling up tea, roast beef sandwiches and treacle tarts which Harry had eaten under his watchful eyes. Afterwards he had walked Harry down to the dungeons so he wouldn't get in trouble for walking the halls alone, by either another professor or Tom.
And so Harry found himself, full and drowsy in a completely empty common room. Evidence of a smaller celebration was all around him as he ghosted across the room, his stockinged feet barely a whisper over the floorboards. There were empty glasses next to pitchers of pumpkin juice and butterbeer, a pot of tea here or there, and a few sandwiches and cakes on trays. He found Gemma snoozing happily on a silver tray, the remains of what might have been cocktail franks wrapped in bacon scattered around her.
Harry lifted her up as carefully as he could, cradling her heavier than usual body to his chest. She stirred when he placed her on a warm flat rock under her tiny magicked sun.
"The tiny mice were especially good tonight." She hissed softly, curling up once Harry released her, "very crispy." She closed her luminous eyes with a happy hiss.
Harry smiled down at her, running a finger over the fine scales of her face as she fell once more asleep. "Glad to hear it, happy Halloween, Gemma." He left to get to rest, seeking out his own bed.
The dorm was dark and silent, not a single curtain moved as he entered and crossed the room. Stashing his robe in the bottom of the wardrobe and stared down at his bed. Cold...and empty.
That was what he had been feeling. Had been for days, the holiday just forced him to look it straight in the eye. He was tired.
Tired of not being able to rest.
Tired of being alone.
His shift didn't have pockets, so he had to carry his wand as he left the room. It wasn't far. Just at the end of the hall. He had always known where it was, though he had never had any reason to go further than the sixth year dorm.
It wasn't far, but it was such a daunting distance. He turned around to go back several times, almost made it all the way back to his room once. But no...he had made a choice...he wasn't going to pretend anymore.
Nothing happened when he placed his hand on Tom's doorknob. He half expected it to curse him into next year. Certainly Tom had some sort of defense on his room. Voldemort was insanely paranoid...Tom probably was too.
But nothing happened. Not even when he turned the knob and opened the door.
Tom's room was large, though smaller than the communal rooms. There was a seating area, his own fireplace, a desk, and a large bed in the centre. Another door was probably a private bath too.
Like Harry's dorm a large window in the ceiling filled the room with a soft, undulating greenish light. Enough that Harry could make his way to the bed without tripping over anything. Enough that Tom's still form was softly limned on the bed.
He gripped his wand tightly as he approached. If Tom woke up swinging Harry wanted to be ready with a shield of some kind. But even as he drew near the figure on the bed remained asleep and restful.
He was lovely when he slept, Tom was, and Harry had to laugh at himself for such a thought. He was tired of ignoring that as well. Tom was pretty. He had been nice to Harry. And maybe not all of it was true, but he knew some of it must have been.
It took a few more seconds for Harry to gather his nerves enough to pull back the blankets on the bed and slip in, inch by slow inch, until he was laying down next to Tom. Luckily his bed was also bigger, Harry was able to snag a fluffy pillow that Tom probably never used, tuck his wand underneath it and settle into the plush down all without disturbing his unknowing companion.
Tom was warm beside him. Warm and safe. The pain in his chest that had been present all day began to fade as Harry dozed off easily for the first time in over a week.
~~~
The wards on the door alerted Tom to the presence of someone nearby. They fizzed under his skin as the door was opened. He gripped his wand tightly, his hand under his pillow, ready to hex whoever dared enter his room uninvited.
Until a small shadow filled the doorway. He forced his hand to relax, even as his heart began to beat so frantically it hurt.
Harry.
He closed the door and crept slowly to the bed, not making a sound. A part of Tom wanted to rise and ask what was wrong. A bigger part of him just wanted to see what Harry would do if left to his own devices. So Tom closed his eyes before Harry reached the bed, evened out his breathing and feigned sleep.
Several long, agonizing seconds passed and nothing happened. He was just about to break the ruse when, oh so slowly, Harry slipped into his bed.
Harry Evans was in his bed!
Tom couldn't explain the warmth, the joy he felt at that.
Harry didn't hate him.
Harry wanted him. Needed him!
With careful movements Harry took one of Tom's pillows and snuggled it close. It was torture, but Tom waited until Harry's breathing evened out before opening his eyes to behold the sight. Harry, in his bed, hugging his pillow. One of his hands rested, open and inviting on the bed between them.
Just slow as and careful as Harry had been, Tom inched a hand across the bed. Harry's was smaller than his. The tips of his fingers cold, even though his presence filled Tom with the same warmth as always. In the low light Tom couldn't make out the scars he had seen on them before, though here and there he could feel their presence, their raised outlines on his smooth skin. And in that moment, as clear as day, Tom realized he never wanted anything to happen to that hand again. The thought was so right, so true, it was like remembering something he had known all along.
Harry Evans was precious to him. And above all things, Tom needed to make sure he was happy and safe.